Anne Bishop
Heir to the Shadows
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Enough time has passed for the young girl Jaenelle, heir to the magical Darkness. Her physical wounds have heal, ed while amnesia keeps her frightening memories at bay. But with Saetan--a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince and Jaenelle's foster-father--to protect her, she will continue to grow. Her magic will mature. Her memories will return. And Jaenelle will face her destiny when she remembers Daemon, Saetan's son, who made the ultimate sacrifice for her love.
ROC
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Copyright © Anne Bishop, 1999
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for
Nadine Fallacaro
sister of the heart
acknowledgments
Thanks to Blair Boone for patiently answering my questions about hunting and weapons. Hopefully the information remained somewhat accurate after I tampered with it. A cheer for Karen Borgenicht, Nancy Alden, Linda Bovino, and the rest of the gang at weight-training class. And a special thanks to the other sisters of the heart: Lorna Czarnota, Merri Lee Debany, Annemarie Jason, and Pat York.
jewels
White
Yellow
Tiger Eye
Rose
Summer-sky
Purple Dusk
Opal*
Green
Sapphire
Red
Gray
Ebon-gray Black
*Opal is the dividing line between lighter and darker Jewels because it can be either.
When making the Offering to the Darkness, a person can descend a maximum of three ranks from his/her Birthright Jewel.
Example: Birthright White could descend to Rose.
author's note
The "Sc" in the names Scelt, Sceval, and Sceron is pronounced "Sh."
blood hierarchy/castes
Males
landen—non-Blood of any race
Blood male—a general term for all males of the Blood; also refers to any Blood male who doesn't wear Jewels
Warlord—a Jeweled male equal in status to a witch
Prince—a Jeweled male equal in status to a Priestess or a Healer
Warlord Prince—a dangerous, extremely aggressive Jeweled male; in status, slightly lower than a Queen
Females
landen—non-Blood of any race
Blood female—a general term for all females of the Blood; mostly refers to any Blood female who doesn't wear Jewels
witch—a Blood female who wears Jewels but isn't one of the other hierarchical levels; also refers to any Jeweled female
Healer—a witch who heals physical wounds and illnesses; equal in status to a Priestess and a Prince
Priestess—a witch who cares for altars, Sanctuaries andDark Altars; witnesses handfasts and marriages; performs offerings; equal in status to a Healer and a Prince
Black Widow—a witch who heals the mind; weaves the tangled webs of dreams and visions; is trained in illusions and poisons
Queen—a witch who rules the Blood; is considered to be the land's heart and the Blood's moral center; as such,she is the focal point of their society
prologue
Kaeleer
The Dark Council reconvened. Andulvar Yaslana, the demon-dead Eyrien Warlord Prince, folded his dark wings and assessed the other Council members, not liking what he saw. Except for the Tribunal, who had to attend, only two-thirds of the members were required at each session to listen to petitions or pass judgment when disputes occurred between the Blood in Kaeleer that couldn't be settled by the Territory Queens. Tonight every chair was filled, except the one beside Andulvar.
But the chair's occupant was also there, standing patiently in the petitioner's circle, waiting for the Council's answer. He was a brown-skinned, golden-eyed man, with thick black hair that was silvered at the temples. Seeing him leaning on the elegant, silver-headed cane, one might simply have said he was a handsome Blood male at the end of his prime. His long, black-tinted nails and the Black-Jeweled ring on his right hand said otherwise.
First Tribune quietly cleared his throat. "Prince Saetan Daemon SaDiablo, you stand before the Council requesting guardianship of the child Jaenelle Angelline. You did not, as is customary in a Blood dispute, provide us with the information needed to contact the girl's family so that they could come here and speak on their own behalf."
"They don't want the child," was the quiet reply. "I do." "We have only your word on that, High Lord." Fools, Andulvar thought, watching the barely perceptible rise and fall of Saetan's chest.
First Tribune continued. "The most troubling aspect of this petition is that you're a Guardian, one of the living dead, and yet you want us to place the welfare of a living child into your hands."
"Not just any child, Tribune. This child."
First Tribune shifted uneasily in his chair. His eyes swept over the tiered seats on both sides of the large room. "Because of the . . . unusual . . . circumstances, the decision will have to be unanimous. Do you understand?"
"I understand, Tribune. I understand very well."
First Tribune cleared his throat again. "A vote will now be taken on the petition of Saetan Daemon SaDiablo for the guardianship of the child Jaenelle Angelline. Those opposed?"
A number of hands went up, and Andulvar shuddered at the peculiar, glazed look in Saetan's eyes.
After the hands were counted, no one spoke, no one moved.
"Take the vote again," Saetan said too softly.
When First Tribune didn't respond, Second Tribune touched his arm. Within seconds, there was nothing in First Tribune's chair but a pile of ash and a black silk robe.
Mother Night, Andulvar thought as he watched body after opposing body crumble. Mother Night.
"Take the vote again," Saetan said too gently.
It was unanimous.
Second Tribune rubbed her hand over her heart. "Prince Saetan Da
emon SaDiablo, the Council hereby grants you all paternal—"
"Parental. All parental rights."
"—all parental rights to the child Jaenelle Angelline, from this hour until she reaches her majority in her twentieth year."
As soon as Saetan bowed to the Tribunal and began the long walk down the room, Andulvar left his seat and opened the large double doors at the far end of the Council chamber. He sighed with relief when Saetan, leaning heavily on his silver-headed cane, slowly walked past him.
It wasn't over, Andulvar thought as he closed the doors and followed Saetan. The Council would be more subtle
next time in opposing the High Lord, but there would be a next time.
When they finally stepped out into the fresh night air, Andulvar turned to his longtime friend. "Well, she's yours now."
Saetan lifted his face to the night sky and closed his golden eyes. "Yes, she's mine."
PART 1
chapter one
1 / Terreille
Surrounded by guards, Lucivar Yaslana, the half-breed Eyrien Warlord Prince, walked into the courtyard, fully expecting to hear the order for his execution. There was no other reason for a salt mine slave to be brought to this courtyard, and Zuultah, the Queen of Pruul, had good reason to want him dead. Prythian, the High Priestess of Askavi, still wanted him alive, still hoped to turn him to stud. But Prythian wasn't standing in the courtyard with Zuultah.
Dorothea SaDiablo, the High Priestess of Hayll, was.
Lucivar spread his dark, membranous wings to their full span, taking advantage of Pruul's desert air to let them dry.
Lady Zuultah glanced at her Master of the Guard. A moment later, the Master's whip whistled through the air, and the lash cut deep into Lucivar's back.
Lucivar hissed through his clenched teeth and folded his wings.
"Any other acts of defiance will earn you fifty strokes," Zuultah snapped. Then she turned to confer with Dorothea SaDiablo.
What was the game? Lucivar wondered. What had brought Dorothea out of her lair in Hayll? And who was the angry Green-Jeweled Prince who stood apart from the women, clutching a folded square of cloth?
Cautiously sending out a psychic probe, Lucivar caught all the emotional scents. From Zuultah, there was excitement and the usual underlying viciousness. From Dorothea, a sense of urgency and fear. Beneath the unknown Prince's anger was grief and guilt.
Dorothea's fear was the most interesting because it meant that Daemon Sadi had not been recaptured yet.
A cruel, satisfied smile curled Lucivar's lips.
Seeing the smile, the Green-Jeweled Prince became hostile. "We're wasting time," he said sharply, taking a step toward Lucivar.
Dorothea spun around. "Prince Alexander, these things must be do—"
Philip Alexander opened the cloth, holding two corners as he spread his arms wide.
Lucivar stared at the stained sheet. So much blood. Too much blood. Blood was the living river—and the psychic thread. If he sent out a psychic probe and touched that stain . . .
Something deep within him stilled and became brittle.
Lucivar forced himself to meet Philip Alexander's hostile stare.
"A week ago, Daemon Sadi abducted my twelve-year-old niece and took her to Cassandra's Altar, where he raped and then butchered her." Philip flicked his wrists, causing the sheet to undulate.
Lucivar swallowed hard to keep his stomach down. He slowly shook his head. "He couldn't have raped her," he said, more to himself than to Philip. "He can't. . . . He's never been able to perform that way."
"Maybe it wasn't bloody enough for him before," Philip snapped. "This is Jaenelle's blood, and Sadi was recognized by the Warlords who tried to rescue her."
Lucivar turned reluctantly toward Dorothea. "Are you sure?"
"It came to my attention—unfortunately, too late—that Sadi had taken an unnatural interest in the child." Dorothea lifted her shoulders in an elegant little shrug. "Perhaps he took offense when she tried to fend off his attentions. You know as well as I do that he's capable of anything when enraged."
"You found the body?"
Dorothea hesitated. "No. That's all the Warlords found." She pointed at the sheet. "But don't take my word for it. See if even you can stomach what's locked in that blood."
Lucivar took a deep breath. The bitch was lying. She had to be lying. Because, sweet Darkness, if she wasn't . . .
Daemon had been offered his freedom in exchange for killing Jaenelle. He had refused the offer—or so he had said. But what if he hadn't refused?
A moment after he opened his mind and touched the bloodstained sheet, he was on his knees, spewing up the meager breakfast he'd had an hour before, shaking as something deep within him shattered.
Damn Sadi. Damn the bastard's soul to the bowels of Hell. She was a child What could she have done to deserve this? She was Witch, the living myth. She was the Queen they'd dreamed of serving. She was his spitting little Cat. Damn you, Sadi!
The guards hauled Lucivar to his feet.
"Where is he?" Philip Alexander demanded.
Lucivar closed his gold eyes so that he wouldn't have to see that sheet. He had never felt this weary, this beaten. Not as a half-breed boy in the Eyrien hunting camps, not in the countless courts he'd served in over the centuries since, not even here in Pruul as one of Zuultah's slaves.
"Where is he?" Philip demanded again.
Lucivar opened his eyes. "How in the name of Hell should I know?"
"When the Warlords lost the trail, Sadi was heading southeast—toward Pruul. It's well-known—"
"He wouldn't come here." That shattered something deep within him began to burn. "He wouldn't dare come here."
Dorothea SaDiablo stepped toward him. "Why not? You've helped each other in the past. There's no reason—"
"There is a reason," Lucivar said savagely. "If I ever see that cold-blooded bastard again, I'll rip his heart out!"
Dorothea stepped back, shaken. Zuultah watched him warily.
Philip Alexander slowly lowered his arms. "He's been declared rogue. There's a price on his head. When he's found—"
"He'll be suitably punished," Dorothea broke in.
"He'll be executed!" Philip replied heatedly.
There was a moment of heavy silence.
"Prince Alexander," Dorothea purred, "even someone from Chaillot should know that, among the Blood, there is no law against murder. If you didn't have sense enough to prevent an emotionally disturbed child from toying with a Warlord Prince of Sadi's temperament . . ." She shrugged delicately. "Perhaps the child got what she deserved."
Philip paled. "She was a good girl," he said, but his voice trembled with a whisper of doubt.
"Yes," Dorothea purred. "A good girl. So good your family had to send her away every few months to be ... reeducated."
Emotionally disturbed child. The words were a bellows, stoking the fire within Lucivar to ice-cold rage. Emotionally disturbed child. Stay away from me, Bastard. You'd better stay away. Because if I have the chance, I'll carve you into pieces.
At some point, Zuultah, Dorothea, and Philip had withdrawn to continue their discussion in the cooler recesses of Zuultah's house. Lucivar didn't notice. He was barely aware of being led into the salt mines, barely aware of the pick in his hands, barely aware of the pain as his sweat ran into the new lash wound on his back.
All he saw was the bloodstained sheet.
Lucivar swung the pick.
Liar.
He didn't see the wall, didn't see the salt. He saw Daemon's golden-brown chest, saw the heart beating beneath the skin.
Silky . . . court-trained . . . liar!
2 / Hell
Andulvar settled one hip on a corner of the large, blackwood desk.
Saetan glanced up from the letter he was composing. "I thought you were going back to your eyrie."
"Changed my mind." Andulvar's gaze wandered around the private study, finally stopping at the portrait of Cassandra, the Black-Je
weled Queen who had walked the Realms more than 50,000 years ago. Five years ago, Saetan had discovered that Cassandra had faked the final death and had become a Guardian in order to wait for the next Witch.
And look what had happened to the next Witch, Andulvar thought bleakly. Jaenelle Angelline was a powerful, extraordinary child, but still as vulnerable as any other child. All that power hadn't kept her from being overwhelmed by family secrets he and Saetan could only guess at, and by Dorothea's and Hekatah's vicious schemes to eliminate the one rival who could have ended their stranglehold on the Realm of Terreille. He was certain they had been behind the brutality that had made Jaenelle's spirit flee from her body.
Too late to prevent the violation, a friend had taken Jaenelle away from her destroyers and brought her to Cassandra's Altar. There, Daemon Sadi, with Saetan's help, had been able to bring the girl out of the psychic abyss long enough to convince her to heal the physical wounds. But when the Chaillot Warlords arrived to "rescue" her, she panicked and fled back into the abyss.
Her body was slowly healing, but only the Darkness knew where her spirit was—or if she would ever come back.
Pushing aside those thoughts, Andulvar looked at Saetan, took a deep breath, and puffed his cheeks as he let it out. "Your letter of resignation from the Dark Council?"
"I should have resigned a long time ago."
"You had always insisted that it was good to have a few of the demon-dead serving in the Council because they had experience but no personal interest in the decisions."
"Well, my interest in the Council's decisions is very personal now, isn't it?" After signing his name with his customary flourish, Saetan slipped the letter into an envelope and sealed it with black wax. "Deliver that for me, will you?"
Bishop, Anne - Dark Jewels 02 - Heir to the Shadows (v1.0) Page 1