by Anne Bishop
Rainier didn’t respond to her assessment directly, but his sharp whistle got the children’s attention. Within moments, Rainier had eliminated the younger children, selected the six oldest—three boys and three girls—and was about to toss a coin to decide between the two remaining children when Surreal gave him a psychic tap on the shoulder.
«One more,» she said, looking at the boy lingering on the other side of the fence. Not like the others. This one was an outsider who might be included when another body was needed for a game, but he wasn’t someone any of the others would include for any kind of treat.
“What about it, boy?” Rainier said, holding up a copper. “We could do a second coin toss for the last spot.”
A hesitation. Then the boy looked at the other children and backed away, shaking his head.
The crest side of the copper won the toss, and the fourth boy joined the others.
“This way now,” the caretaker said, opening the door but carefully staying outside.
An odd sensation as she passed through the doorway, as if the threshold required more than one step. Maybe it was all the illusion spells that had to be woven throughout this place. Would Blood who wore lighter Jewels be more or less affected? She’d have to ask Marian, since the hearth witch was the only one in the family who wore lighter Jewels.
“Sitting room is that doorway to the right,” the caretaker said.
Since the children were crowding in behind her, she moved farther into the hall—and caught a whiff of something unpleasant.
“Just wait in the sitting room,” the caretaker said, still standing outside.
The last one of their group to enter the house, Rainier was now the first to enter the sitting room.
As she waited for the children to follow Rainier, she caught another whiff of…something…and looked around. Seemed to be coming from the area around the stairs, but it was there and gone before she could pinpoint the source, and there was nothing else in that part of the hall except a mirror on the wall opposite the stairs. The only other thing in the hall was a coat-tree, and the smell wasn’t coming from that.
Sighing, she went into the sitting room. An hour from now she would have completed her duty to family, Rainier would have completed his duty to Queen, and they could go back to a clean dining house in Amdarh and have a late meal while they figured out how to avoid saying anything about this damn place.
They weren’t coming. The bastards weren’t coming! How could either of them have ignored that summons? He’d been so careful with the wording to make sure they couldn’t wiggle out of attending the evening’s activities.
There had been some risk in sending the invitations so late, but he’d had to balance the delay against the risk of them talking to each other or, worse, talking to the Ladies. Still, he’d given them enough time—if they were as devoted to their wives as they professed.
Bastards. He recognized the male who had come with Lady Surreal as the man who had been with her in the bookshop that day in Amdarh, but he didn’t know who he was. Probably no one important. Probably just the stud Surreal was currently riding. He’d been in the wrong position to see the Jewel in the male’s ring, so there was no way for him to tell what kind of power had just walked into the house.
No matter. He’d prepared this entertainment for the SaDiablo family. No other male could compare with those two, so the bitch’s escort posed no threat to his plans.
At least the male had been obliging enough to invite some of the children. It was necessary for a few of them to be involved in this entertainment, and as the kindly caretaker, he would have let some of them go in with the Blood. But now the Blood would feel responsible for the children’s welfare, since they had extended the invitation.
Assuming, of course, that the Blood ever felt responsible for anything they did.
No matter. The children were in the house by the Blood’s invitation, and that should work out better than he’d anticipated.
He looked at the street, his eyes passing over the boy still standing on the other side of the gate, and hoped to see one of them appear. Once he closed the door, all the spells would be in motion—and would stay in motion while any of the guests lived.
Sadi and Yaslana weren’t coming. So be it.
Let the game begin.
The outside of the house had peeling paint and some shutters that looked like they were holding on by a single nail. The sitting room was a good match for the exterior—peeling wallpaper that was thankfully so faded it barely had color, lace curtains that looked like they would shred as soon as any attempt was made to clean them, and overstuffed furniture that, judging by the chew holes, housed several generations of mice.
“It’s awful,” the oldest boy said, sounding thrilled.
“The Blood don’t live in places like this,” Rainier said, sounding less than thrilled.
“I have,” Surreal said as she wandered around the room. A wave of annoyance coming from Rainier washed over her, but she continued to study the room. Wasn’t there supposed to be something spooky? Although she’d bet just looking at this place had given Marian shudders.
“Lady Surreal, neither of us live in a place like this.”
More than annoyance. Rainier was pissed that anyone, even landen children, would think the Blood would consider this place homey.
“Not now,” Surreal said, focusing on a portrait over the fireplace. Was there something queer about the man’s eyes? “But when I was preparing for a kill and didn’t want anyone to know I was in that part of a Territory, I would stay in an abandoned place like this for a few days.”
Sometimes she preferred secrecy to staying at a Red Moon house and providing services as a whore, which had been her other profession—until her recently acquired male relatives calmly told her that any male who got into her bed from now on had better be there for her pleasure or he would live just long enough to regret using his cock. So that ended that career. All right, she’d already walked away from that part of her life even before she came to Kaeleer, but it was still annoying to be told she was retired.
Becoming aware of the silence, she turned away from the portrait and found seven children staring at her.
“You kill people?” the youngest girl asked.
“I was an assassin,” Surreal replied cheerfully. “And a damn good one. I know all kinds of death spells.”
«That might have been a little more than they needed to know,» Rainier said.
Since they were looking at her the way a rabbit looks at a wolf, Rainier was probably right. On the other hand, they would probably want to stay away from her and would attach themselves to him during the tour, and that was all right too.
Then she looked at Rainier. His expression strongly suggested that she soften her statement.
“But I’m retired now,” Surreal said. “I don’t kill people anymore.” At least, not for money. “I’m Lady Surreal, and this is Prince Rainier.”
“Those are funny names,” the oldest boy said.
“Really?” Rainier sounded like he was gritting his teeth hard enough to break a few.
«You were the one who invited them to join us,» Surreal said, earning a searing look from Rainier before she focused on the children. “So who are you?”
The oldest boy, the one she’d labeled the dominant cock, was Kester. His friend was Trist. The other boys were Haywood, who was called Henn for reasons she didn’t understand, and Trout, whose face reddened when the other boys sneered at him, but who gave her a polite bow nonetheless.
The bitch was named Ginger. Her pal, the aspiring bitch, was Dayle. The youngest girl was Sage.
«Is it common for landens to name their children after foods and spices?» Surreal asked Rainier.
«I don’t know. Maybe their mothers were hungry when they had to choose a name. Or they could be lying about their names because they think it’s amusing.»
A door slammed. The house shuddered.
“I’ll check,” Surreal sa
id, crossing the room, her hand curled in just the right way if she needed to call in her stiletto. But when she reached the sitting room doorway, there was only the caretaker in the hallway, turning away from the closed front door.
“So discourteous,” he muttered as he walked past her. “So disobedient. Not what I expected.”
“When does this tour begin?” Surreal asked him.
He didn’t stop, didn’t turn. “Find the first clue, and you’ll know what to do,” he snapped. He slammed through a door at the end of the hallway.
She was trying to be tolerant of this place because it was Jaenelle and Marian’s idea, but she was going to talk to them about that little bastard. Performance or not, if he tried that pissing contest with the wrong Blood male, he would end up very very dead.
And speaking of Blood males…
She headed for the front door.
“Anything?” Rainier asked as he stepped into the sitting room doorway.
“I’m going to check for late arrivals,” Surreal said. “You look for the first clue. It must be in the sitting room, since we were directed there by that little piece of walking carrion.”
“Surreal.” Rainier tipped his head to indicate the children.
She turned and gave him a look that had him backing up a step. Then she yanked the front door open—and stared at the brick wall in front of her. She reached out cautiously, sure her hand would pass through the illusion—or trigger something “spooky.” But it was solid brick against her palm.
“Hell’s fire,” she muttered. “Guess we don’t leave through the same door we entered.” And now that the door was closed, that smell in the hallway was getting stronger—and more familiar.
Near the stairs. But where…?
Using a few drops of her Birthright Green power, she created a ball of witchlight—and frowned as a gong sounded somewhere in the house. But the sound was forgotten when the light revealed a door under the stairs. No obvious knob, but there had to be a latch that was easy enough to find and open. Otherwise, the space would have no use.
As she moved closer, the smell got stronger.
Yes, there was the latch, made to look like a knot in the paneling. She shifted the witchlight so she could see inside as she opened the door and…
“Well, shit.”
“Did you find the clue?” Rainier asked, crossing the hallway to join her.
She pulled the door open a little farther so they could both see inside. “I don’t know if it’s a clue, but I did find a body in a closet.”
TEN
Daemon approached the Consort’s suite with weary eagerness. He usually enjoyed the business side of ruling Dhemlan and taking care of the family property and wealth, but today each thing had felt like a handful of grit being sprinkled over him. Before he gave himself to the best part of the day—those hours he would have with Jaenelle—he wanted a long, hot shower. No. A bath. The luxury of soaking away all the nattering voices he’d dealt with throughout a long morning’s worth of meetings and all the paperwork he’d waded through during the past few hours. The Dhemlan Queens were still nervous about dealing with him, and he understood that. When Jaenelle’s life had been threatened by a witch obsessed with having him, he’d made it brutally clear what he would do to protect someone he loved. So he understood why the Province Queens were anxious to assure him that they did have control over the territories they ruled within his Territory.
But he really didn’t need to know all the damn details.
And he really didn’t need anyone else trying to wheedle an invitation out of him to the private viewing of the spooky house, which everyone seemed to know about. Except him because, after all, why should Jaenelle’s husband know about a private viewing? Hell’s fire! He’d come back to the Hall to find a note from Lord Khardeen, who wanted to talk to him about the damn place—and Khary lived on the other side of the Realm!
Rumors, he reminded himself. Just rumors, which were to be expected. Everyone was curious about this entertainment Jaenelle and Marian had created.
When he saw the envelope on the dressing table, he huffed out a sound that was part sigh, part annoyance. No doubt it was another invitation to some kind of autumnal festivity. He’d have to ask Jaenelle how many of these things she was willing to attend. Even better, he’d ask the High Lord how many the ruler of Dhemlan was required to attend.
He picked up the envelope, noting it was good-quality paper, then turned it over. Just a simple, decorative seal pressed into the wax. Nothing that belonged to an aristo family or a court. At least, not one he recognized. The writing had been done by an unfamiliar male hand.
He opened the envelope and withdrew the invitation. Moments later, his anger arrowed toward one mind. «Beale!»
While he waited for the Hall’s butler to answer the summons, he paced around the room, too upset to stand still and yet feeling more and more caged by his own need to move. Damn and damn and damn!
The knock on the door was tentative, which told him how much his lash of temper had unnerved Beale.
Since it was too tempting to rip through the door—and then rip through the man—he forced himself to stand still and used Craft to open the door with obvious control.
“Prince?” Beale said when he entered the room. No sign of nerves in voice or stance, but in the eyes…Yes, there were nerves. After all, a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince could do a vicious amount of damage to a Red-Jeweled Warlord—especially if the intent was to maim rather than kill.
“Explain this.” Daemon held out the invitation.
Beale came forward just far enough to take the invitation and read it. Then he glanced at the small clock on the dressing table. His skin turned gray as he looked at Daemon in horrified apology.
“I have been down in my study doing paperwork for the past several hours,” Daemon said through gritted teeth. “I was home, Beale. I have no excuse for ignoring this invitation.” Summons, actually. They both understood what the wording meant.
“The messenger was quite specific,” Beale said, stammering.
“The invitation was to be delivered to the Consort’s room. He specified a place, not the person. So I thought, since it was for the Consort, the Lady was planning a private evening and had asked a friend to address the envelope so the contents would be a surprise for a little while longer.”
Hell’s fire. Beale was a romantic. Who would have guessed? He’d brought up the message thinking the Queen wanted a sensual evening with her Consort.
Daemon took a moment to consider the implications of that. “Dinner?”
“Since we weren’t expecting you downstairs this evening—”
Or even out of bed, Daemon added silently.
“—Mrs. Beale planned some dishes that would not be spoiled if the meal was…interrupted.”
He really didn’t want to think about Beale and Mrs. Beale discussing his sex life.
“I am sorry, Prince,” Beale said. He turned his head, and the slight change in his expression indicated he was talking to someone on a psychic thread. Then he relaxed a little as he turned back to Daemon. “Mrs. Beale is packing up the meal. I had already selected some bottles of wine, so she’ll pack those as well. You will arrive a little late, but perhaps a celebratory moonlight picnic will be sufficient apology?”
They both heard it at the same time—the sounds of someone moving around in the next room.
Jaenelle was home. The fact that she was here instead of overseeing the first viewing of her precious entertainment meant his absence had been noticed and he was in for a rough night.
Don’t do that, he warned himself. Don’t smear her with the memories of how other women would have reacted.
It was a fair warning, but it didn’t lessen his feelings of bitter unhappiness.
“I will explain to the Lady,” Beale said, squaring his shoulders.
“No.” Daemon took the invitation. “No matter the reason, I’m still the one who is accountable.”
“But�
��”
“No.” He hesitated. “I do appreciate the offer, Beale.”
He waited until Beale left before he approached the connecting door and knocked.
“Come in.”
As he walked into the room he usually thought of as their bedroom and now hesitated to think of at all, Jaenelle gave him a puzzled look, then turned her attention back to the dress box on the bed. “I stopped in Amdarh on the way home. I wanted to see if the dress was finished, and it was.” She seemed happy and excited as she tossed the top of the box aside. “Why were you knocking?”
“I wasn’t sure if I would be welcome.”
She stopped unwrapping the dress, straightened up, and faced him. Her sapphire eyes were filled with a chilling blankness.
They were still working through some difficult patches in their relationship, raw spots created during the months she had been healing—when neither of them had been sure of still being wanted by the other. So his words were a warning that he had done something that could end with her locking him out. Forever.
“Meaning what?” she asked too softly.
He felt a desperate need to hold her, to assure himself that it was, after all, a small mistake. But it wasn’t. Not for a Blood male who wore a wedding ring. Not when the marriage was so new he still wasn’t accustomed to the feel of that ring on his finger—or the joy of knowing that it was there at all.
So he couldn’t touch her as he wanted to. Couldn’t even beg to be forgiven until he received some sign from her that she would permit him to beg. Because it wasn’t just his wife he had disappointed; it was his Queen.
He held out the invitation. “I’m sorry.” Inadequate words, but all he could offer at the moment.
She stared at the invitation for a long time. Then she looked at him.