by Anne Bishop
"We can get a Coach this evening," Philip said. "If we buy passage on one that rides the darker Winds, we'll be home by tomorrow."
"Not yet. I'd like you to talk to Dorothea's Steward. See if you can set up an audience for me."
"You're a Queen," Philip snapped. "You shouldn't have to beg an audience from a Priestess, no matter who—"
"Philip." She squeezed his arm. "I'm thankful for your loyalty, but right now we are beggars. I can't afford any more assumptions. I'm not convinced that Dorothea isn't the monster she's always appeared to be, but I am convinced that the High Lord is a greater threat." She shuddered. "We have to go to Kaeleer to find Wilhelmina. We can't afford to go there without having as much knowledge of the enemy as we can gain, no matter what the source."
"All right," Philip said. "What about Vania and Nyselle? Will they go with us?"
"They'll stay or go as they choose. They certainly won't care what I do." She sighed. "Who would have thought, even a month ago, that I would have to entertain the idea of Dorothea being an ally?"
3 / Terreille
Kartane SaDiablo wandered through the formal gardens, trying hard to ignore the speculative or pitying glances of the few people who hadn't retreated indoors. He had waited until Dorothea's carriage was out of sight before walking away from the platform. The mutilated bodies that had been left for grisly inspection didn't bother him. Hell's fire, Dorothea had done that much—or worse— to people when she was feeling playful. But no one seemed to remember that. Or, perhaps, most of the fools here had never witnessed one of the High Priestess's moods.
But the Steward and the Master of the Guard... Ball-withered idiots. They had actually had tears in their eyes when they helped her into the carriage. How could they believe she'd been under a spell for all these centuries, that she hadn't reveled in her victims' pain?
Oh, she had certainly sounded sincere and remorseful. He didn't believe it for a moment. Any man who had ever had to pleasure Dorothea in a bed wouldn't have believed it. Daemon wouldn't have, that's for sure.
Daemon. The High Lord's son. That explained a great deal about his "cousin." All those years, when Daemon had been raised as a bastard in Dorothea's court, had she known? She must have. Which meant that the High Lord of Hell would have no love for the High Priestess of Hayll.
Which circled back to his own concerns.
The mysterious illness that had started almost thirteen years ago was consuming him. All the other men who had enjoyed Briarwood's secret little playground were already in the grave. Because he was Hayllian, one of the long-lived races, and because he had never gone back to Chaillot, he was the only one left. And he could feel that he was running out of time.
After the connection between the illness and Briarwood had been revealed a few weeks ago, he had started thinking—when his mind wasn't so consumed in nightmares that he could think—and he always came to the same conclusion: the only Healers who might be powerful enough to cure this illness before it destroyed him, and the only ones who would be ignorant of the cause, were in Kaeleer. They would probably be serving in the courts of the Territory Queens, who, if Dorothea hadn't been lying about that, were under the High Lord's control. Which meant he had to find something that would buy the High Lord's assistance. Thanks to Dorothea's little speech, he now had information he thought the Prince of the Darkness would find very interesting.
Pleased with his decision, Kartane smiled. He would spend a few more days sniffing out information and then pay a little visit to the Shadow Realm.
4 / Terreille
Alexandra Angelline gingerly settled into a chair, relieved that Dorothea had chosen a private receiving room instead of a formal audience room. This meeting was going to be difficult enough without enduring a court full of sneering Hayllians.
But being alone with Dorothea also had disadvantages. She'd heard that Hayll's High Priestess had been a handsome woman. Oh, the ghost of that loveliness was still there, but there was a definite stoop to Dorothea's shoulders, a twistiness to her spine. Age spots dotted the backs of her brown hands, and the face and hair...
It happens to all of us, eventually, Alexandra thought as she watched Dorothea pour tea into delicate cups. But what would it feel like to go to bed one night a woman in her prime and wake the next morning as a crone?
"I'm... grateful... you granted me an audience," Alexandra said, trying not to choke on the words.
Dorothea's lips curled in a slight smile as she handed Alexandra a cup of tea. "I'm surprised you asked for one." The smile faded. "We haven't seen eye to eye in the past. And considering what happened to your family, you have good reason to hate me." She hesitated, took a sip of tea, and continued softly, "It wasn't my idea to send Sadi to Chaillot, but I can't remember who suggested it or why I agreed. There's a veil over those memories that I still can't pierce."
Alexandra lifted her cup toward her lips, but put it down again without drinking. "You think the High Lord arranged it?"
"Yes, I do. Sadi is a beautiful, vicious weapon, and his father knows how to use him well. And they did achieve their goal."
"What goal?" Alexandra said angrily. "Sadi tore my family apart and killed my younger granddaughter. What was achieved by that?"
Dorothea sat back, took a sip of tea, and said quietly, "You forget, Sister. The girl's body was never found."
Something about the expectant way Dorothea was looking at her made Alexandra shiver. "That doesn't mean anything. He's a very discreet gravedigger." She put the cup and saucer on the table, the tea untouched. "I didn't come here to talk about the past. Just how dangerous is the High Lord?"
"Daemon Sadi is his father's son. Does that answer your question?"
Alexandra tried but couldn't suppress a shudder. "And you really think he wants to destroy the Blood in Terreille?"
"I'm sure of it." Dorothea touched her white hair. "I paid a heavy price to be sure of it."
"My other granddaughter, Wilhelmina Benedict, recently went to Kaeleer," Alexandra said softly.
Dorothea stiffened. "How recently?"
"She went through the Gate yesterday."
"Mother Night," Dorothea said, collapsing in her chair. "I'm so sorry, Alexandra. So very, very sorry."
"Prince Philip Alexander and I intend to go to Kaeleer as soon as that 'service fair' is over and visitors are permitted again. Hopefully, we'll be able to find her and convince whatever Queen she's signed a contract with to release her."
"She's in far more danger than that," Dorothea said worriedly.
"There's no reason for her to draw anyone's attention," Alexandra said, fear making her voice sharp. "There's no reason for her to accept a contract outside of Little Terreille."
"There are two reasons: the High Lord and the witch he controls. If you don't find her quickly, Wilhelmina will end up in his dark embrace, and there will be no hope for her then."
Despite the warm room, a chill ran down Alexandra's spine.
Dorothea just looked at her for a long moment. "I told you—Sadi and the High Lord achieved their goal. No one hunts very long for a corpse when the living need care. And your granddaughter's body was never found."
Alexandra stared at Dorothea. "You think Jaenelle is this powerful witch under the High Lord's control? Jaenelle?" She laughed bitterly. "Hell's fire, Dorothea, Jaenelle couldn't even do basic Craft."
"If you know how to read between the lines of some of the... less available... records of the Blood's history, you'll find that there have been a few women—very few, thank the Darkness—who had enormous reservoirs of power that they were unable to tap by themselves. They required an ... emotional... bond with someone who had the skill to channel the power in order to use it. But they didn't always have the choice about how it was used." Dorothea paused. "The gossip that has recently filtered in from Little Terreille about the High Lord's pet describes her as 'eccentric,' 'somewhat emotionally disturbed.' Does that sound familiar?"
Alexandra couldn't catch her b
reath. There wasn't enough air in the room. Why wasn't there enough air?
"If you'll take it, I'll give you whatever help I can." Dorothea looked at her sadly. "You can't ignore this, Alexandra. No matter what you want to think or what you want to believe, you can't ignore the fact that the High Lord's pet witch, the witch Daemon Sadi helped him acquire, goes by the name Jaenelle Angelline."
5 / Terreille
Dorothea pulled aside the dark, heavy curtains and stared out at the night-shrouded garden. She felt drained, physically and emotionally. Oh, how she had wanted to dig her nails in and scratch out the pathetically hopeful look in the eyes of the males in her First Circle. They wanted to grasp at any excuse for her behavior over the past centuries. They wanted to believe that a male had made her cruel, a male had manipulated her and controlled her thoughts, a male had been behind her rise to power and the viciousness afterward that had made it possible to soften and harvest most of the other Territories in Terreille.
They didn't want to give her any credit at all. They wanted her to be a victim so that they wouldn't feel ashamed of serving her, so that they could pretend they served out of a sense of honor instead of avarice and fear.
Well, once Kaeleer fell, she would make a few changes in her court. Maybe she would even arrange for the fools to die in battle, choking on their bloody honor.
"You did well today, Sister," said a harsh but still girlish voice. "I couldn't have done better myself."
Dorothea didn't turn around. Looking at Hekatah, the demon-dead Dark Priestess and self-proclaimed High Priestess of Hell, always turned her stomach. "They were your words, not mine, so it's not surprising that you're pleased."
"You still need me," Hekatah snarled as she shuffled to a chair near the fire. "Don't forget that."
"I never forget that," Dorothea replied softly, keeping her eyes focused on the garden.
It had been Hekatah who had seen her potential when she was a young witch still learning a Priestess's duties as well as the Black Widows' Craft. It had been Hekatah who had nurtured her ambitions and dreams of power, who had pointed out the possible rivals who could interfere with those dreams. And it had been Hekatah who had helped eliminate those rivals. The Dark Priestess had been there, every step of the way, guiding, advising.
She couldn't remember just when she realized that Hekatah needed her just as much as she needed Hekatah. That need made them despise each other, but they were bound together by the common dream of ruling an entire Realm.
"Do you really think, after all we've done to gain control of Terreille, those Queens will believe it was all the High Lord's fault?"
"If you cast the persuasion spells correctly, there's no reason they won't believe it," Hekatah said with sweet venom.
"There's nothing wrong with my Craft skills, Priestess," Dorothea replied with equal venom, turning to face the other woman.
"Your skills didn't help you elude the spell Sadi wrapped around you, did they?"
"No more than your skills protected you or have helped you reverse the damage."
Hekatah hissed angrily, and Dorothea turned back to the window, feeling a brief satisfaction at the well-aimed barb.
Seven years ago, Hekatah had tried to gain control of Jaenelle Angelline and eliminate Lucivar Yaslana. Something had gone wrong with her scheme, and the backlash of that confrontation had stripped away her ability to pass as one of the living, had made her look like a decaying, desiccated corpse. For the first couple of years, she had insisted that all she needed was to consume large quantities of fresh blood in order to restore her body. But the demon-dead were, in a sense, spirits that still had too much psychic power to return to the Darkness and were now housed in dead flesh. While the power lasted and could be renewed, the body could be maintained by consuming blood. But nothing was going to restore Hekatah's looks. The juice had been wrung out of her dead flesh, and the past seven years had been a slow decay of a body that had died 50,000 years ago.
"They'll believe the High Lord has been responsible for all the perversion in Terreille," Hekatah said, coming up behind Dorothea close enough for her reflection to be visible in the window's night-darkened glass. "They want to believe it. He's a myth, a terrifying story that has been whispered for thousands of years. And anyone who has doubts about him will have no doubts at all about Yaslana and Sadi. The thought of the three of them coming together and having the use of a strong witch as their tool will be enough to unite Terreille against Kaeleer. In the end, it doesn't matter why they join the fight, only that they fight."
"We've gained one reluctant ally this afternoon—Alexandra Angelline, the Queen of Chaillot." Dorothea's lips curled in a vicious smile. "She was shocked to discover that her younger granddaughter has been under the High Lord's thumb for all these years, thanks to Daemon Sadi."
Hekatah frowned. "She's a fool, but she isn't stupid. If she convinces Jaenelle to help her maintain control of Chaillot ..."
Dorothea shook her head. "She doesn't believe Jaenelle has any power. I could see it in her eyes. I spun her a little story about women who are reservoirs of raw power—she didn't believe that either. She can accept that Sadi and the High Lord might have wanted Jaenelle for their own twisted reasons, but she'll continue to believe what she wants to believe about Jaenelle Angelline. Once she gets to Little Terreille, Lord Jorval will be waiting to offer his assistance. He'll never mention that Jaenelle is the Queen of Ebon Askavi. And I doubt Alexandra will believe anything anyone at the Hall tells her."
Hekatah laughed gleefully.
"And I imagine that once she actually meets Prince Saetan Daemon SaDiablo, the High Lord of Hell, she'll be more than happy to send along any information she thinks will be useful to us."
"And if he discovers her deceit..." Hekatah shrugged. "Well, we would have had to get rid of her after the war anyway."
Dorothea stared at their reflections in the glass. They had been lovely women once. Now Hekatah looked like a corpse that the worms had been feasting on, and she...
Sadi had created some kind of spell to age and twist her body, but he hadn't done anything to diminish her sexual appetite. The Blood called him the Sadist, but she hadn't really appreciated the depths of his cruelty. He had known her appetites—how could he not since he'd had to satisfy them when he was young? He had also known the humiliation she would feel when she saw revulsion in the eyes of the males she rode instead of that exciting combination of lust and fear. Now, after her tearful confession, she wouldn't even be able to indulge in that much.
"You've informed your pet Queens that they'll have to abstain from their more—imaginative—pleasures for the time being?" Hekatah asked.
"I've told them," Dorothea replied irritably. "Whether they will restrain themselves is difficult to say."
"Any who indulge will have to be eliminated."
"And how do we explain that?"
Hekatah made an impatient sound. "Obviously they, too, have been under the High Lord's spell. Your gallant struggle to free yourself from his power also freed a number of your Sisters, but, unfortunately, not all of them. All it will take is one or two of them being killed for the others to understand the message and behave properly."
"And after we've won?"
"After we've won, we can do whatever we damn well please. We'll rule the Realms, Dorothea. Not just Terreille, but all of them—Terreille, Kaeleer, and Hell."
Wanting to savor that possibility, Dorothea didn't say anything for several minutes. Then finally, reluctantly, she asked, "Do you really think that fear of the High Lord will be enough to start a war? Do you really think this will work?"
What was left of Hekatah's lips pulled back in a terrible smile. "It worked the last time."
6 / Kaeleer
The Queen of Arachna settled next to the shoulder of the weary, golden-haired woman who leaned against a flat-sided boulder.
*Is bad?* the large golden spider asked in her soft voice.
Jaenelle Angelline brushed her hair
away from her face and sighed. Her haunted sapphire eyes narrowed a little against the early-morning sunlight as she once again studied the delicate strands of the tangled web that she'd woven during the night. "Yes, it's bad. A war is coming. A war between the Realms."
*Can stop?*
Jaenelle shook her head slowly. "No. No one can stop it."
The spider shifted uneasily. The air around the woman tasted of sadness—and a growing, cold rage. *The two-legs have fought before. Is more bad this time?*
"You may look."
Accepting the formal invitation, the Arachnian Queen opened her mind to the dreams and visions in the large tangled web Jaenelle had spun between a boulder and a nearby tree.
So much death. So much pain and sorrow. And a creeping taint that soiled the ones remaining.
Pulling back from the dreams and visions, she studied the web itself and noticed two odd things. One was the delicate silver ring set with an Ebony Jewel that had been placed in the center of the web. A Jewel chip was rarely woven into a tangled web because the magic that shaped those webs was powerful—and dangerous—enough, and this particular Jewel belonged to Jaenelle, who was Witch, the living myth, dreams made flesh. The other odd thing was the triangle. Many threads were connected to that ring, but overlying them were three threads that formed a triangle around it.
Intrigued, the spider continued to study the web. She had seen that triangle before. Strength, passion, courage. Loyalty, honor, love. She could almost taste the male tang in those threads.
"If Kaeleer accepts Terreille's challenge and goes to war," Jaenelle said softly, "it will destroy the Blood in both Realms. All the Blood. Even the kindred."
*Some will live. It is always so.*
"Not this time. Oh, there will be some who will physically survive the war, but..." Jaenelle's voice broke. She took a deep breath. "All of my Sisters, all of my friends will be gone. All of the Queens will be gone. All of the Warlord Princes."