by Anne Bishop
Almost there. Almost. Almost.
The sky was getting lighter. The sun would lift above the horizon at any moment.
Hurry. Hurry.
"Saetan! SAE-TANNNN!"
Daemon looked behind them. Hekatah was scrambling up the slope. The bitch must have ridden the Red Wind all the way in order to get there right behind them.
Not wasting his breath to swear, he picked up the pace as best as could, dragging Saetan with him.
"Sadi!" Hekatah screamed. "You lying bastard!"
"MOVE!" Lucivar shouted. He was using Craft to hold the gate open, straining physically and mentally to keep it from closing and locking them out.
Closer. Almost there. Almost.
Daemon grabbed the bars of the gate, used the strength in his Black Jewel to hold it open. "Get him inside," he said, shoving Saetan at Lucivar. Then he turned and waited.
Hekatah came up the slope, stopped a few feet away. "You lying bastard."
Daemon smiled. "I didn't lie, darling. I told you you were going to get everything you deserved." He let go of the gate. It slammed shut, and the last shield came down over it.
As he turned and ran across the open courtyard, he heard Hekatah screaming. And he heard a wild howling, a sound full of joy and pain, rage and celebration.
He crossed the threshold into the safety of the Keep a moment before Jaenelle unleashed the maelstrom.
*You musst wake,* said a deep, sibilant voice. *You musst wake.*
Daemon opened his eyes. It took him a moment to understand why everything looked a little... strange... and readjust. It took him another moment to confirm that he was still distantly linked to his body—and that his body was lying on the cold stone floor of the Keep where he and Lucivar and Saetan had fallen when Jaenelle unleashed her full strength.
*You are the triangle who helped sshape the web of dreamss. Now you musst hold the dream. There iss not much time.*
Groaning, he sat up and looked around. And was instantly wide-awake.
Mother Night, where are we?
He reached over Saetan's prone body and shook Lucivar.
*Hell's fire, Bastard,* Lucivar said. He raised his head. *Shit.*
Both of them reached for Saetan, shook him awake.
*Father, wake up. We're in trouble,* Daemon said.
*Now what?* Saetan growled. He raised himself up on his elbows. His eyes widened. *Mother Night.*
*And may the Darkness be merciful,* Lucivar added. *Where are we?*
*Somewhere in the abyss. I think.*
Climbing carefully to their feet, they looked around.
They were standing on the edge of a deep, wide chasm. Stretching across the chasm was an Opal web. Below them were webs the colors of the darker Jewels. Above them were webs the colors of the lighter Jewels.
*What are we doing here?* Lucivar asked.
*We're the triangle who helped shape the dream,* Daemon said. *We're supposed to hold the dream.*
*Don't go cryptic on me, Bastard,* Lucivar growled.
Daemon snarled at him.
Saetan raised his hand. They both fell silent.
*Who told you that?* Saetan asked.
*A sibilant voice.* Daemon paused. *It sounded like Draca, but it was male.*
Saetan nodded. *Lorn.* He looked around again.
Far, far, far above them, lightning flashed.
*Why did Jaenelle ask you to come to Hayll, Daemon?* Saetan asked.
*She said that the triangle had to remain together in order to survive. That the mirror had the strength to keep the other two safe.*
*She saw that in a tangled web?*
*No. The Weaver of Dreams told her.*
Lucivar began to swear.
Saetan's look was sharp, penetrating, thoughtful.
The lightning flashed a little closer.
*Father, brother, lover,* Saetan said softly.
Daemon nodded, remembering the triangle Tersa had traced on his palm. *The father came first. The brother stands between.* When they both looked at him, he shifted uneasily. *Something Tersa said once.*
*Warnings from Tersa, the Arachnian Queen, and Draca,* Saetan said. *A man might ignore one at his own peril, but all three?* He shook his head slowly. *I think not.*
The lightning flashed a little closer.
*That's all well and good,* Lucivar growled, *but I would prefer a straightforward order.*
*Thesse webss are the besst magic I can give you,* Lorn said irritably. *Usse them to hold the dream. If sshe breakss through all of them, sshe will return to the Darknesss. You will losse her.*
Lucivar puffed out a breath. *That's clear enough. So where—* He looked up as the lightning flashed again. *What's that?*
They all looked up, waited for the next flash—and saw the small dark speck plummeting toward the webs.
*Jaenelle,* Daemon whispered.
*She'll rip right through them,* Saetan said. *We'll have to use our own strength to try to slow her speed.*
*All right,* Lucivar said. *How do we go?*
Saetan looked at Daemon, then at Lucivar. *Father, brother, lover.* He didn't wait for an answer. He exploded upward, racing to intercept Witch before she hit the White web.
Lucivar watched for a moment, then turned to the webs, his eyes narrowed. *If she hits them in the center, she'll break through them. So we'll roll her.* He clamped a hand on Daemon's shoulder, pointed with the other hand. *Not so close to the edge that you'll risk hitting the chasm walls, but away from the center. Then twist and roll while you're using your own strength as a brake.*
Daemon looked at the webs. *What will that do?*
*For one thing, the counter-movement should slow the speed. And if she gets wrapped in the webs—*
*We'll form a cocoon of power.*
Lucivar nodded. *I’ll go up to the Rose. I don't know how much strength Saetan has left. If he's still able to hold her, I can add my strength to his. If not ... *
*Where should I be?* Daemon asked, willing to defer to Lucivar's ability and fighting experience.
*The Green. I should be able to hold her that far.* Lucivar hesitated. *Good luck, Bastard.*
*And you, Prick.*
Lucivar soared upward.
A moment later, Daemon heard Saetan's roar of defiance as the White web shattered. In the flash, he could see two small figures falling, falling.
He floated down to the Green web.
The Yellow web shattered. Then the Tiger Eye.
He heard Lucivar's war cry.
As the Rose web shattered, he saw a twirl of color as Lucivar rolled, fighting against the speed of the fall.
They hit the Summer-sky. Holding on to Witch's legs, Lucivar rolled the other way, catching most of the web before they crashed through.
The Purple Dusk. The Opal.
Daemon met him halfway between the Opal and the Green.
*Let go, Prick, before you shatter the Ebon-gray.*
With a cry that was part defiant, part pain, and part fear, Lucivar let go.
Rage filled Daemon. Love drove him. He and Witch hit the Green web. He rolled, but he didn't have Lucivar's skill. They broke through close to the middle of the web. He kept rolling so that when they hit the Sapphire, they were close to the edge. He rolled the other way, wrapping her in the web's power.
They broke through the Sapphire, but they weren't falling as fast now. He had a little more time to brace, to plan, to pour the strength of his Black Jewels into fighting the fall.
They hit the Red, rolled, clung for a second before falling to the Gray. Only half the Gray strands broke immediately. He strained back as hard as he could. When the other half broke, he rolled them upward while the web swung them down toward the Ebon-gray. He pulled against the swing, slowing it, slowing it.
When the other side of the Gray broke, they sailed down to the Ebon-gray. The web sagged when they landed, then stretched, then stretched a little more before the strands began to break.
His Black Jewels wer
e almost drained, but he held on, held on, held on as they floated onto the Black web.
And nothing happened.
Shaking, shivering, Daemon stared at the Black web, not quite daring to believe.
It took him a minute to get his hands to unlock from their grip. When he was finally able to let go, he floated cautiously above the web. Near her shoulder, he noticed two small broken strands. Very carefully, he smoothed the Black strands over the other colors that cocooned her.
He could barely see her, only just enough to make out the tiny spiral horn. But that was enough. *We did it,* he whispered as his eyes filled. *We did it.*
*Yess,* Lorn said very quietly. *You have done well.* Daemon looked up, looked around. When he looked back at Witch, she faded. Everything faded.
15 / Terreille
Saetan opened his eyes, tried to move, and found himself trapped by two warm bodies curled up around him. His sons.
Oh, witch-child. I hope it was worth the price.
He tried to move again, growled when he couldn't, and finally jabbed Lucivar with an elbow.
Lucivar just growled back and cuddled closer.
He shoved at Lucivar again because he couldn't, even in this small way, push Daemon aside. Not now.
Lucivar's growl turned into a snarl, but he finally stirred. And that woke Daemon.
"I'm delighted you find me such a comfortable pillow," Saetan said dryly, "but a man my age prefers not to sleep on a cold stone floor."
"Neither does a man my age," Lucivar grumbled, getting to his feet. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his back.
Daemon sat up with a groan.
Watching him, Saetan saw the light fill Daemon's eyes, the joy, the eagerness. It broke his heart.
He accepted Daemon's help in getting to his feet—and noted Lucivar's coolness toward his brother. That would change. Would have to change. But Lucivar wouldn't be approachable until he'd seen Marian and Daemonar, so there was no point in sparking that Eyrien temper. Besides, he was too damn tired to take on Lucivar right now.
As he walked to the doors, they fell into step on either side of him.
Twilight. The whole day had passed.
They walked across the open courtyard. Lucivar opened the gate.
A gust of wind made something flutter, catching Saetan's attention. A scrap of cloth from a woman's gown. Hekatah's gown.
He didn't mention it.
"I don't have the strength right now," he said quietly. "Would you two..."
Lucivar looked toward the south, Daemon toward the north. After a minute, their faces had the same grim, deliberately calm expression.
"There are a few Blood," Daemon said slowly. "Not many."
"The same," Lucivar said.
A few. Only a few. Sweet Darkness, let them get a different answer in Kaeleer. "Let's go home."
He felt the difference as soon as they walked through the Gate between the Realms. When they walked out of the Altar Room, Daemon and Lucivar both looked in the direction that would lead them to the First Circle—and the others.
He turned in the opposite direction, not quite ready to deal with what was going to come. "Come with me." Reluctantly, they obeyed.
He led them to a low-walled terrace that overlooked Riada, the closest Blood village.
Daemon looked down at the village. Lucivar looked in the direction of the Eyrien community.
Daemon sighed with relief. "I don't know how many people had lived there yesterday, but there are still a lot of Blood there."
"Falonar!" Lucivar cried. He looked at them and grinned. "The whole community. They're all right. Badly shaken up, but all right."
"Thank the Darkness," Saetan whispered. The tears came, as much from pride as grief. Prothvar had said it was a different kind of battlefield but a good one to fight on. He'd been right. It was a worthy battlefield. Instead of seeing more friends join the demon-dead, they had gone knowing those friends would live. Char, Dujae, Morton, Titian, Cassandra, Prothvar, Mephis, Andulvar. He would miss them. Mother Night, how he would miss them. "And the Blood shall sing to the Blood. You sang the song well, my friends. You sang it well."
He would have to tell Lucivar and Daemon—and Surreal—about this, too. But not yet. Not now.
He dreaded it, but he knew he couldn't hold either of them back much longer. "Come on, puppies. I'm sure the coven's going to have a few things to say about this."
It was worse than he'd expected.
The coven and the boyos fell all over Lucivar, who had his arms wrapped around Marian and Daemonar. Daemon they greeted with cool reserve. Except Karla, who had said, "Kiss kiss," and then had kissed him. And Surreal, who had given Daemon a cool stare, and said, "You look like shit, Sadi." He would have lashed out at her for that if Daemon hadn't commented dryly that her compliments were as effusive as ever—and if she hadn't grinned at the remark.
And Tersa, who had held her son's face between her hands and looked into his eyes. "It will be all right, Daemon," she had said gently. "Trust one who sees. It will be all right."
Saetan wasn't sure Daemon noticed the coolness, wasn't sure he even noticed who had greeted him and who hadn't. His eyes kept scanning the room for someone who wasn't there—someone who wasn't going to be there.
He was trying to think of a reasonable excuse to get Daemon away from the others when Geoffrey appeared at the door. "Your presence is requested at the Dark Throne. Draca would like to see you."
As they filed out of the room, Saetan stepped in beside Lucivar. "Stay close to your brother," he said quietly.
"I think it would be better—"
"Don't think, Prince, just follow orders."
Lucivar gave him a measuring look, then moved ahead to catch up with Daemon.
Surreal tucked her arm through his. "Lucivar's pissed?"
"That's one way of putting it," Saetan replied dryly.
"If you think it will help, I could give him a good kick in the balls. Although I have a feeling that when Marian realizes what he's pissed about, she'll do a better job than either of us can."
Saetan let out a groaning chuckle. "Now that will be interesting." Then he sobered. "Daemon played the same game with you."
"Yes, he did. But sometimes the best way to fool an enemy is to convince a friend."
"Your mother said almost the same thing to me once— after she punched me."
"Really?" Surreal smiled. "It must run in the family."
He decided it was better not to ask her to clarify that.
Baffled, Daemon waited for whatever announcement Draca was going to make. Not that it mattered. He would have to slip away to Amdarh in the next few days, talk to that jeweler, Banard, about designing a wedding ring for Jaenelle. He'd gotten her some earrings there for Winsol and had liked what he'd seen of the man's work.
Her birthday would be coming up soon. Would she mind having a wedding on her birthday? Well, maybe he would. He didn't really want to share the celebration of their wedding day with anything else. But they could have it soon after that. She would still be tired, still be recovering from this spell, but they could find a quiet place for the honeymoon. It didn't matter where.
Where was she? Maybe she was already in her room, recovering. Maybe that's what Draca was going to tell them—that Jaenelle had prevented the war, that Kaeleer was safe. As soon as this announcement was over, he'd slip up to her room and snuggle in next to her. Well, he'd take a bath first. He wasn't exactly smelling his best at the moment.
Where was she?
Then he looked at Lorn and felt a flicker of uneasiness.
No. They had saved her. The triangle had saved her. She'd expended so much of herself, had risen so far out of herself she'd been plummeting back down, but they had stopped the fall. They had stopped the fall.
Lucivar came up beside him, close enough to brush shoulders with him. Saetan stepped up on his other side with Surreal close by.
Draca picked something up from the Throne's seat, hesitated, then
turned to face them.
Daemon froze.
She was holding Jaenelle's scepter. But the metal was all twisted, and the two Ebony Jewels were shattered. Not just drained. Shattered. So was the spiral horn.
"The Queen of Ebon Asskavi iss gone," Draca said quietly. "The Dark Court no longer existss."
Someone began screaming. A scream full of panic, rage, denial, pain.
It wasn't until Lucivar and Saetan grabbed him and held him back that he realized the person who was screaming was himself.
16 / Kaeleer
"What was the point of it?" Gabrielle demanded angrily while the tears fell unheeded. "What was the point of offering the memories if they weren't going to do any good?"
Surreal raked her fingers through her hair and decided smacking someone probably wasn't going to help much. Well, it would make her feel better. Thank the Darkness she and Uncle Saetan had been able to heavily sedate Daemon. He couldn't have tolerated any of this right now.
She would have liked to have found out more about this memory thing, but she was more intrigued by the fact that Tersa seemed too calm and undisturbed—and also a little angry. It would take someone mucking up something very important to make Tersa angry.
"Yes, Tersa," Karla said testily, "what was the point?"
"Blood is the memory's river. And the Blood shall sing to the Blood," Tersa replied.
Gabrielle said something succinct and obscene.
"Shut up, Gabrielle," Surreal snapped.
Tersa was sitting on the long table in front of the couch, next to a pile of wooden building blocks. Surreal crouched down beside her. "What were the memories for?" she asked quietly.
Tersa brushed her tangled hair away from her face. "To feed the web of dreams. It was no longer complete. It had lived, it had grown."
"But she's gone!" Morghann wailed.
"The Queen is gone," Tersa said with some heat. "Is that all she was to you?"
"No," Karla said. "She was Jaenelle. That was enough."
"Exactly," Tersa said. "It is still enough."
Surreal jolted, hardly daring to hope. She touched Tersa's hand, waited until she was sure she had the woman's attention. "The Queen is gone, but Jaenelle isn't?"
Tersa hesitated. "It's too soon to know. But the triangle kept the dream from returning to the Darkness, and now the kindred are fighting to hold the dream to the flesh."