The Queen's Bargain

by Anne Bishop

  She’d been distracted by the older women for a moment, just a moment. When she looked back at the bed, Daemon still slept, but Lucivar’s gold eyes were open and fixed on her—a predator assessing a potential adversary.

  Surreal backed away. Turned and ran to her own room.

  As she dressed, she tried to decide if she was distressed or relieved that the sexual heat that pumped out of Sadi these days had ensnared the Ebon-gray, even if it was for nothing more than comfort. What chance did she have of escaping if someone as strong as Lucivar could get pulled in?

  * * *

  * * *

  Daemon pulled casseroles out of the cold box. One had eggs, ham, and some vegetables. Suitable for breakfast. He put that dish and another one in the oven to heat, then started making the coffee.

  Marian’s condition hadn’t changed overnight. At this point, he’d take no further decline as a good sign—just as he recognized Lucivar’s temper running sharp and hot as a sign of trouble. Something had sparked that temper. Or someone.

  He’d picked up a hint of Surreal’s psychic scent in the room when he woke. He didn’t know who had still been in the bed or in the room when she walked in, but he suspected that her coming in and looking for a morning ride was the reason for Lucivar’s temper. Not because she wanted the ride but because she didn’t want to share a bed with her husband for any other reason.

  Or had she seen them and said something? Sweet Darkness, please don’t let her say anything to Lucivar. If she wants to stick a verbal knife into someone, let it be me.

  Tersa wandered into the kitchen. He managed to get half a slice of toast into her and a couple sips of tea before she wandered off again. Lucivar had an Ebon-gray shield around the eyrie, effectively locking everyone in, so Daemon wasn’t worried about Tersa beyond the usual worry of coaxing her into eating enough.

  When Jillian entered the kitchen, with fatigue smudging the skin under her eyes, he said, “Scrambled eggs for the children?”

  She blinked at him, and he watched her effort to wake up. “I can make them.”

  Daemon smiled. “No, darling, I can make them if you think the children will eat them. What about you? Do you want to eat the casseroles I’m heating for the adults, or would you prefer to eat scrambled eggs this morning?”

  Being included with the adults perked her up. He poured coffee for her and spooned out generous portions of the casseroles for both of them. Her cheeks pinkened with pleasure over his attention. After finishing her own breakfast, she took a tray for Nurian so that her sister, who had arrived a few minutes ago to check on Marian, could have a quiet meal before resuming the duties of a Healer; then she returned a few minutes later to make up a tray for Manny, who was watching the baby.

  Daemon stood at the counter, eating the food out of necessity but not enjoying it. Right now, food was just fuel for the body, and he needed to be at his strongest to deal with Lucivar today.

  Daemonar entered the kitchen, looking not as worried as Daemon expected the boy to be but more than willing to reduce the amount of food currently hot and available.

  Except the boy set his plate on the table and made no move to eat.

  “I guess you got squashed with me taking up space last night,” Daemonar said, staring at his plate.

  “Your aunt Jaenelle and I used to share a bed with an eight-hundred-pound Arcerian cat. Compared to Kaelas, you don’t take up much room.”

  Daemonar took a bite of the ham-and-egg casserole. “All that fur must have been nice in the winter. Warm.”

  “Yes, it did provide warmth.” Daemon sipped his coffee, wondering if the boy was fishing for something or just making an observation. “Arceria is so cold and has so much snow in the winter, the Arcerian cats build dens under the snowpack, and there is still enough snow above the dens that a grown man could walk over them and not fall through. Despite that, the damn cat used to whine about Jaenelle’s feet being cold.”

  Daemonar grinned. “Did you whine about Auntie J.’s cold feet?”

  “Husbands do not whine about cold feet.”

  “If they’re smart, they put a warming spell around their legs before their darlings scramble into bed and put those feet on them,” Lucivar added, walking into the kitchen.

  “How do you learn things like that?” Daemonar asked.

  Daemon looked at Lucivar. They looked at the boy and said, “Experience.”

  Daemonar pushed away his plate, the food uneaten. “I want to help watch over Mother.”

  “No,” Lucivar said.

  “Of course,” Daemon said at the same time. “All the Warlord Princes in the family should take a turn. If you’re finished with breakfast, why don’t you take the first watch?”

  As he expected, Lucivar turned on him as soon as the boy left the kitchen.

  “He’s too young to see his mother like that,” Lucivar snarled.

  “He knows something, Prick,” Daemon said softly. “He found out something yesterday and he’s been searching. When he volunteered to dry the dishes last night, he tried to be subtle—”

  Lucivar snorted.

  “—but he was looking through the cupboards for something. He didn’t find it. I think he wants to look around Marian’s workroom without us asking questions.”

  “What could he be looking for?” Lucivar asked.

  Daemon filled a mug with black coffee and handed it to his brother. “We’ll know that when he finds it.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Daemonar opened the doors and drawers of the cabinet that held all of his mother’s sewing and weaving supplies. A Jewel the size of the one Auntie J. had shown him could be hidden anywhere, tucked into a skein of yarn or hidden in folds of cloth. It could even be in a jar of buttons. He couldn’t sense any power, so he’d have to take everything out, and if he couldn’t put it back as she’d had it, his mother would kill him flatter than dead.

  If she ever woke up.

  “Looking for secrets?” Tersa asked.

  Daemonar suppressed a yelp. He hadn’t thought she’d noticed him when he entered the room. She’d been staring at Marian and hadn’t responded when he’d greeted her, leaving him free to poke around.

  He approached the chair next to the daybed and considered what he could say. You never lied to Tersa. That was one of his father’s and uncle’s strictest rules, because Tersa’s hold on the world as the rest of them saw it was tenuous. But she was a Black Widow, and Witch had said there was one or two people who could explain things to his father once Daemonar found the clear Jewel. Could Tersa be one of them?

  “Yes,” he said. “There is something I need to find. A gift Mother might have used before . . .” He looked at Marian.

  “Nothing on, nothing over. What is left?” Tersa looked at him expectantly.

  Was she seeing this room or some other place? Was this a riddle or an actual question?

  Nothing on. Nothing over. He scanned the furniture around the daybed. Someone would have checked the covers already and there was nothing above the bed. So what was left?

  “Under.” Daemonar dropped to his hands and knees and looked under the bed. “Found something.”

  As his hand closed around the mug, it occurred to him that his mother might have needed to use something as a chamber pot if she’d been too ill to move or call for help.

  The mug was empty, a dried stain at the bottom that looked like some kind of tea or witch’s brew. The bowl had one of the kitchen towels. Since it was dry and didn’t smell, he sat back on his heels and had started to unwrap the towel when the door opened and his father and uncle walked in.

  “What did you find, boyo?” Daemon asked.

  He glanced at his father, who stood behind his uncle, as if not daring to come closer. Better to talk to Uncle Daemon, who knew lots of things about the Hourglass’s Craft. “I’m not sure. It depe
nds.”

  Daemon went down on one knee beside him. “Open it.”

  He unwrapped the towel and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “A clear Jewel.” Daemon sounded puzzled. “Why have a clear Jewel here? They’re only used as beacons on landing webs.”

  “They can have other uses,” Tersa said. “Can hold a different kind of beacon.”

  “A trap or a spell of some kind?” Lucivar asked, sounding like there were shards of glass in his throat.

  “Not a trap.” Tersa stared at the clear Jewel. “A beacon holds special kinds of healing spells. This one . . . Dark water washes away what doesn’t belong. Dark water—and a song in the Darkness.”

  Lucivar sucked in a breath. Daemon tensed, and the room suddenly filled with a yearning that made Daemonar want to cry—or reveal a different secret.

  “Tersa?” Daemon said softly. “You’ve seen something like this before?”

  “She gave me some beacons before she left the Realm of the living. Like but not the same. A special brew that helps Tersa find the path back to the boy and the winged boy and the Mikal boy when Tersa wanders too far. She saw. She knew.” Tersa laid a hand over Marian’s. “Once the black water washes away what doesn’t belong, the hearth witch will be shown the path home.”

  “So we wait,” Lucivar said.

  “We wait,” Daemon agreed.

  Tersa pointed at the clear Jewel. “The beacon must be returned to the Keep. That is part of the bargain.”

  Daemon rewrapped the Jewel in the towel, vanished it, then tapped Daemonar’s shoulder. “Come with me.” He looked at Lucivar.

  Daemonar wasn’t sure what was said on a psychic thread, but as he walked out of the room with his uncle, he looked back to see his father kneel beside the daybed.

  * * *

  * * *

  Daemon kept a hand on Daemonar’s shoulder as they walked through the eyrie toward the front room, where Lucivar would join him in a few minutes. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, needed to ask. But he couldn’t ask any of them.

  Did you talk to her? Can you see her?

  Witch had told him after Jaenelle Saetien’s Birthright Ceremony that she wouldn’t come to him again, because he needed to stay connected to the living. But when he stood in the Black at his full strength, she was a song in the Darkness, a reminder that he wasn’t alone. He had to accept that was all she could—would—give him.

  He wouldn’t jeopardize whatever gift Witch had granted the boy, but there might be a way to find specific answers to this particular puzzle.

  “You probably saw one of those clear Jewels when you were younger,” he said, keeping his tone conversational. “You would have seen them used in village landing webs and could have wondered what other use might be made of these smaller pieces. Your aunt Jaenelle might have explained that pieces of clear Jewels could be used to hold spells for a long time.”

  Daemonar said nothing, but he felt the boy tensing under his hand.

  “Things you’d been told, memories of seeing Jewels like that, might have woven themselves into a dream, which is how you thought about looking for the thing that had contained an unconventional healing spell. Does that sound possible?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Daemon felt the boy relax a bit. “Why not tell your father and me? We would have helped you look for it.”

  Hesitation. He and Lucivar needed to get to the Keep before the sun got much higher, but he hoped his brother wouldn’t walk into the front room just yet.

  “I didn’t want to tell him unless the Jewel was clear again,” Daemonar finally said.

  “If it wasn’t clear?”

  “It meant Mother didn’t have a chance to use the healing spell and it would be too late.”

  “You’ve got balls, little Brother, to carry the weight of that knowledge in order to spare your father.” Daemon leaned down enough for them to be eye to eye. “But we share the weight in this family. If you can’t tell one of us, think about telling the other. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Did you talk to her? Can you see her?

  Before he could ask a question that might break the boy’s willingness to tell him anything in the future, Lucivar walked into the front room and Daemonar bolted.

  “You think we’ll get any answers at the Keep?” Lucivar asked as they put on their outer garments.

  “That will depend on whether we get there before Karla retires for the day,” Daemon replied.

  * * *

  * * *

  Lucivar solved the problem of Karla’s needing to retire to conserve the reservoir of power in her Gray Jewel: he opened a vein and filled a small cup with fresh blood.

  Accepting the cup, she took a sip and made a face. “Next time, consider doing this when you’re calmer.”

  He wasn’t sure if temper really changed the taste of blood or if she was simply commenting about the emotions she felt pumping in him. “We have questions. We need answers.”

  She drank the rest of the blood. Two swallows. Setting the cup aside, she said, “Marian?”

  “In a way,” Daemon replied. He called in a kitchen towel, unwrapped it, and held up the clear Jewel. “Whatever was in this Jewel is the reason Marian fell into a healing sleep unlike anything Nurian had seen before. We’re hoping that, being a Healer and a Black Widow, you have seen something like this.”

  Karla took the Jewel, rubbed a thumb over the surface. “If you’re asking if a Healer like Nurian could create a healing spell and place it in a clear Jewel to lie dormant for decades, the answer is no.”

  “What about other kinds of spells?” Daemon asked. “We can wrap spells into objects. Death spells and witchfire are a couple that come to mind.”

  “Yes, but power fades over time and the potency of a spell fades with it. If the spells you mentioned fade, someone may survive the death spell, or the witchfire might burn out quickly. A healing spell has to work when it’s needed and be as potent as when it was made.”

  Daemon nodded toward the Jewel. “Could you do this?”

  “Not even when I walked among the living.” Karla studied both of them. “But you already know there was only one witch, one Healer, who had figured out how to do this.”

  Lucivar felt like his heart would explode in his chest. “Jaenelle could have warned us. Warned me.”

  Karla held up the Jewel. “This was between Marian and Jaenelle. I’m guessing they didn’t tell you because neither of them knew when the spell would be needed, and both of them knew that when the time came, there was nothing you could do to change the outcome for good or ill. Not saying anything to you before she drank the brew? That’s something to discuss with your wife when she’s feeling better.”

  Oh, yes, they would have a discussion. “Tersa described the spell as dark water that washes away what doesn’t belong. Dark water—and a song in the Darkness.”

  “Tersa also said that Marian would be shown the path home,” Daemon added.

  “Are you sure Jaenelle did this?” Lucivar asked. If his sister had created the spell, then Marian would survive. But if this was an attempt to kill his wife and leave her Self imprisoned somewhere . . .

  “Do you remember when I was poisoned and Jaenelle did the healing that saved me?” Karla asked.

  Daemon shuddered. He had assisted Jaenelle during that healing. “I remember.”

  “When a Territory’s stability depends on the strength of its Queen, the Queen cannot afford to appear fragile. Cannot afford to be fragile. Injured, yes, but not susceptible to things like cold winters. I wasn’t going to hide the damaged legs or the need for a cane or the wheeled chair, but the rest of the damage the poisons had done to me? That was a secret between Jaenelle and me. She tried to teach me the particular healing brew and spell that helped me stay as healthy as I cou
ld be. I could get close to what she made, but not quite close enough. Every six months, when we’d gather, she would make that brew and weave the healing spell she combined with it. And I could take care of my people for a while longer.”

  Lucivar huffed. “No one knew?”

  “Not even Gabrielle, and she was the other side of the Golden Triangle.”

  The Golden Triangle had been Saetan’s term for Jaenelle, Karla, and Gabrielle—the three Queens who were also natural Healers and natural Black Widows. The only witches in Kaeleer with the triple gift.

  “The last Winsol we celebrated together, Jaenelle gave me a pretty container that held pieces of clear Jewels.” Karla smiled. “She told me she wouldn’t be able to do complex healing spells much longer, but these would be enough. When there were two left, it would be time to put my affairs in order. It would be time to decide what I wanted to do when I made the transition to demon-dead.”

  “All of the First Circle had made the transition before I . . . before Saetan became a whisper in the Darkness,” Daemon said. “I often wondered how all of you seemed to know and were ready.” He took a step back. “Thank you for your assistance, Lady.”

  Lucivar watched Daemon walk away, then turned back to Karla. “Did everyone who mattered receive a last gift?”

  “I’m sure they did. But not every gift was stored in a piece of clear Jewel, Lucivar, and some won’t appear until they’re truly needed.”

  If Marian recovered, that was the only gift he needed. Jaenelle probably knew that too. But Daemon? Was his daughter the last gift, or was there another one waiting for him? And what would be the trigger that would indicate the gift was truly needed?

  * * *

  * * *

  Jillian opened the glass doors that led to the snow-covered lawn and outside play area and breathed in the fresh air. The eyrie felt stuffy, or maybe it was the additional psychic scents and so much emotion that had her wishing she could locate one of those cleansing spells Marian used after Prince Yaslana slipped into the rut and spent a few days doing nothing but having sex with his wife. Afterward, you could almost taste the sex in the air.