by Anne Bishop
“Is there something else I can help you find?” Geoffrey asked, approaching the large blackwood table.
“Not at this time, thank you,” Daemon replied. When the historian/librarian didn’t leave, Daemon raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
“You’re asking about two Rihlander families who live in Askavi, which isn’t your Territory.”
A subtle reminder that rulers were not supposed to interfere in the Territory of others.
“This isn’t about Territory, Geoffrey,” Daemon said quietly. “This is about family.”
Geoffrey gave him a long look and then smiled. “I understand.”
Daemon closed the second register and set it on the table. “Let me know when Lucivar arrives. I’ll be in the Consort’s suite taking care of some paperwork.”
“Would you like anything to eat?”
A laugh caught in his throat. “No, thank you. I’ve already had an interesting breakfast.”
* * *
* * *
He’d been working steadily for an hour—and wondering if Holt could have stuffed one more piece of paper into the bulging satchel his secretary had handed him before he’d left the Hall that morning—when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder.
Not substance that he could touch, but he felt her warmth.
Daemon capped the pen and set it aside but kept his eyes focused on the desk. “Surreal and I made mistakes and hurt each other. Not out of malice, but that doesn’t lessen the hurt. I won’t hold her to the marriage if she wants to leave.”
“Yes,” Witch said. “Staying has to be her choice.” She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I never intended to be this much of a presence in your life again. This arrangement won’t be easy for her, Prince.”
Or for you. “Maybe not, but you must have known this might happen. Dreams made flesh don’t become demon-dead, but you found a way to stay. For me.”
“Yes. For you. For as long as you need me.”
“You’ll be here?” Not a body he could touch, but being with her even this much settled something deep inside him and gave him peace. “I’ll be able to talk to you?”
She didn’t answer right away. “Mend as much as you can of your marriage, and take care of Surreal as best you can, whether she stays with you or not. Stay connected to the living. In return, when you reside in this suite, I will be with you to talk—and to help you drain enough of the reservoir of power in your Black Jewel to keep you, and everyone else, safe.”
“That’s our bargain?” Daemon asked.
“That’s our bargain.”
“Then I gratefully accept your terms, Lady.”
Her hand slipped off his shoulder. He searched for something to say that would keep her with him a little while longer.
“Did you know weebles will hide in a stack of pancakes?” he asked.
Silence—but he wasn’t alone.
“Oh, dear,” Witch said. “You had breakfast with Perzha?”
“I did. It was educational.”
“Did the weeble try to take your fork?”
Daemon twisted in the chair. Witch stood just out of reach. “Did it what?”
“Well, wouldn’t you make a grab for it if someone poked you with a fork? Besides, a fork is a ready-made weapon. Very useful for discouraging lobsters and crabs, which have claws.”
A fork-wielding weeble was absurd. Wasn’t it?
“So towns along Askavi’s coast might suddenly have—what would we call them?—pods of weebles entering houses by masquerading as appetizers in order to steal the cutlery?”
“Not all the cutlery. Just the forks.” She gave him a bright smile.
Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. He remembered that smile. He also remembered a couple of . . . memorable . . . dinners when Perzha and Jaenelle had still been among the living.
He imagined Lucivar being called to deal with tentacled thieves—and felt laughter bubbling up. “You and Perzha already did it, didn’t you?”
“That was a long time ago. No one would remember that.”
“Lucivar?”
“Ah. Well. Lucivar.” Witch shrugged. “They were shadow weebles, and it was a very dull party, and Perzha and I did return all the forks. Most of the forks. Turns out a couple of live weebles ended up with the shadows, and they learned a trick or two that night. Did Perzha mention they’re smart little critters?”
“Yes, she did,” he replied dryly.
She looked at him and her smile warmed—and he realized another part of himself that he hadn’t known was hurt had begun to heal.
“Hold on to the living, Daemon. They need you.”
“Your will, Lady.”
She disappeared, but her psychic scent lingered in the room like a promise.
THIRTY-THREE
Are we going to the library again? I like the library. There are lots of smells. But no books for Scelties. Why aren’t there books for Scelties?٭
Jillian looked at Khary, who hadn’t left her side except when she’d closed the bathroom door in his face. His barks and howls of protest had brought Rothvar running and almost had the Eyrien Warlord breaking down the bathroom door just when it would have been most inconvenient for her to get off the toilet. It had taken Nurian’s and Marian’s insistence that women viewed bathroom time as private time to get Khary to agree that, even if he was her escort for the time being, he didn’t need to know everything she was doing when she was in her own home—or in the Yaslana eyrie.
And it had taken Rothvar pointing out that Khary wore an Opal Jewel and could have used Craft to pass right through the door to reach her for her to realize that the howls of protest had been an effort to show some restraint.
Scelties. Stubbornly certain about some things and curious about everything. And this one liked her, wanted to know her—and didn’t confuse her by making her feel desirable one minute and inadequate the next.
“Scelties have books?”
٭Yes. There is Sceltie Saves the Day and Unicorn to the Rescue and Dragon’s Dangerous Deed. Daemon is teaching me and Morghann to read and how to do the counting things. Like us. One plus one equals two.٭
“Prince Sadi reads to you?”
٭Yes. Daemon is our teacher. Jaenelle Saetien was teaching Morghann, but Jaenelle Saetien told Morghann to do a wrong thing, so Daemon’s pup is still our playmate but not our teacher.٭
So many things had happened in the few days since Prince Yaslana had found her kissing Dillon, and her feelings had been so confused, she hadn’t appreciated that, unlike the kindred wolves who lived on Yaslana’s mountain, Khary was chatty and wanted to interact with humans. Was someone she could talk to about things she didn’t want to share with anyone else.
“I don’t think the library here has those books, but we could look for another story that you might like. An adventure story.” There were plenty of children’s books at Yaslana’s eyrie. Being male, Khary might not like the stories that appealed to Titian, but what about the stories that Daemonar had liked when he was little? She could borrow a couple and read them to Khary, same as she’d read them to Daemonar.
Khary growled at the same moment Dillon stepped in front of her and said, “Is that smile for me?”
Startled, Jillian almost dropped the book she was returning. She should have been delighted to see him. She was delighted to see him. So why was there this sudden weight in her chest? “Dillon.”
“May I join you? We’re in public.” Dillon gave Khary a sour look. “And you have your chaperon.”
Both true. “Of course.”
He fell into step with her as they continued toward the library. “You finished it already?” He waved a hand to indicate the book.
“I stopped after a couple of chapters. It didn’t appeal to me.”
“What? How could a recounting of such
a significant event not appeal to you? Especially when it’s based on firsthand accounts?”
“What the author’s ancestor wrote about the service fair may have been true for the aristos who had come to Kaeleer, but it wasn’t true for everyone. It was dusty and dirty and there wasn’t always enough water. And everyone was so scared of being sent back to Terreille.”
“That might have been true for the dregs coming in, but not for the people who were an asset to the Blood in Kaeleer.”
Jillian jerked to a stop and stared at Dillon.
٭Jillian?٭ Khary sounded confused.
“My sister and I are not the dregs of anything, Lord Dillon,” she said in a low voice that edged toward a growl. “We were desperate, yes, but we weren’t drudges or dregs.”
“I never said you were.”
“You just did. Nurian and I came to Kaeleer during the last service fair. Prince Yaslana showed up on the last day and offered Nurian a contract. I was there, Dillon. I wasn’t much older than Titian is now, but I remember what it looked like and felt like. It wasn’t about a better opportunity; getting a contract that would allow us to stay here was about survival.” She shook the book in his face. “So don’t you dare dismiss what I think about this account of what you call history just because I don’t agree with you.”
Dillon looked stunned. “You were there? How old are you?”
Too old, Jillian thought. And not old enough. “Eyriens are one of the long-lived races.”
“Yes, of course, but . . .”
She’d been so flattered by Dillon’s attention that she hadn’t seen the truth, hadn’t fully appreciated what Prince Sadi had tried to tell her. She’d been caught up in her first romance, but Dillon was looking for an adult relationship.
٭Jillian? You are sad? Why are you sad?٭
Was this another lesson, that the male who expressed concern for her feelings was the Sceltie and not the man who had said he loved her?
Had Dillon ever said he loved her?
“There’s a coffee shop right over there,” she said. “Why don’t we get a cup of coffee and talk?”
Anger and something else she felt she should recognize filled Dillon’s eyes for a moment before he donned a social mask.
“Yes, let’s talk,” he agreed.
When they reached the coffee shop, Jillian folded her wings and crouched so that she and Khary were closer to the same height. ٭Can you tell time?٭ she asked on a psychic thread.
A hesitation. ٭Daemon is teaching us, but clocks are hard.٭
Jillian called in a ten-minute hourglass timer and used Craft to float it at eye level for Khary. ٭When all the sand runs into the bottom part, ten minutes has passed. You turn it over and let it run again. Ten plus ten equals twenty minutes. I need to talk to Dillon alone. Twenty minutes, Khary. Then you and I will go to the library.٭ And then I’ll go home and feel sad about the first boy I loved.
٭I am your escort! I am supposed to stay with you.٭
٭We’ll be in the coffee shop, a public place, in view of other people. Please, Khary.٭
He wasn’t happy, but he said, ٭I will wait.٭
When the last grain of sand fell a second time, he’d either be in the coffee shop with her or raise such a fuss he’d have every Warlord in Riada running to the shop, ready for battle. Yesterday that would have annoyed her. Today it gave her comfort.
Not many customers at this time of day, which was good. She didn’t want to be overheard. She was headed for a table farthest from the door when Dillon grabbed her arm in a grip that hurt and pulled her through the shop and out the back door.
“I know another place to talk,” he said.
“No. Let me go.”
The look he gave her was close to hatred—or desperation. “I don’t think so.”
Before she could pull away, he launched them on the Opal Wind and she clung to him. The Webs of power the Blood used for travel stretched through the Darkness. If he shoved her off the Web, she might not find another one, might fall through the Darkness and keep falling until her body died or her mind broke.
٭Khary! Khary, help!٭ The Sceltie wouldn’t be able to hear her while she was riding the Winds, but maybe, because he was kindred, some whisper would reach him.
* * *
* * *
He finally had a chance to turn his life around, and she was going to ruin it.
Terrence had tried to tell him that Jillian looking old enough for a handfast didn’t mean she was old enough to have a lover in the fullest sense. But how could she be too young and still so old she’d been at that last service fair?
She intended to end this romance. He’d seen that truth in her eyes. It was too late for him to focus his attention on another girl in the village, so he had to make this work, at least for a little while longer. Once he showed Yaslana that he wasn’t a cad or disposable entertainment, he could admit that Jillian was a pleasant girl, which she was, but he now understood the significant difference in their ages and felt that stepping back was the honorable thing to do.
But he needed Jillian to remain enamored with him a little while longer.
* * *
* * *
٭Yas! Yas!٭
About to launch himself skyward to meet Daemon at the Keep, Lucivar hesitated when Khary called him on a psychic thread. The Sceltie sounded upset and angry, never a good sign. ٭Where are you?٭
٭Coffee shop.٭
٭Wait there.٭
There was more than one coffee shop in Riada, but only one Sceltie currently down in the village. The kindred’s psychic scents felt different from humans’. He wouldn’t have any trouble finding Khary.
He forced himself to take a moment to consider. Then he called on a spear thread, ٭Rothvar! Meet me in the village. There’s trouble.٭ Breaking the link before his second-in-command could reply, he spread his wings and flew down to Riada with reckless speed.
He didn’t have to look hard to find the right place. The large ball of witchlight floating in the street near a shop was one clue. The number of Warlords converging on the shop was another.
The other men cleared a path for him as he backwinged to land near the shop.
“Lord Khary, report,” he said, choking back temper and worry to avoid scaring a young male who was, essentially, an escort still learning his duties.
٭Jillian wanted to talk to Dillon alone,٭ Khary said. ٭She told me to wait. She told me how long. But she’s gone, Yas. I can’t find her!٭
Rothvar strode up at that moment. “Prince?”
“Jillian is missing.” Lucivar ignored the murmurs of the men surrounding him and Rothvar. If that prick-ass Dillon had convinced her to ride the Winds with him, they could be anywhere. It was also possible they were just far enough away to elude a Sceltie who wasn’t familiar with the village.
He looked at all the men who were ready to stand with him and said, “Check the alleyways between the shops in case Lord Dillon didn’t believe I’d break his bones because of a tryst. Lord Rothvar and I will fly over the village and see if we can spot them.”
As the Rihlander men scattered to search, Rothvar stepped closer and said in a low voice, “Should I call the other Eyrien Warlords?”
“Not yet. Let’s see if we can find her. It’s only been a few minutes since Khary sounded the alarm.”
“A lot can happen to a girl in a few minutes.”
He knew that too well. “I’ll check the outskirts around the northern end of the village; you check south.”
Rothvar flew off. Before Lucivar could head skyward, Khary said, ٭Yas?٭
He looked at the unhappy Sceltie. “It wasn’t your fault, little Brother. Any escort would have given her time in a public place like this.” Not quite true. An experienced escort, human or otherwise, would have come into the shop and sat at another table to avoid hearin
g a civil conversation. “You stay here in case Jillian comes back.”
Khary took up a position beside the door. ٭I will wait.٭
Khary would wait. Lucivar didn’t. Every minute he delayed increased the chance of his girl getting hurt.
* * *
* * *
They dropped from the Winds and landed near the old cabin on the outskirts of the village. They could have walked here faster than the time they had spent on the Winds. Did Dillon think she wouldn’t recognize this place? Everyone who lived in Riada knew about this place.
The moment her feet touched the ground, Jillian tried to pull away from Dillon. He grabbed her hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, but it didn’t fill her with giddy warmth the way it used to.
“Hell’s fire, Dillon! Are you trying to get killed?”
“I just want to talk.” He gave her an odd smile. “We could go inside for a while. Nobody lives here.”
“We can’t go in there,” she protested. “That cabin belonged to the Queen of Ebon Askavi. The only people who go inside are Lady Marian and Prince Sadi.”
“Just on the porch, then.” He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles again. “If you loved me, you would want to spend time with me.”
She yanked her hand free. “Why do you keep saying that? And why is it always about me doing something to show that I love you and never you doing, or not doing, something because you love me?”
“How can I love you?” he snapped. “You’re too young, but you led me on, let me believe you were old enough for a handfast, for the things I need.”
“I never led you on,” she snapped back. “I liked you, and it was flattering to have your attention because you were more sophisticated than the other boys in the village. But you were a visitor, Dillon. I had no reason to think this was more than a summer romance, and Prince Yaslana wouldn’t have given his consent for anything more.”
“Why should he care about the hired help?” Dillon sneered. “No matter what you let people believe, he’s not your father.”