The Queen's Bargain

by Anne Bishop

  “She’s not.”

  “No, she’s not.” Dillon felt wrung out, purged of emotions. “But suddenly there was an aristo family who expected me to court a girl properly, with chaperons and supervised meetings. And not just any family—the most powerful family in the valley.”

  “You felt protected.”

  “Yes.” Dillon relaxed a little. Someone understood—and that someone was an aristo Warlord Prince. “If I could show the ruling families here that I wasn’t a cad, I could find work, could stop moving from place to place because the aristo girls forced me out by demanding I be something I didn’t want to be.”

  “You took Jillian away from her escort,” Daemon said too softly.

  “I was using a spell to make her think I was wonderful, but it stopped working.” Admitting to using a spell would be enough to have him executed, but Dillon didn’t care anymore. “Just when I had a chance to do things properly, Jillian was going to end things between us. I saw it in her eyes. I thought if I could make her believe in me a little while longer . . .” He smiled as he gingerly touched his face. “I thought she was malleable, but she’s got a mean side to her temper.”

  “She’s Eyrien.” Daemon sighed. “Everything has a price, Warlord.”

  “Is Prince Yaslana going to execute me?” A day ago, he would have said that for drama. Today he believed it could happen.

  Daemon uncrossed his legs and rose, a beautiful man full of power and grace. He called in several sheets of paper and a pen and placed them on the small table that also held the plate of food and the carafe of water.

  “I want the names of every girl you dallied with, everyone who believed you wanted a handfast or who loaned you money because of the spell you used on them, every girl you had sex with, every girl who was a virgin before you entered her life. Every one of them, Lord Dillon. On another page, I want the names of every girl or woman who used you, who played games with you. Start with the first one. Lady Blyte. Yaslana and I are going to investigate every person on those lists, and when we’re done, we’ll decide what happens to you.”

  Dillon approached the table but stayed out of reach of the man. “Do you want the names of the other men she and her friends ruined? At least, the names of the ones I know about?”

  “Yes.”

  Dillon’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “One of those men killed himself after she was through with him, so I hope you know someone in Hell who can talk to him.”

  He couldn’t interpret the odd light in Sadi’s gold eyes or the meaning of the gently murderous smile.

  Sadi said, “As a matter of fact, Lord Dillon, I do know someone.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Marian watched the haphazard way Surreal packed up Jaenelle Saetien’s clothes and resisted taking them out of the trunks to fold them more neatly.

  “We could keep Jaenelle Saetien here for a few more days, if that would help,” she said.

  “She doesn’t have enough clothes for an extended visit,” Surreal replied dully.

  “Clothes can be washed. Another trunk can be packed and brought by Lord Holt or one of the other people working at the Hall.”

  Surreal hesitated, then shook her head. “It’s best if she and I go home now. Jillian’s love life is sorted out, not that I had much to do with that.”

  “Why do you say that? Lucivar followed your advice to let this romance run its course so that Jillian could find out for herself that Dillon wasn’t as wonderful as she’d believed.”

  “I wasn’t needed.”

  Annoyance flitted through Marian, but she remembered Surreal’s tear-filled confession and smothered the annoyance. “Are we talking about Jillian or something else?”

  “Witch has come back. Daemon saw her at the Keep.” A hesitation. “I saw her in the Misty Place. We had quite a chat.”

  Marian sucked in a breath. “How? Jaenelle’s body is gone, Surreal. If her Self has somehow managed to stay anchored to the Keep, then what he saw was just a shadow. A shadow isn’t flesh to hold at night and love.”

  “How would you feel if she came back because you had failed somehow?” Surreal threw the clothes into the trunk. “How would you feel if Jaenelle was suddenly back in Lucivar’s life?”

  “She never left him.” Marian smiled at Surreal’s stunned look. “Lucivar belonged to Witch before I met him. He’ll belong to her until his last breath and beyond. Lifetime contract, Surreal. She was the reason Lucivar and Daemon fought to survive everything that was done to them in Terreille. Loving her healed something inside them that made it possible for them to love someone else.” She took Surreal’s hands in her own. “She saved you once. Remember?”

  Surreal’s eyes filled with tears. “I remember.”

  “She saved me too. More than once. She was our friend and our sister and our Queen, and you can’t blame her for being the most important love our men will know. She’s their Queen, Surreal. No one comes before the Queen. Not even a wife.”

  “He said he needed her to stay sane,” Surreal whispered.

  Mother Night. “Then you need to decide if you can accept that she is the reason he can be with you.”

  “I—”

  Marian wondered what Surreal might have said if Lucivar hadn’t returned to the eyrie at that exact moment.

  * * *

  * * *

  Lucivar felt Surreal’s Gray power in his home and wondered why she had returned to Ebon Rih instead of staying at the Hall or going to the SaDiablo town house in Amdarh to get some rest and have time to think.

  Then she walked into the front room, looking exhausted and resigned, and he knew why she’d returned.

  “Can we talk?” she asked quietly.

  “Sure.” A swift probe of the eyrie told him the location of the yappy horde. He opened the glass doors that led out to the walled yard. “Let’s talk out here.”

  As he walked to the very end of the yard, where he’d helped Marian build a decorative pool that was fed by a stream flowing down the mountain, he directed a psychic thread to his wife. ٭Anything I should know about Surreal?٭

  ٭She says Witch has come back because she failed somehow. Is that true?٭

  ٭Daemon asked his Queen for help and she answered.٭ He ended the connection so that he could focus on the woman standing beside him.

  “I thought the Sadist was playing with me,” Surreal said. “I made a mistake.”

  “Yeah, you did. A couple of them.” Lucivar studied her. “I doubt it was the first mistake you’ve made with him, and I’m certain it won’t be the last. I know I’ve done my share of stupid things where he’s concerned, and he’s done his share with me. You live around someone long enough, it will happen. If you want to stay with him, you’ll work through it.”

  “So we’ll go home and everything will be the way it was.”

  “No, witchling. It will never be the way it was,” Lucivar said gently. “You have this between you now as part of your history together. There’s been hurt on both sides. That changes things. Maybe a little, maybe a lot. Either way, things will never be the same as they were. You break or build from here.”

  “Are you speaking from experience?”

  “Yes, I am.” Lucivar looked at the valley below and the village of Riada. He could feel the Black, knew Daemon was still at the communal eyrie or at least nearby. But he couldn’t feel Witch’s power, which was why, despite his suspicions about who gave Daemonar advice, he hadn’t known for sure that some part of her was still with them until he’d walked into the Queen’s section of the Keep.

  “Are you angry with me?”

  He smiled. “Nah.” He reached out and tucked her hair behind one delicately pointed ear. “Go home, Surreal. Get some rest. Daemon and I have a couple more things to take care of. Then I’ll kick his ass back to Dhemlan.”

  She turned to g
o, then stopped. “The Gray can’t survive against the Black.”

  “Neither can the Ebon-gray. Never could. Your head has known that for all the years you’ve known him. But now the truth of that has settled in your gut. He feels different when his power—and the Sadist—are leashed. Almost . . . civilized. He’s never civilized under the surface, any more than I am, but it’s easy to forget that. Daemon makes it easy to forget that because he yields to others in his own household, deals with them without bringing the Jewels, or anything else, into play. Saetan did the same thing for the same reason—to live in a house where he wasn’t feared.” When she didn’t say anything, he added, “When he gets home, point a crossbow at him. It will make him feel loved.”

  She laughed, as he’d hoped she would. Then she walked away.

  “Don’t forget the Scelties,” he called when she reached the glass doors.

  “Take a piss in the wind, Yaslana,” she replied.

  The Black arrived on his doorstep. Lucivar ran to catch up with Surreal so she wouldn’t face Daemon alone. They walked in from the yard just as Daemon opened the front door and entered.

  No surprise at seeing Surreal. Then again, Daemon would have known the Gray was present just as he’d known.

  “Surreal,” Daemon said.

  “Sadi.” A beat of silence. “I was packing. Jaenelle Saetien and I will head home in about an hour.”

  Lucivar watched Daemon, whose leashes were in place. Not as firmly held as they used to be, which was something everyone would have to accommodate, but Sadi was in control of every aspect of himself, including his feelings. Especially his feelings.

  “If you could postpone leaving for a day or two, we could use your help,” Daemon said.

  “I don’t need help skinning the prick-ass, but I’m willing to share,” Lucivar said.

  “Skinning the . . .” Surreal looked at the two men. “What happened?”

  “Jillian and Dillon had a disagreement,” Lucivar said. “He got a knee to the balls and a fist in the face. She has bruised knuckles.”

  “If what Dillon says is true, this is more serious than one boy,” Daemon said too softly.

  In that softness, Lucivar heard a whisper of the Sadist slipping into a cold rage. Feeling the tension in Surreal, he knew she heard it too.

  “What do we need to do?” he asked.

  “Three lists.” Daemon called in three sheets of paper. “The girls Dillon played, the girls who used him, and the other young men whose reputations were ruined, either directly or indirectly, by Lady Blyte, who was the bitch who was Dillon’s first love.” He held them out to Surreal.

  She took the papers with a steady hand, as if she didn’t feel the cold temper swirling in the room. “I get first pick?” She scanned the lists. “I’ll talk to the girls Dillon had . . . persuaded . . . to love him. Anything in particular you want to know?”

  “What harm was done—and how well the girls recovered,” Daemon replied.

  “I’ll take the other men whose reputations were ruined,” Lucivar said. He looked at Daemon and added on a spear thread, ٭You would have a better feel for bitches who like to play sex games, so you take that list.٭

  “You won’t find one of the men on that list,” Daemon said. “I was told to look for him in Hell.” When Lucivar met his eyes, he said, “I’m sorry, Lucivar.”

  He’d known this day might come. “Everything has a price.”

  Surreal didn’t ask, and for that, he was grateful. He needed to talk to Marian before anyone else.

  “We head out, talk to people, and report back here each evening,” Lucivar said. “No excuses, no exceptions.”

  Daemon raised an eyebrow.

  “We’re about to kick a lot of hornets’ nests, Bastard. Word is going to spread fast after we start, so it’s either reporting back or going in with Eyrien guards.”

  “Well, that will make everyone eager to talk to us,” Surreal said.

  They looked at her.

  “I can take care of myself.” She gave them a sharp smile. “I’m good with a knife, remember?”

  “And a crossbow,” Lucivar said. “We’re not likely to forget. That doesn’t change anything, witchling. My Territory, my rules.”

  “Your . . . ?” She stared at him, and he knew the moment she understood what was about to change and what that would mean for him and Marian and their children. Then she nodded. “Okay, sugar. Your rules.”

  “I’m going to contact Manny, see if she’s willing to stay here a while,” Lucivar said. “I’d like someone to be here with Marian while we’re checking the names on those lists, and Jillian needs some time to herself.”

  “Sadi? If you have a moment?” Surreal asked.

  Lucivar walked out of the front room.

  Surreal had hit an unexpected patch of rough air that had thrown her into a free-fall spin. Could have caused serious, permanent damage, but this task would help her through it. She just had to find the courage to fly again—and she would. Even if she didn’t realize it yet—or appreciate it yet—Witch would help her find her balance by helping Daemon maintain his own balance.

  “You’ll be all right,” he said quietly. “You’ll both be all right.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Surreal looked at the beautiful, lethal, terrifying man she’d married. If he thought she was a danger to the Realm or the rest of the family, he would kill her without hesitation. She knew that to the marrow of her bones. But she also knew that he loved her and would protect her in every way he could. After she had come away from the Offering to the Darkness wearing the Gray, there were very few men who were powerful enough to be a threat. Daemon was one of them.

  “Are you going to stay here at the eyrie?” she asked quietly.

  “No,” he replied just as quietly. “I’ll stay at the Keep. Until we see this done, it’s not going to be safe to be around me.”

  She nodded. What else could she do?

  He stepped close, leaned in as if to kiss her, then hesitated. Before he could withdraw, she leaned toward him and touched her lips to his. Silent permission.

  His kiss was warm, gentle, giving—full of affection and empty of desire.

  “Will you come back to the Hall after this is done?”

  “Of course.”

  She didn’t press him for more of an answer. He was pulling back, a Black-Jeweled predator heading out to hunt. Better for both of them if she gave him the distance he needed.

  “Tell Lucivar I’ll be in Hell for a while, but I’ll be back in time for his curfew.”

  She smiled. “If you’re not, I’ll let him borrow my crossbow.”

  Daemon laughed and walked out of the eyrie.

  * * *

  * * *

  Marian didn’t know what to expect when Lucivar led her to his study, locked the door, and then put shields around the room to assure no one would interrupt them.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  He looked troubled. Grim.

  She struggled to keep fear out of her voice. “Lucivar? What’s wrong?”

  Troubled. Grim. And not meeting her eyes, which wasn’t like him.

  “I was the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih when you agreed to marry me,” he said, his voice rough with choked-back emotions. “You knew what you were walking into, what you’d have to deal with.”

  “More or less,” she said dryly, remembering some of the adventures she’d had with Jaenelle Angelline.

  That made his lips twitch in a hint of a smile. Then even that much humor faded. “More or less. Three Blood villages and a handful of landen villages. Farms. Rustic living compared to the fancier Rihlander towns and cities in other parts of Askavi. And Queens who formed their courts knowing they were going to be living under my hand, and if anyone crossed the lines I had drawn for what I would accept in this va
lley, they wouldn’t survive.”

  “We’ve never had serious trouble here.” At least, not since Falonar’s attempt to kill you and take over Ebon Rih.

  “You’re comfortable with the Queens and their courts, with the aristos living in the valley.” Another momentary smile. “Maybe not comfortable, but you’re used to dealing with them.”

  Yes, she’d gotten used to the village women stopping by the eyrie when Lucivar wasn’t there in order to express a concern. She’d gotten used to Queens speaking to her in order to get a feel for how Lucivar might react to something that had come to the notice of their courts. They were always polite, even friendly at public events, but they didn’t have much in common with a hearth witch.

  Since he seemed to be waiting for an answer, she said, “I’ve gotten used to dealing with them. They’re good women, and good people serve in their courts.”

  “We’ve had a good life here. Haven’t we?”

  Had a good life? “Lucivar . . .”

  “I made a promise, Marian. I’m sorry for what it will do to you and the children, but I made a promise to my Queen, and I can’t break it.” The words almost sounded like a plea.

  “I would be disappointed in you if you did.”

  That he hadn’t moved since they’d walked into the study when he’d normally pace told her how difficult this was for him—whatever it was.

  “Askavi doesn’t have a Territory Queen,” he said. “Every Province has a Queen, and there are District Queens who rule under them.”

  He was right, of course. Every other Territory in Kaeleer had a Queen who ruled over the rest of the Queens. With one exception. “Is that important?”

  “It wasn’t. It is now.”

  “Why now?” She suspected the reason was locked in the communal eyrie, awaiting Lucivar’s judgment, but felt the question needed to be asked.

  “Because the District Queens aren’t doing their jobs anymore. They’re ignoring problems, and the Province Queens are letting them get away with it because they don’t have to answer to anyone. Or they haven’t had to answer to anyone for long enough to forget what it was like to face the Demon Prince when they failed to hold the lines of acceptable behavior and live by the Old Ways of the Blood.”