by Anne Bishop
Well . . . shit. If anyone else had said it, he’d think it was a figure of speech, but if Marian Yaslana asked the High Lord of Hell for a couple of Hell hounds in order to cause all sorts of problems, Daemon wouldn’t refuse to help her.
Even as the High Lord, Daemon might be obliging enough to give his brother a warning about what was coming, but Marian was special to him, so he might not do anything beyond keeping her safe while she . . . did whatever she would do with the hounds.
He really hoped this was part of her moontime moodies, and his gentle wife would return in the morning, having forgotten all about Hell’s carnivorous flora and fauna.
“Okay, Daemonar isn’t going to be obliging—and neither am I,” Lucivar said. “Did Dorian say anything about the comments that were made to Titian since that’s what started this?”
“Oh, yes. But Orian’s remarks were just teasing, were harmless. They were an observation that had been kindly meant, but Titian took the words the wrong way because she’s too sensitive and then acted hurt to get her brother to take her side.”
His hand was in her hair and closing into a fist to hold her in place. Marian let out a startled gasp.
“Listen to me, Marian. Are you listening?”
“Y-yes.”
“I know you don’t feel friendly toward Dorian, but up until this clash between Orian and Titian, you’ve gotten along with her well enough. Or is there something you haven’t told me because you didn’t want Endar’s family to be tossed back to Terreille—or end up in Hell?”
He felt her heart beating a fast rhythm as she realized he was worried.
“There’s nothing,” she said. “This all bubbled up because of things said by the children.”
“Then we’ll handle it. But I want your word that you will never tell Daemon what Dorian said about Orian just teasing and Titian being too sensitive.”
“You have my word, but . . . why?”
Lucivar tried to relax his fist and release her, but he couldn’t. “Right now Daemon has a better idea than we do of how deeply those words hurt our girl. And the fact that those words were said by a young Queen? Bitches who inflicted wounds, whether they used knives or whips or words, were the kind of females the Sadist hunted. Especially if they were Queens. If it comes down to that, I would rather have Orian meet my war blade for a clean death than have her destroyed by the Sadist.”
“Mother Night, Lucivar.” Marian searched his eyes. “You’re serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious. And you might want to avoid mentioning Hell hounds being set loose in Riada, even as a jest.”
He’d unnerved her. Might as well shake her the rest of the way. “Your firstborn caught the scent of moon’s blood this evening.”
She tried to pull away from him. He managed to open his hand and release her.
“No.” She shook her head. “No.”
“Yeah. Seemed better to tell you instead of letting you stumble into that change of attitude in the morning.”
“But . . . he’ll start fussing.”
“Yes, he will.” Lucivar gave her that lazy, arrogant smile. “And because you snapped at me at dinner and scared him, you’ll have to let him fuss in order to reassure him that you’re all right otherwise.” Not giving her time to chew on that, he said, “Do you know of any reason why I couldn’t use a clean handkerchief just because it has a stain?”
She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Hell’s fire, Lucivar. You’re the Warlord Prince of Askavi. You can’t be pulling out a stained handkerchief in front of the Province Queens!”
Had to be a female thing. But just in case it wasn’t, he was not going to put the question to Daemon. “Okay. I just wondered.” He gave her a light kiss and extinguished the candle-light. “Go to sleep, Marian.”
“Is there something I should know about a stained handkerchief?”
He closed his eyes. “Not a thing. Go to sleep.”
“What kind of stain?”
“A no-kind of stain.”
“Are you sure?”
“Woman, will you let me sleep?” Exasperated, he created a ball of witchlight and floated it above the bed in order to glare at her—and caught her smiling at him.
FIVE
The next morning, Lucivar left his eyrie while the children were having breakfast. Lord Endar’s household wouldn’t be up and about earlier than his, but he had a quick stop to make before he confronted Dorian and her daughter.
He flew down to Riada and knocked on the door of the Queen’s residence at an hour of the day that should have had her court bristling at the interruption in their Lady’s private time.
She’d been expecting him, had even anticipated what he’d come to ask—or officially request, since she ruled Riada but was under his hand. He listened to her proposal and agreed with how she wanted to approach a problem that involved Eyriens but would have a serious impact on the Rihland people for generations if the problem wasn’t corrected now. Then he flew to Endar’s eyrie to deliver the terms by which a young Queen would be allowed to continue residing in Askavi.
Endar and Dorian’s son, Alanar, answered the door. Lucivar figured the only reason the boy still held half a pastry in one hand was that he already had so much food crammed in his mouth, he couldn’t fit another crumb in and still breathe.
“Prz,” Alanar said, adding a quick bow to help with the meaning of the sound.
“Chew,” Lucivar said. “Swallow. Then you can fly. If you hit a pocket of air with your mouth stuffed like that, you’ll choke.” Or spew it out, creating a very unpleasant sort of rain for the people below him.
The boy eased past him and went outside.
Shaking his head and wondering how often his own boys stuffed themselves that way when he wasn’t home and they weren’t under Marian’s watchful eyes, Lucivar closed the door and stepped farther into the eyrie’s front room. Unlike the front room in his home, which was uncluttered because he used it as a workout space in bad weather, this one held benches and tables—an arrangement that suggested a waiting area for people requesting an audience.
There were privileges to being a Queen, just as there were privileges attached to being a Warlord Prince. But those privileges came with a price, and if the price wasn’t paid . . .
Endar hurried toward him. “Prince? Did we have a meeting?”
“No, we didn’t. I’m here to speak to Ladies Dorian and Orian. You should stay and hear this so that you know the lines that are being drawn.”
Endar’s brown skin took on a gray hue. “Lines?”
Having come from Askavi Terreille, Endar would have heard the stories about how—and why—Lucivar had earned the reputation of being volatile and savage. And Endar had seen what happened here in Ebon Rih when Lucivar had stood alone on a killing field against the followers of another Warlord Prince. That the Demon Prince was in his home so early in the morning talking about drawing lines would be enough to frighten any sane man.
“Your wife and daughter, Lord Endar.”
“They’re still—”
“Now.”
He knew Endar had sent the message on a psychic thread. He knew the man had conveyed the urgency of the command. But it seemed Orian—or her mother—decided to keep him waiting as a way to test the status of a Queen against the power and temper of the Warlord Prince who ruled the land where they lived.
Endar was sweating by the time woman and girl made their appearance. Lucivar just waited.
“Prince Yaslana,” Dorian said, “how unexpected.”
Meaning, How rude of you to show up so early.
Lucivar waited.
“But it’s a delightful surprise,” Orian added.
The disrespectful undertone in her voice scraped at his temper and made it hard for him to remember that she and Daemonar were the same age, which meant the girl was riding
the rough air and long years of adolescent emotions. But that disrespectful undertone being directed toward an Ebon-gray Warlord Prince also made it easy for him to remember what it had been like when the Queens in Terreille had thought they could get away with anything just because they were Queens.
Lucivar waited, assessing the females as members of the Eyrien community—and as adversaries. He kept his temper leashed, but when he finally spoke, his voice was sharp enough to sting—a tone every Eyrien warrior who worked for him recognized as a warning that, if challenged, his temper wouldn’t stay leashed, and his response would be brutal and bloody. “When I say now, I don’t mean after you’re done primping—or until you’ve delayed long enough to test me.”
The look in Dorian’s eyes confirmed that that was exactly what she’d been trying to do—test how far he would yield because her daughter was a Queen. The look of anticipation in Orian’s eyes made him wonder if the girl had been tainted to the point that she was already beyond saving. But he remembered the bright-eyed toddler she had been, and he wasn’t willing to give up on her, although he didn’t think she would thank him for the restrictions he was about to place on her life—or the indelicate ways he was prepared to assure her obedience.
If the only way to shake her out of whatever belief was taking root was to scare the shit out of her now, so be it. “When I say now, I mean now, and you will do well to remember that in the future. I am the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih. I am the Demon Prince of Askavi. For the sake of every other person living in Askavi, and especially here in Ebon Rih, whether they are landen or Blood, I will not allow you to test me again.”
“If this is about Titian being . . . ,” Orian began.
“It’s not about Titian. Not anymore. The wounds you inflicted will heal or scar as they will, and there is nothing you can do about that.” He stared at her until she squirmed. “This is about you, Orian, and what kind of Queen you will be. This is about whether or not you will survive. If you follow the path you seem to be on right now, of thinking that a Queen can do and be anything she pleases, then you won’t be looking at forming a court when you come of age. At best, you’ll be looking at exile or, more likely, execution. If you are what your behavior of the past few days suggests you are, then I will be meeting you on a killing field—and I will destroy you in order to protect everyone else.”
“Prince, please,” Endar begged.
He heard fear in the father’s voice. He saw shock in the mother’s eyes—and in the daughter’s.
“You will report to the Queen of Riada every afternoon from now on,” Lucivar said. “You will be given lessons in Protocol since your behavior this morning tells me that you have not received that necessary part of your education—or have been told, for some reason, that those rules don’t apply to Queens.” He ignored Dorian’s outraged gasp at the insult, which confirmed the truth of his words. “You will also receive the training necessary to understand your responsibilities and duties as a Queen. You will accompany Riada’s Queen whenever she desires your presence in order to observe how a court works—even if that means canceling your own plans. The only days you will be excused from the training are the first three days of your moontime. If you lie even once because you’re feeling pissy or defiant, and claim your moon’s blood started when it hasn’t, I will haul you down to Riada to face whatever discipline the Lady’s court demands—and I will be here every time after that to make sure you’re being honest.”
“That’s insulting,” Dorian snapped. “You would humiliate a Queen?”
“I’m informing her—and you—of the consequences of a lie. If she’s humiliated, it’s because she made a bad choice and has to pay the price.”
“You’re calling my wife’s and my daughter’s honor into question,” Endar said, sounding as if he’d received a gut wound.
“Yes. I am.” Lucivar regretted hurting the man, but he’d come here to keep what was said private in order to spare Endar and his family from being isolated from the other Eyriens—because no one wanted to be on the wrong side of a line drawn by the Demon Prince.
“What about your son?” Dorian said. “What about what he said to a Queen?”
“He said nothing to a Queen. He insulted Orian in the same way she had insulted Titian, matching hurt for hurt. But he, too, is going to receive additional training because of this incident.” He focused on Orian. “You’re dismissed.”
“But . . . ,” the girl protested.
“You’re dismissed.”
“Orian, do as you’re told,” Endar said.
Lucivar waited until Orian left the front room. Then he put an aural shield around the room because he suspected the girl would try to listen to them. When that was done, he turned to Dorian. “I haven’t had a quarrel with you until now. I would prefer not to have one because you don’t want to enter into a fight with me. You really don’t. Whatever ambition you’re planting on the back of your daughter being a Queen, tear it out by the roots, Dorian. Tear it out now, for her sake. Or have you forgotten what it was like to live in Terreille?”
“I’ve forgotten nothing,” Dorian snapped. Then her eyes filled with tears. “What’s wrong with wanting better for your children? What’s wrong with wanting Orian to be someone people will respect and deem important?”
“She’s a Queen,” Lucivar replied. “She’s already important. Whether she’ll be respected will depend on whether or not she’s a good Queen. I won’t let a bitch hold so much as one man or an acre of land. Not in Askavi.” He looked at Endar. “Orian is expected in Riada after the midday meal. You should make sure she gets there.”
“If that is all, Prince?” Dorian spat out the words.
He released the aural shield and waited until the woman left the room before turning toward the door.
Endar looked miserable. “Could I have done something?”
Lucivar started to shrug off the question, then paused to consider. “Orian is centuries away from forming a court. Why this sudden need for the girl to be important? What’s scraping your wife’s heart, Endar?”
“I don’t know.” Endar sighed. “I think she’s disappointed in me, in my being a teacher. Eyriens always considered it demeaning work unless a man was so physically damaged in battle that he could no longer fight.”
“That was in Terreille. This is Ebon Rih in Kaeleer.” He studied the man who’d had to work hard to improve his own education in order to teach the Eyrien children. “Has anyone said that to you? Implied that your work wasn’t valued in the Eyrien community?” Anyone besides your wife?
“No, but it’s hard to shake off generations of beliefs. What was a relief to Dorian when our children were younger now seems a source of embarrassment to her. Maybe that’s why she’s become obsessed with what Orian will be able to do once she’s old enough to establish her court—and is always talking about how the girl should be setting up an unofficial court now.”
“Unless Orian is befriending the Eyrien youngsters who live around Doun, her unofficial court would be made up of Rihlanders, and that court will change every few years as those girls grow up and look toward serving in official courts or following other adult pursuits.”
Endar hesitated. “I think Dorian expects Daemonar to join Orian’s court when she forms one and feels he should be eager to escort his Queen around the village now.”
Oh, his boy would be thrilled if he could escort his Queen around the village. But Witch wasn’t going to stroll around Riada, and whether he spent some time serving in another court or not, Daemonar would never consider any other Queen to be his Queen and have his absolute loyalty. Knowing that, Lucivar considered his words carefully. “They’re growing up and taking separate roads. Orian shouldn’t think of Daemonar as anything more than a childhood friend she used to play with. If she, or Dorian, thinks he’ll be more, she’s setting herself up for disappointment.” Or worse.
Endar made a sad sound. “I figured Orian put an arrow through the heart of that friendship the moment I heard what she’d said to Titian. Daemonar wouldn’t remain friends with someone who did that. Not even a girl who was a Queen.”
“Keep trying to find out what’s wrong with Dorian. If she keeps pushing, she and Orian are both heading into rough winds and jagged canyons. And if you need help, ask me.”
As he flew to the communal eyrie to do a bit of sparring and review the day’s tasks with Rothvar, Lucivar wondered about the reason for this change in Dorian’s behavior.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Since he maintained a psychic web that kept him quietly aware of everyone within the boundaries of the SaDiablo estate, Daemon felt Jaenelle Saetien’s continued agitation long before she reached his study, and resigned himself to an unpleasant afternoon.
His own fault for allowing his daughter’s emotions to adjust the day’s plans—not only his plans but also those of the Province Queen whom he’d intended to see that afternoon. Now he would have to see the woman before she headed out for her own evening commitments.
Lucivar wouldn’t have let a child’s emotions get in the way of scheduled lessons. Lucivar would have let the child sulk or grumble or wheedle or cry or shout and be angry. What he wouldn’t have done was let the child reschedule the lessons because she had to do something terribly important but wouldn’t tell him what it was. He would have sat there, waiting for the storm to pass, and then turned the hourglass that indicated the length of the lesson. And if another lesson followed that? So be it, and whatever plans the child had made with friends were either postponed or forfeit. End of discussion.
It was lowering to admit it, but Jaenelle Saetien seemed to thrive better in the Yaslana household than she did with him at the Hall. Then again, she was only there for a week when she went to visit. The Darkness only knew how much she would clash with Lucivar if she stayed longer. Since he and Lucivar set up rules for the children that applied to both households, maybe it was the way they upheld the rules that made a difference?
