The Queen's Weapons

by Anne Bishop

  With luck, that woman . . . No, the other girls would follow her lead there, so better to think of Father’s wife as Lady Surreal than slip up and call her something that might spark Father’s anger.

  When the horse-drawn cab pulled up in front of the town house, a footman was waiting at the curb to assist her from the cab. She paid the driver—and gave the man a generous tip, knowing her father would hear about the amount and that might influence his decision for the party in her favor, especially since she’d used her own money for the cab fare as well as the tip.

  Her father was in his study, as usual, reading reports and making notes on correspondence of things Lord Holt or Lord Marcus would need to deal with. As she entered the room, he capped his pen and came around the desk to greet her.

  He’d never done anything to make her uneasy, not in that way. In fact, the sexual heat all the girls couldn’t stop talking about didn’t seem to affect her most of the time. Zoey had speculated that being directly related to Prince Sadi, his daughter might somehow be protected from the heat. Even if she noticed it to some degree, it wouldn’t create the same response as it did in other women.

  No, he’d never done anything, but girls her age did not hug and kiss their fathers. She wasn’t sure why, but everyone knew they didn’t. So when her father approached her, she braced for the hug she didn’t want—and resented that he didn’t even try. He just kissed her cheek in the same way he kissed Titian or Aunt Marian or any other female he considered family.

  “Do you want anything to eat?” he asked. “Or a cup of hot chocolate?”

  That was tempting, but then they would sit in the social area of the study, and she’d prefer having the desk between them.

  “No, that’s all right.” Ignoring his light attempt to guide her, she headed for one of the chairs in front of his desk—and heard him sigh.

  He resumed his seat behind the desk. “What’s on your mind, witch-child?”

  “How is Tersa?”

  His surprise that she would think to ask stung a little. Stung a lot.

  “She’s recovering,” he replied. “We have some help looking after her, including a journeymaid Black Widow.”

  “That’s good.”

  “We’ll adjust.”

  An odd thing to say, but since it sounded like Tersa would be all right, she leaped into her own agenda. “It’s about Zoey and Titian and some of the other girls at school.” She’d decided on the way here that Delora was right and being vague about who else was coming to the party would be best.

  The room chilled. “Is someone causing trouble for them?” he asked too softly.

  “No! Not at all. But there are some girls who would like to get to know them better but feel awkward about doing that at the school.” She waited a moment. Thank the Darkness, he didn’t ask why the girls would feel awkward. “So I thought we could have a house party at the Hall. Everyone could stay overnight, so we could go riding or maybe skate on the pond if the ice is thick enough.”

  He gave her a dry smile. “I can make sure the ice is thick enough.”

  Of course he could. Using Craft, he could freeze the water to make ice as thick as a man’s leg was long—and smooth out the surface for good measure.

  She smiled at him. “And maybe we could put on that play again—the one Titian and Zoey found in the trunks in the attic here.”

  “There are probably more plays like that stored at the Hall, along with props,” he said, his mouth curving in a warm smile. “The coven used to create what they called fragmented plays. They’d choose a type of story—romance, mystery, something else—and each of them would select a piece from that genre. Then they selected a handful of characters from those stories and lifted the dialogue without changing anything, added a narrator to fill in bits, and then reassembled the whole thing as a play.

  “My father was always the narrator because he was the only one who managed to keep a straight face and read his part as if it made sense. Lucivar was always assigned a special guest role. He had one line, which was what he said in response to every interaction with the other characters. Everyone else who was at the Hall to celebrate Winsol had to pick from a hat to see if they were playing a part. We had an afternoon to read through the play and select whatever props or costumes we wanted for our character.”

  “That would be a fun activity if it turned out to be too cold or snowy to do things outside,” Jaenelle Saetien said. A part of her burned with resentment. She’d liked doing that play at the Winsol party, but she didn’t like knowing the Queen had done it first.

  Another comparison. Another thing that wasn’t really her own.

  She ignored the fact that there wouldn’t be any of those plays if the Queen and her coven hadn’t done them first.

  “All right,” he said, taking a fresh piece of paper from the stack on his desk. “You can have an overnight house party at the Hall for a maximum of twenty girls.”

  “Well, there are some . . .”

  “Girls, witch-child,” he said as he uncapped a pen. “If you want to invite some of the young men from the school, you can have an afternoon gathering here at the town house. If you want an overnight house party at the Hall, the invitation is only for girls.”

  She’d expected that, so she nodded. Delora would be disappointed that he’d limited it to twenty girls, but they could accommodate Delora’s and Zoey’s closest friends in that number. “Twenty girls at the Hall.” She nodded, then smiled brightly. “The guest rooms near my room—”

  “No, they will not be in the family wing. We’ll use the square of guest rooms nearest the sitting rooms at the front of the Hall. Easier for everyone that way.” His smile was warm, but there was a slight chill in his gold eyes. “The names of your guests and where their families are located?”

  She felt a shiver of alarm. “Why do you need to know that? It’s just a party for some girls at the school.”

  “I need to inform each girl’s parents or legal guardian that she will be attending a house party and staying here overnight. Therefore, I need the information.”

  Or the house party doesn’t happen. That was what he didn’t say but meant.

  Guests were housed by degree of trust. The most trusted were given rooms in the family wing, which also meant having access to more of the Hall as people navigated the corridors to public rooms like the dining room or the sitting rooms or one of the libraries. Guests who were an unknown were usually housed nearest the public rooms, and wandering around was discouraged by the number of footmen stationed in the corridors to “help” guests find their way around—and to report guests who were where they had no business being.

  She didn’t know where Delora’s family resided, but she was certain the idea of the house party would end the moment she said the other girl’s name. Just like Delora had said it would.

  “Zoey and Titian, of course.” She wanted to be snippy and ask if he needed to know where their families resided, but snippy would crush the house party and it would be months, if ever, before she could bring up the request again.

  She told him the names of the girls who had been at Titian’s Winsol party and were among Zoey’s group of friends but admitted she didn’t know them well enough to give him the location of their families.

  “That’s all right,” he said as he wrote the names in that beautiful script that was ornate and yet perfectly readable. “I believe I have that information for most of the girls, and the school can oblige me by providing the information I don’t have.” He looked up. “Anyone else?”

  It would be harder to sneak Delora and Hespera in if no one from her group was on the list. “Leena and Tacita. They usually spend time with another group of girls, but I’m certain they would like to get to know Titian and Zoey better. My apologies, Father, but I don’t know their home villages.”

  “Anyone else?” he asked.

&nbs
p; She wondered if a mouse felt like this when the cat’s claws were on its back. Just tell him! If he gets upset about the guests, Delora can find another time and place to talk to Zoey. “No, no one else.”

  “All right,” he said after a moment. “When would you like to do this?”

  “At the end of the week?”

  Silence. Then a whispered, “That soon?”

  She wasn’t sure he was talking about the house party.

  He sighed. “Very well, witch-child. Lady Zhara is coming for dinner tonight. Would you like to join us?”

  “Thank you, but I should get back to the school. There’s a lot to do before the party, and I didn’t want to say anything to the other girls until I had your permission.” She sprang out of her chair, came around the desk, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thank you, Father.”

  “You’re welcome. Don’t worry about the arrangements. I’ll take care of that part.”

  She hurried out of the study, then had to wait for Helton to send a footman for a driver and one of the small Craft-powered coaches her father often used in the city.

  Delora wasn’t going to be happy about Father knowing Leena and Tacita would be at the party, but they would have to work around that in order for the two groups to come together on neutral ground.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Daemon stared at the list of names. He’d given Jaenelle Saetien every opportunity to ask if she could invite Delora and that coven to the house party. She’d been so pissy when she hadn’t been allowed to invite the bitches to Titian’s party, but when she was making up the guest list, she hadn’t even asked.

  Half-truths and lies of omission.

  Well, he could play the game of half-truths and lies of omission too. He knew how to contact the families of most of the girls because Titian and Zoey had supplied the information when Titian had hosted her Winsol party. The rest of them? He would ask Lady Fharra to supply the contact information for the other girls Jaenelle Saetien had named since that would be expected. As for the girls he anticipated his daughter would include as last-minute guests? Well, he couldn’t contact their parents, could he?

  At the bottom of the list, he wrote the names Delora, Hespera, Amara, Borsala.

  Besides, he didn’t need to ask anyone about their contact information. He already knew where to find their families.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  “Only twenty?” Delora let her stare convey her sharp disappointment in Jaenelle Saetien, let it say without words that the girl had failed to meet the standards of a true aristo witch. “But the Hall is so big! Surely it can accommodate more than twenty guests?”

  “That’s enough invitations for your core of friends and Zoey’s to spend time together,” Jaenelle Saetien said defensively. “My father set the limit. If I had pressed for more girls to stay overnight, he would have said no to all of it.”

  Well, they would have to work with that. As long as Insipid Zoey was there, the boys would have some fun.

  “I had to tell my father that Leena and Tacita were invited.”

  “What? Why did you do that?”

  “I had to give him the names of the girls I was inviting so that he could contact their families.”

  Hell’s fire! No, that might be better. No one could deny where the “accidents” took place if Prince Sadi informed everyone’s parents that the girls would be at his home.

  She would just have to make sure he and his whore wife were summoned away from SaDiablo Hall while the party was going on. Hespera might have ideas about how to achieve that, and hadn’t Krellis mentioned something about a school hidden away on a SaDiablo estate?

  Delora pitched her voice to sound uncertain. “Did you tell your father about me or Hespera? Did you tell him we’d like to come to make amends to Zoey and Titian?”

  Jaenelle Saetien shook her head. “But if you come in with Leena and Tacita and the rest of the girls, he won’t shame me or you by telling you to leave.”

  “And you’ll have room for Amara and Borsala too?”

  “Yes.”

  “And we can have the house party at the end of the week?”

  Jaenelle Saetien nodded.

  Delora looked around as if just noticing the empty green. “Oh! We’d better get to the dining hall or we’ll be late for dinner.”

  After dinner, Delora, Hespera, and the rest of her coven slipped away to meet up with Krellis and the other boys who would help provide the sharp entertainment at the house party.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Daemon appreciated Zhara’s effort to keep the conversation at dinner light. They talked about the latest plays and which ones they had enjoyed. They talked about books, including Jillian’s story.

  Zhara frowned and cut a small piece of beef into smaller pieces. “Let me see if I understand this. Lady Jillian submitted her story to the publishing house you own. She was accompanied by Lady Marian Yaslana, your sister by marriage, when she met with the acquisitions editor. But you haven’t been allowed to read the story or express an opinion about whether or not your editor should publish the book because that might unduly influence her decision?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Prince, that makes no sense.”

  “Thank the Darkness for that.” Daemon raised his wineglass in a salute. “If this sounded reasonable to you, I was going to have to concede that it was male thinking that was getting in the way of my understanding, but if you don’t understand it either . . .”

  “So no input at all?” she asked.

  “Lucivar and I get to host and pay for the party that will be held when the book is published. That is our contribution.” He growled the last words. He couldn’t help it.

  “This frustration at not being allowed to help is very . . . Sceltie . . . of you,” Zhara observed, fighting not to smile.

  “It is a trait Warlord Princes share with that race of the Blood.” He drained his wineglass and set it aside. “But if you want to observe the pinnacle of being insistently helpful in the face of refusal, try to deal with a Sceltie who is a Warlord Prince. He doesn’t allow anything to get in his way—including the opinions of the foolish human he’s decided to help.”

  Zhara eyed him. “Is this a longstanding observation, or have you been cornered recently?”

  “Both. Would you like coffee in the sitting room?” When she hesitated, Daemon added, “Or my study?”

  “The study,” Zhara replied. “This discussion is both a personal favor and an official request that I am relaying.”

  Unlike Jaenelle Saetien, Zhara recognized the balance between the personal and official and settled into one of the comfortable chairs on the social side of his study. Daemon waited until Helton brought in the tray with coffee and a plate of desserts. He handed Zhara a cup of coffee fixed the way she liked it, then poured a cup for himself and waited.

  “The Hourglass has always taken care of the Black Widows who become lost in the tangled webs of dreams and visions,” Zhara began. “Now they have a concern, and they asked me to speak with you because my daughter is one of those they are concerned about.”

  Daemon set his cup and saucer back on the tray. “I thought she was recovering.”

  “She is, along with a handful of others. But it’s difficult for Sheela to see the Sisters who are still lost and be reminded right now that she’d been one of them. It’s difficult not to feel some guilt that she had found her way out and they have not.”

  “She couldn’t do anything about that. Your daughter followed a song in the Darkness. It led her back to the border of the Twisted Kingdom. Led her out of the Twisted Kingdom.” He knew what that felt like. He’d regained his sanity by following the path Jaenelle Angelline had laid out for him when he’d been lost in madness.

  “Feelings are not always rati
onal,” Zhara said. “The Sisters of the Hourglass who run that home for the lost all agree that the witches who have recently returned need to live somewhere else, a place where they can relearn the routines of day-to-day living and participate in a village in some way.”

  “And they think Halaway is the place for those women to regain that balance?” Daemon asked. He couldn’t think of another reason why Zhara would be talking to him about this.

  “The strongest Black Widow Healers among the caretakers looked into tangled webs for the answer, so the Sisters know those women should be in Halaway. They said that village will be the most dangerous place in Dhemlan, and that will make it the safest place to live. Because of you.”

  Daemon sighed. Apparently the Black Widows in Dhemlan weren’t the only ones who had seen something coming.

  He selected one of the miniature desserts. “Surreal owns a house in the village. She’s rented it to a number of people over the years. I’ll talk to her about turning it into a home for a small number of Black Widows who need some time readjusting to daily life.” Better if he was the one to discuss this with Surreal. She strongly objected to being nipped into giving the desired answer, and the decision had already been made—without any help from the humans.

  He suspected Zhara would find his next comment amusing. Then again, she hadn’t been the one who’d been cornered. “A handful of Scelties showed up soon after Tersa reacted badly to a vision.” That was as far as he was willing to explain to anyone about what had been said and seen. “Two of them are going to live with Tersa and Mikal. The Warlord will help Mikal teach the puppies. The witch is a journeymaid Black Widow who is going to help—and learn from—Tersa.”

  “Oh, my.” Zhara looked at her hands. “Do they . . . ?”

  “Have a snake tooth and venom sac like human Black Widows? I do not know. I asked, and my answer was bright eyes and a wagging tail.” He’d found it unsettling to realize that, until she had shown up, he’d never seen a Black Widow Sceltie. He knew they existed, but if any of them had gone to the Sceltie school, they’d either left before their caste was apparent or they had learned to hide what they were very, very well.