by Anne Bishop
ONE
Lucivar Yaslana stood at the far end of the flagstone courtyard of his new home, enjoying the early morning sunlight that had begun warming the stones beneath his feet. The mountain air felt chilly against his bare skin, and the freshly made coffee he sipped from a plain white mug tasted rough enough to make him wince. Didn't matter. The coffee might not have the smooth potency that Mrs. Beale produced for his father's table, but it wasn't any worse than what he made when he went hunting and spent a night out on the land. Couldn't be any worse, since he'd made it the same way.
He looked over his shoulder at the open door that led into the warren of rooms that made up the eyrie. Some of the rooms had been carved out of the living mountain; others had been built from the extracted stone. The result would have been a nightmare for any race that needed predictable lines and angles in a structure, but for anyone born of the Eyrien race, it was perfect.
And this particular eyrie was now his.
Smiling, he closed his gold eyes and tipped his head back to feel the sun on his face. Slowly opening his dark, membranous wings, he savored the feel of sunlight and chilly air playing over his wings and light-brown skin.
In all of his seventeen hundred years, he'd never had a home until three years ago when he'd been reunited with his father…the man who, through the machinations of Dorothea, Hayll's High Priestess, had had his two younger sons taken from him. The man who had never forgotten or forgiven the betrayals that had left scars on all of them.
He'd been happy living in the suite of rooms at SaDiablo Hall, but the Hall was still his father's house. This place was his. Exclusively, totally his.
*Yas?*
Well, maybe not exclusively his.
Sipping his coffee, Lucivar watched the adolescent wolf trot toward him. The youngster had been ready to leave the pack that lived in the north woods of his father's estate but hadn't wanted to go back to the Territory most of the kindred wolves called home. Tassle had grown up near humans and wanted to learn more about them, but there still weren't many places where the wild kindred could safely live in human Territories…and there still weren't many humans beyond Jaenelle Angelline's court who felt easy about living around an animal who had the same power as the human Blood. Since he now had plenty of land for a wolf to roam in, it was easy enough to share the space.
Tassle, Lucivar thought, raising the mug to hide his smile. What kind of name was Tassle for a Warlord wolf? "Good morning. Smell anything interesting?"
*Yes. Yas, you aren't wearing your cow skin.*
"It's called leather." Which Tassle knew perfectly well. Humans had prejudices, but so did the kindred. If something could be described by referring to the animal it came from, they ignored the human word for the end result. They viewed the world from their own furry perspective, which was fair, he supposed, since no two people, let alone two species, would view the world around them in quite the same way. "I don't need clothes right now. It's a fine morning, we're alone up here, and it's not like anyone living in the valley is going to see me."
*But, Yas—*
He sensed it then. Someone coming up the stone stairs from the landing area below had passed through the perimeter shield he'd placed around the eyrie. The shield wasn't meant to keep anyone out, just to alert him if someone approached his home.
As he turned toward the intruder, Helene, his father's housekeeper, hurried up the last few steps, then stopped abruptly when she reached the flagstones and saw him.
"Good morning, Prince Yaslana," she said politely.
"Helene," he replied with equal, if forced, politeness…especially when a dozen maids who worked at the Hall came up the stairs and gave him a quick, and approving, glance before going into the eyrie.
Well, Lucivar thought sourly, they all got an eyeful to perk up their morning. "What brings you here, Helene?"
"Now that all the workmen are done with the renovations the High Lord felt were necessary to make Prince Andulvar's old eyrie livable again, we've come to give it a good cleaning."
"I've already cleaned the place."
She made a sound that told him what she thought of his ability to clean anything. But that was a hearth witch for you. If it didn't sparkle, shine, or gleam, it wasn't clean. Never mind that stone walls weren't supposed to sparkle, shine, or gleam.
"Fine," Lucivar said, knowing he was cornered and arguing was a waste of breath. "I'll get dressed and show you—"
Helene waved her hand dismissively. "You were obviously enjoying a fine morning. There's no reason why you should do otherwise. I'm sure we can find everything. What there is of it," she added under her breath.
He bared his teeth in what he hoped would be mistaken as a smile. "I wouldn't want to be a distraction."
She gave him a fast sweep with her eyes. "You won't be."
Lucivar just stared at her, too stunned to think of anything to say.
Helene sniffed delicately. "I won't say I've seen better, but I've seen just as good."
Who? He could think of one man Helene could have walked in on and surprised.
As she headed for the door, another woman's voice, coming from the stairs, said, "Come along, ladies. We don't want to interrupt too much of the Prince's day."
Helene turned toward the stairs, the light of battle in her eyes, as Merry bounded up the last few stairs and saw him. Along with her husband, Briggs, Merry ran a tavern and inn in Riada, the closest Blood village in the valley.
"Oh, my," Merry said with approval. Then she noticed Helene, and the glint in her eyes didn't bode well for a peaceful morning.
"Ladies," Lucivar said, wondering if he was going to start his day breaking up a brawl outside his door.
"We're going to clean up the eyrie for the Prince," Merry said stiffly, indicating the women crowding the stairs behind her. "As a welcome to Ebon Rih since he'll be living here now."
"I'm sure Prince Yaslana appreciates the gesture, but I've brought some of my staff from the Hall to take care of things," Helene replied.
"Ladies."
"There's no need for you to be taking time away from your own duties. We can look after him. He is the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih now," Merry said.
"Which doesn't make him any less his father's son—" Helene said, raising her voice.
Hell's fire! They were squaring off like two bitches ready to fight over a meaty bone—and he was not going to become the prize of whoever won this battle.
"—and I won't have it said that any of the High Lord's children are living in squalor," Helene continued.
Lucivar gritted his teeth. Squalor? Squalor? He'd moved to the eyrie two days ago. There hadn't been time to accumulate squalor. "Ladies."
They turned on him, and after studying them the way he'd study any adversary, he wisely swallowed his rising temper. Helene worked for his father, and since he would, no doubt, continue to spend time at the Hall, telling her to leave would be an insult he didn't want to live with. And Merry made the best steak pies he'd ever tasted. If he told her to go, it might be years before he had another slice of steak pie.
Finally Helene turned to Merry and said, "While yours is the more recent claim, it is equally valid. And there's more than enough work for all of us."
Merry nodded, then clapped her hands. "Come along, ladies. We've work to do."
Four of the women who'd come with Merry were married or, at least, had acknowledged lovers. The other seven were younger and unattached… and would have dawdled a lot longer if Merry and Helene hadn't herded them into the eyrie.
When he'd been a slave in Terreillean courts, he'd been stripped down and displayed for the enjoyment of the Queen who controlled the Ring of Obedience. He'd never felt the need to smile politely while he was being ogled. But here he was, smiling…showing his teeth, anyway…as Helene pushed the last witch inside and closed the door.
Rage danced in his belly, twisting it into knots. He closed his eyes and tightened the leash on his temper. He had an explosive one, and
it had served him well when he'd lived in Terreille, but this wasn't the same. He hadn't been forced to strip down. He'd been standing outside of his own free will, and if the women who had suddenly appeared appreciated the view he provided, he couldn't blame them for it.
Thank the Darkness none of them had tried to touch him. He wasn't sure what he would have done if any of them had tried.
No. That wasn't true. He knew what he would have done. He just didn't know how he would have explained breaking a woman's arm for a touch they'd all think of as harmless or, at the very worst, an invitation.
*Yas?* Tassle's sending on a psychic thread sounded hesitant, a little fearful.
Turning, Lucivar looked at the young wolf. "Women are a pain in the ass."
Confusion replaced fear. *Pain? They didn't nip you. Why is there pain?* After a pause, Tassle added, *I could lick it to make it better.*
Maybe it wasn't just for Tassle's sake that he'd offered to share his home with a wolf, Lucivar decided as amusement eased the knots in his belly. You could never tell what the kindred would pick up from human behavior and decide to make their own. Obviously, Tassle had decided the wolf version of "kiss it and make it better" was the appropriate response to this situation.
"No, thanks," Lucivar said, moving away from the eyrie to walk in the rock-strewn grass that might have been a lawn or a garden once upon a time. He swallowed a mouthful of coffee and swore. Not only rough enough to bite but now it was also cold.
Noticing the way Tassle sniffed the air, Lucivar made a "go forward" gesture with one hand. "Go on. Go explore. If you stay around here, you'll end up getting washed and polished."
*You come too?*
He hadn't had a chance yet to really walk the land around the eyrie and get a feel for it, but leaving right now felt a bit too much like running away…and it went against his nature as an Eyrien Warlord Prince to run from a battleground. "You go on. I'll keep an eye on things here."
As he watched Tassle trot off to mark the home territory, he felt the weight of the eyrie at his back and wondered if it really would be running away to get out of sight while all of those women cluttered up his home. Besides, if his presence wasn't a distraction from the allure of buckets and mops, his absence wouldn't be noted either. Which should have pleased him. The fact that it didn't was an annoyance he'd think about later.
"I'd wish you a good morning," a deep, amused voice said, "but I'm not sure that's appropriate."
Turning, he watched the slender, brown-skinned man cross the rock-strewn ground with feline grace. The movement lifted the edges of the knee-length black cape, revealing the red lining and providing slashes of color to accent the black tunic jacket and trousers.
His brother Daemon moved with the same feline grace.
He tried not to think about Daemon too much, tried not to wonder too often if his brother had found a way out of the madness the Blood called the Twisted Kingdom. There was nothing he could do for Daemon, wherever he was.
He pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the man settling on a stone that time and the elements had weathered into a natural seat. He looked like a handsome man at the end of his prime, his black hair silvered at the temples and faint lines around his golden eyes…an aristo Hayllian male who would be in his element at a dinner party and wouldn't know what to do on a killing field.
Looks could be deceiving. This was Saetan Daemon SaDiablo, a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince who was the Prince of the Darkness, High Lord of Hell, Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, Steward of the Dark Court at Ebon Askavi… and his father.
It was the last title that made Lucivar wary. There weren't any clear rules when it came to sons dealing with fathers. Not that he paid much attention to rules, but it would have been nice to know when he was about to do something that would stomp on Saetan's toes and end with them yelling at each other. Which he did know, actually. Every time Jaenelle said, "Lucivar, I have a wonderful idea" and he went along with it, he could pretty much count on ending up in Saetan's study to receive a blistering lecture. Too bad he enjoyed squaring off with his father as much as he enjoyed getting into trouble with the golden-haired, sapphire-eyed witch who was Saetan's adopted daughter…and, therefore, his sister. The fact that Jaenelle was the Queen of Ebon Askavi and they both served in the First Circle of her court just added spice to their shouting matches.
"It's none of my business, but I am curious," Saetan said. "Why are you standing out here displaying your assets?"
"I'm standing out here because my home has been invaded by two dozen women with brooms and buckets…"
"Two dozen? I wasn't aware Helene brought that many from the Hall."
"She didn't. Some of the women from Riada showed up right after Helene did. And this is how I was dressed…"
"…or not dressed," Saetan murmured.
"…when they showed up." Lucivar took another gulp of coffee and shuddered. "And getting dressed after I'd been assured I wouldn't be a distraction seemed like… bragging."
"I see. Who told you this?"
"Helene. She said she'd seen just as good." Lucivar eyed his father.
Saetan shook his head. "No. I will not indulge in a pissing contest with you to appease your curiosity. Besides, you've seen me naked."
True enough, but he'd only noticed Saetan looked damn fit for a man who'd seen over fifty thousand years. He hadn't paid attention to particulars.
"So Helene said you wouldn't be a distraction," Saetan said, looking more amused. "And you believed her because…?"
"Well, Hell's fire, she's your housekeeper."
"She's also a woman in her prime who is, in fact, only a few centuries older than you."
Lucivar stared at Saetan. "She lied to me?"
Saetan's gold eyes gleamed with suppressed laughter. "Let me put it this way: Your floors won't be swept, but you'll have the cleanest windows in Ebon Rih…at least on this side of the eyrie."
Lucivar spun around. Female faces were pressed against every window, watching him. Oh, there were cleaning rags pressed against the windows, too, but nothing was being done with them…until the women realized he'd seen them. Then there was a lot of vigorous polishing.
Swearing under his breath, he used Craft to vanish the coffee mug and call in a pair of leather trousers. As he pulled them on, he snarled, "It was easier when I could use my fists. If this was Terreille, I would have thrown the lot of them off the mountain."
"You still can."
It surprised him that the words hurt.
"You're the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih," Saetan said quietly. "You are the law here and answer to no one but your Queen. If you want to use your fists, there's no one who will stop you. No one here who can stop you since you wear the Ebon-gray Jewels."
"What happened to that code of honor you live by and insist is followed in the court?" Lucivar snapped, letting temper ride the crest of wounded feelings. "What happened to the lines that are drawn for what a Blood male can and can't do? If I hurt them for no good reason, what does that say to every other man? That he can strike out for the least little thing? We serve. We're the defenders and protectors. I've hurt women, and I've killed women. They were the enemy and the court was the battleground. But I will not be the kind of man women cower from because they're afraid of being brutalized."
"I know," Saetan said. "You'll decide what is and isn't acceptable in Ebon Rih, and you'll stand as defender and protector. As volatile as your temper is, as physical as your responses are most of the time, I've never worried about you hurting the coven. If you're pushed, you push back. That's not a bad thing. I'm sure there were times in the past three years when something scraped a nerve and reminded you too much of what it was like living in Terreille, but you didn't lash out automatically. You won't now."
The temper faded, but his feelings were still raw. "Then why did you say that?"
Saetan smiled. "Because you needed to hear yourself draw the line. You're the strongest living male in this valley. The strongest Bloo
d, regardless of gender, when Jaenelle isn't at the Keep or staying at her cottage. Having that much power isn't easy."
He would know, Lucivar thought. Saetan wore the Black Jewels. Until Daemon made the Offering to the Darkness and came away wearing the Black, Saetan had been the only male in the history of the Blood to wear that Jewel. If anyone knew the price that came with that much power, it was the High Lord.
Lucivar glanced at the eyrie. "What should I do about them?"
"Hire a housekeeper."
He winced. "Hell's fire. Then I'll have a female underfoot all the time."
"From where I'm sitting, your choice is one hearth witch who works for you or dealing with this lot two or three times a week."
Lucivar felt his knees weaken. "Two or three… Why? How many times can they polish the same few pieces of furniture?"
Saetan just looked at him pityingly. "If you hire a housekeeper, your home is her domain, and if she's worth what you pay her, she'll be territorial enough to take care of any unwanted help without you having to do a thing."
That didn't sound bad. But he sighed. "I don't know how to hire a housekeeper."
Saetan stood up and arranged the folds of his cape. "Why don't we go to the Keep and discuss it over breakfast?" He looked back at the eyrie. "Or were you planning to stay here and get in the middle of the tussle over who would cook it for you?"
"I can cook my own damn breakfast."
"You could try, boyo, but the odds are against you."
Oh, yeah. If he walked back in there now, somebody would be pissed off at him before he even got close to a piece of toast, let alone something more substantial. "Let's go to the Keep."
"A wise choice."
As they walked back to the eyrie to inform Helene that they were leaving, Lucivar said, "If I'm so wise and so powerful, tell me again why I have to hire a housekeeper I don't want?"
"Because you're not a fool," Saetan replied. "And given your choices, only a fool would put up with this any longer than he had to."
"This is more than I bargained for when Jaenelle appointed me the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih."
