by Anne Bishop
"Lucivar," she whispered. Then, "High Lord!" She jumped over the broken plate and the spilled food and raced for the front door.
He paused on the threshold and turned to face her.
"You have to stop him," Marian gasped. "You have to help him. Please."
"Stop what?"
"He's gone to fight the jhinkas. He'll get hurt."
Saetan frowned, then turned away to look out the open door. "If he did, it didn't take him long. He's in Riada." He gave her a strange look, then held out his hand. "Come on. I'll take you to him."
She clasped his hand. It didn't matter what he thought of her. Nothing mattered as long as Lucivar was all right.
Lucivar strode down the main street of Riada, his temper on a choke chain, waiting to blaze. Being alone didn't comfort him, the land didn't comfort him. But being away had given him time to think.
Something wasn't right, and that "something" was the battleground.
He'd almost missed that, had almost turned away. Not anymore. If Marian didn't want to marry him, he'd have to accept it, but she'd have to do better than spew those piss-ass excuses before he walked away.
But before he went back home to corner his hearth witch, he'd coat his temper…and his nerves…with a couple more whiskeys.
As he approached The Tavern, Jaenelle and Merry burst out of the door. A moment later, Saetan dropped from the Winds and appeared in the street. With Marian.
She rushed toward him, then skidded to a stop. Her breathing hitched. Tears filled her eyes as she studied him from head to toe. Then her hands curled into fists, and when she opened her mouth…
"You stupid, idiotic… male'' Marian blinked back the tears. He was all right. No wounds. Not even bruises. He was all right.
She was so glad to see him she wanted to wring his neck.
"I love you too, sweetheart," Lucivar said in a very nasty tone of voice.
"How could you be so stupid?" she yelled. "How could you go off and fight jhinkas by yourself? I don't want to be a widow before I have a chance to be a wife."
"You don't want to be a wife, remember?" Lucivar snapped. "You made that quite clear this morning."
"I was confused. My head was feeling all cobwebby, and I couldn't think." From the corner of her eye, she saw Jaenelle and Saetan snap to attention and study her with narrowed eyes. "And before I could think straight, you were gone. How am I supposed to marry you if you go off and get yourself killed dead?"
"Dead is usually what happens when a person gets killed." Lucivar took a step toward her. "And what do you care anyway? You don't want to marry me."
"I do want to marry you!" She stamped her foot in frustration. "If there was a Priestess standing here, I'd marry you right this minute!"
"She offered to marry him," Merry said.
"In front of witnesses," Jaenelle added.
Lucivar pointed a finger at Marian and snarled, "I accept."
"And he accepted," Merry said gleefully.
"In front of witnesses," Jaenelle added. "How soon can the Priestess get here?"
A brief pause. "She says half an hour," Merry replied. "She needs to wash up a bit and change her clothes, then hitch up her pony cart."
"My cart's already hitched," a man called out. "I'll go and fetch her. That'll save some time."
Marian stared at Lucivar. Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. What had she just done? "I should… I…" Jaenelle grabbed one arm, and Merry grabbed the other. "No time for that," Jaenelle said as they dragged Marian through the tavern to the back room.
"You can clean up in our place," Merry said, tugging Marian up the stairs to the suite of rooms she and Briggs called home. "No need to go back to the eyrie."
"But…" Marian stammered.
"I'll dash up to the eyrie," Jaenelle said. "That green dress will look lovely as a wedding dress. And I'll bring the amber necklace Lucivar gave you at Winsol."
"We'll have to see what we can do for a wedding supper," Merry said to Jaenelle. "And I'll have Briggs nip over to the baker's to see if there's a cake left."
"I made lots of food today," Marian mumbled.
"Well, isn't that convenient?" Jaenelle said cheerfully. "I'll bring that, too."
"But…"
A hand pressed against her cheek. She looked into Jaenelle's sapphire eyes. Dark, soft power rose up beneath her, flowed through her, washing away the last of that cobwebby feeling…and the doubts along with it.
"Do you love him?" Jaenelle asked.
She offered the Queen of Ebon Askavi the truth. "With everything I am." Jaenelle studied her for a moment. Then she smiled and said, "Welcome to the family, little Sister."
"Come along now," Merry said. "If you're not ready by the time the Priestess arrives, your man will start chewing holes in my bar."
A tug from Merry and a push from Jaenelle got her headed toward the bedroom where she would prepare for her wedding.
Lucivar stood in the street, watching as people scurried in and out of shops, shouting suggestions to each other while they prepared a wedding feast.
Saetan strolled over to join him, a glint of amusement covering vicious anger. "You were right, boyo. She does get feisty when she's riled."
"She wasn't thinking."
"Are you going to give her time to reconsider?"
"Hell's fire, no." Lucivar rubbed the back of his neck. "But where did she get the idea that I was going to go fight jhinkas?" Cobwebby. She'd said something about feeling cobwebby. He knew enough about the Black Widow's Craft…sweet Darkness, he was related to enough of them…that if she'd said anything like that to him this morning, he would have rushed her to the Keep for help.
He looked into Saetan's eyes and knew what lay beneath the anger.
"I told your mother that if she interfered again with what was between you and Marian, I would take her to the darkest corner of Hell and leave her there," Saetan said too softly.
For a moment, he couldn't think, couldn't breathe. No idle threat. Saetan didn't make idle threats.
"Let it go," Lucivar said. "I don't want blood spilled for my wedding." But I won't forget this, Luthvian. I will not forget.
Saetan looked away and nodded. When he looked back, he smiled. "Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to get dressed for your wedding?"
"Am I going to have to wear that fancy outfit I acquired when Jaenelle established the Dark Court?" Lucivar demanded.
"Definitely."
He sighed. "Thought so."
But he smiled as he raced through the sky toward home.
TWENTY-FOUR
Saetan lingered by the open tavern door. The evening air was chilly this early in the spring, but it hadn't kept the party from spilling out into the street once the tavern's main room got too crowded. People danced in the tavern…and they danced in the street. Ale and whiskey, brandy and wine flowed along with the laughter and high spirits.
He winked at Prothvar as the Eyrien Warlord slipped into the room. The sun hadn't set in time for Prothvar and Andulvar to make the wedding, and Mephis was still on his way here from the Hall, but the family would gather and celebrate tonight.
"You know, don't you?" Jaenelle asked as she slipped her arm through his.
"I'll take care of it, witch-child."
"In that case, I'm going to dance."
He watched her join the line of dancers, watched her say something to Merry that had them both laughing so hard they missed the first few steps of the dance. He hadn't been able to make those kinds of friendships, had stood too far apart from the people he ruled. Not by choice; simply because he was who and what he was. But Lucivar, with his hot temper and rough kindness, would have friends who cared about the man. And Marian, with that fire and strength of will beneath her quiet nature, would help him stay connected to the people he ruled.
"High Lord?"
He turned and found the Queen of Riada smiling hesitantly at him, her Consort beside her. "We don't have an invitati
on, but we'd like to offer the Prince and his Lady our warmest regards."
He smiled at them. "It's an open party. We'd be pleased to have you join us."
He watched the Queen and her Consort thread their way through the crowd. He saw Jaenelle glance their way and smile. Aristo manners didn't stand a chance against his daughter. Before those two knew it, they'd be dancing with shopkeepers and helping fill plates as if they did it every day.
Then he looked back at the door and saw her standing there, her eyes hot with suppressed anger. He'd sent her a message as a courtesy because she was Lucivar's mother. He'd deliberately sent it late as a kindness to his son…and to Marian.
"Luthvian." It was cold satisfaction to watch her anger change to fear as he walked up to her.
"So," Luthvian said. "You got your way after all."
"It wasn't a contest, Lady." At least, not for him. He stepped closer, lowered his voice until only she could hear. "I warned you, Luthvian. The only reason you aren't on your way to Hell is because Lucivar asked me to let it go. I'm going to honor that request…as a wedding present. But if you ever use a spell on Marian again…or try to cast one on Lucivar…I'll break you. I'll strip you of your Jewels and your power, strip you down until you have nothing left but basic Craft. And it will be done so fast, no one will be able to stop me."
She paled but said nothing.
"Now," Saetan said, fighting to keep his temper reined in. "Will you join us in celebrating your son's wedding?"
"There's nothing to celebrate," she said roughly. Then she turned and walked away.
Lucivar shifted to block Marian's view. The dark ripples of anger from Saetan and Jaenelle were sufficient warning to tell him who had arrived. He turned slightly so he could watch the door. After what he suspected was a brief, and futile, pissing contest with Saetan, Luthvian walked away.
*She wouldn't stay?* he asked Saetan on an Ebon-gray spear thread.
*No, she wouldn't stay.*
*So be it.* It stung that she wouldn't make the effort to wish him happy, but he wasn't surprised. She'd tried to drive Marian away, and she'd failed. That would be a sharp little bone in her throat for a long time to come. And the sad truth was, although she was his mother, she wasn't family.
"Lucivar?"
Before Marian had a chance to ask him what was wrong, a voice said, "So, Cousin. This is the Lady who captured your heart."
Lucivar grinned as Marian stared at the Red-Jeweled Eyrien Warlord standing before her. "Sweetheart, this is my cousin, ProthvarYaslana."
"Oh, my," she squeaked.
Prothvar smiled. "I'm hoping my new cousin will honor me with a dance."
"Wait your turn, puppy," another male voice said. "This dance is mine."
He felt her tense, saw her eyes go wide as she stared at the older Eyrien Warlord Prince. "And this is my uncle Andulvar."
"The Demon Prince," she whispered.
Her knees buckled. He grabbed her under the arms and hauled her back up. And he saw the hesitation, and a hint of sadness, in Andulvar's eyes as the older man started to step back.
"The Demon Prince asked me to dance," Marian said, still wobbling a little. She leaned against his chest and looked up at him. "Do I look all right?"
She looked beautiful. "You have a smudge on your nose." Adorable, as she scrubbed at the nonexistent smudge. She was still a little wobbly when she gave Andulvar a brilliant smile and held out her hand.
"She's delightful, Cousin," Prothvar said as they watched Marian and Andulvar waltz.
"Yes, she is," Lucivar replied. And she's mine.
Which is why he cut in on his uncle halfway through the dance. "Mine," he said, giving Andulvar a hard tap on the shoulder.
"Possessive little puppy, aren't you?" Andulvar said, stepping aside.
"Damn right," Lucivar replied as he swept his hearth witch into the dance.
"That was rude," Marian scolded.
He grinned. "And your point is?"
She huffed…and struggled not to laugh.
He slowed the steps until they were doing little more than swaying in each other's arms. "Jaenelle suggested we spend a few days at her house in Seek for a honeymoon."
"Oh, I wouldn't want to inconven…"
"She also said she would talk to the Queen of Sceval so that I could take you there to meet some of the unicorns."
"Unicorns? Really?"
"If you want. We can do anything you want. You can have anything you want."
"You," she said softly. "I want you."
Her words warmed every part of him. Warmed one part in particular.
He nibbled on her ear and whispered, "Are you going to let me fuss over you tonight?"
She pulled back. Her eyes danced with laughter as she bared her teeth and snarled at him.
His laughter filled the room. He scooped her up and spun her around. When he finally set her on her feet again, she clutched his jacket and swore at him.
He grinned at her as the people around them laughed and applauded. "That's my feisty hearth witch."
Zuulaman
A story from Saetan's past
1
Saetan set aside the latest letter from the Zuulaman ambassador, leaned back in the chair behind his blackwood desk, and rubbed his eyes. A half dozen meetings with the man and nothing had changed. The same complaints filled this letter as had filled the last three. He understood the concerns, even sympathized with them up to a point. But he wouldn't order Dhemlan merchants to buy coral and pearls exclusively from Zuulaman traders at a higher price than other Territories offered to sell sea gems of the same quality. He'd already checked on the complaints that Dhemlan ships were encroaching on the fishing grounds that belonged to the Zuulaman Islands. Hayllian ships were certainly plying the same waters and competing for catches, but the Queens who ruled the fishing towns in Dhemlan were quick to penalize any boat that fished beyond the Territory's established waters…just as they were quick to send the Warlord Princes who served them out to confiscate the catch of any boat that encroached on Dhemlan's fishing grounds.
Of course, he hadn't heard so much as a whisper of complaint about Hayll. Not yet, anyway. Sooner or later, the Zuulaman Queens would become less enamored with Hayll's Hundred Families…the aristo families that heavily influenced the Hayllian courts if they didn't rule them outright. He might be Hayllian by birth, might have lived his early years in the slums of Draega, Hayll's capital, but, thank the Darkness, he'd shed himself of that self-centered race centuries ago. For the most part. He had no interest in the Hundred Families, except to keep a watchful eye on their intrigues to be sure the people he ruled came to no harm because of them.
But that still left him with the problem of dealing with Zuulaman. He was certainly willing to sell them surplus grains, meat, and produce for a reasonable price that wouldn't beggar Zuulaman's people, but he wasn't willing to cut prices to the point that his own people suffered, especially when the islands still had enough arable land to feed their population, despite the fact that they made little effort to care for the land. Which was part of the problem. They overfished their waters, overplanted their farmland, pushed the islands' resources to the breaking point. Then the Zuulaman Queens complained that they couldn't sell their surplus, which rightly should have gone to feed their own people…or they complained that they had no surplus, and the pottery and other art forms that were distinct to their people didn't sell at the prices they wanted. Which wasn't surprising. No one but aristos with surplus income, or debts enough to ruin their families, could afford the asking price for most of what Zuulaman tried to sell.
Still, as the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, it was his responsibility to deal with the Queens who ruled the other Territories in Terreille, so he would meet with the Zuulaman ambassador once more and hope that, this time, there would be some glimmer of understanding in the man's eyes when he explained why the trade agreements the Zuulaman Queens wanted were not acceptable.
As he reached for the le
tter to review its contents again, the door of his study opened, and his wife, Hekatah, hurried into the room as quickly as a woman three weeks away from childbirth could move.
"Saetan," Hekatah said as she lowered herself into the chair in front of his desk. "I just had the most distressing news from home."
This is home. But he bit back the words since it was as useless to think them as it would be to say them. Hekatah was a Red-Jeweled Priestess from one of Hayll's Hundred Families, and she looked at the Territory of Dhemlan in much the same way that she looked at her family's country estates…as something quaint and inferior… and valued only for what she could take from it.
"Is someone ill?" he asked politely, although he knew the reason for her distress.
"No, but Mother says you refused to give my father and brothers a loan. I'm sure she misunderstood something, because that accusation is utterly…"
"True."
She stared at him. "It can't be."
Her gold eyes filled with tears, and her mouth moved into that sexy, sulky pout that had pulled at his loins when he'd first met her and now always scraped against his temper.
"I'm sorry, Hekatah, but I won't give your family another loan." He'd informed her father of that fact a month ago. Since the bastard had delayed telling Hekatah, why couldn't he have waited a few more weeks until she had safely delivered the baby?
Her lips quivered. One tear rolled down her cheek. "But… why?"
"Because they didn't honor the agreement they made with me when I gave them a loan last year." When her only response was a blank look, he swore silently and struggled to be patient. "Last year, in order to save your family from financial and social ruin, I gave them almost two million gold marks to cover all of your father's and brothers' gambling debts. I paid close to a million gold marks to cover all the debts that were owed to all the merchants who would no longer allow anyone in your family to buy so much as a spool of thread or a handful of vegetables on account. And I also provided another million gold marks with the understanding that those funds would be put back into the estates so that the properties could be restored and once more provide an income. I made it clear that I required receipts to prove materials were being purchased for that purpose and that your father and brothers would receive no further financial help from me if they didn't fulfill their side of the bargain. I never received a receipt of any kind, and from what I can tell, absolutely nothing was done to benefit the estates and make them productive again. Since they squandered what they already received, that is the end of it."
