Dreams Made Flesh bj-5

by Anne Bishop

  Soaping up a washcloth, he scrubbed himself fiercely, as if washing the sweat off his skin could also scour the nightmare from his mind and heart. When he finally shut off the water and toweled himself dry, his body was clean…and his heart still ached.

  Going back into the bedroom of the master suite in his family's town house in Amdarh, Dhemlan's capital city, he looked at the bed and hesitated. No. He wouldn't take a chance of the nightmare coming back. Once in a night was more than enough. Besides, he could spend the hours before dawn going over the papers Marcus, his man of business, had delivered to the town house for his review.

  During the years when he'd been lost in the Twisted Kingdom and the years he'd remained hidden while he regained his strength and patched together his sanity, Marcus had worked diligently on his behalf. Because of that, much of the wealth he'd accumulated over the centuries had been quietly transferred to investments in various Territories in Kaeleer. That diligence had served Marcus as well, establishing him as a businessman and making it possible for him to bring his wife and young daughter to Kaeleer without having to serve in a Queen's court. Now Marcus and his family also lived in Amdarh, where it was safe for a child to play in the park with her friends, where a woman could walk down the street and not fear the men she passed, where a man wouldn't have to wonder if he would be snatched and maimed for the amusement of a bitch's court.

  Using Craft, Daemon turned on the candle-light near the chair and table where he'd left the large stack of papers waiting for his perusal. Between his personal assets and controlling the vast wealth of the SaDiablo family, he had enough work to keep him busy, enough work to fill the hours when Jaenelle…

  He reached for the robe at the foot of the bed, then turned away empty-handed to stand in front of the freestanding mirror.

  He had the light-brown skin, black hair, and gold eyes that were common to the long-lived races. But his face was beautiful rather than handsome and left women breathless; his deep, cultured voice with its sexual edge could cause a pulse to race; and his body, trim, toned and full of feline grace, made women, and more than one man, crave him. He was seduction in motion, a promise of pleasure to the woman who held his affection and loyalty…and a promise of pain to everyone else who thought to use him in a bed.

  He was also a Black Widow, one of the Blood who could wield the Hourglass's Craft of dreams and visions… and poisons. His father had been the first male in the history of the Blood to become a Black Widow. He had been born one, and the venom held in the sac beneath the ring-finger nail of his right hand was deadly. Adding that to the fact that he wore Black Jewels made him the most powerful, and dangerous, male in the history of the Blood, second only to Saetan.

  No. Not second. They had taken each other's measure, and they both knew the truth. He might be his father's mirror, but his power was a little stronger, a little darker. And whatever held his father in check from unleashing that power didn't hold him. With the right provocation, there was nothing he couldn't, and wouldn't, do.

  Especially when it came to Jaenelle Angelline, the living myth, dreams made flesh, the Queen who had sacrificed herself and the tremendous power she'd wielded in order to cleanse the taint that Dorothea and Hekatah SaDiablo had smeared over the Blood in Terreille.

  The Queen who was called Kaeleer's Heart.

  She had stopped the war that would have devastated Kaeleer. The price had been vicious. Even though she had healed enough to come home, she had suffered so much during the first weeks when he'd brought her back to SaDiablo Hall. True, the pain had lessened as autumn gave way to the first breath of winter, but even now, when the winter days would soon give way to the promise of spring, she was still so fragile, still an invalid who could barely walk from bed to chair. She never spoke about shattering her Ebony Jewels, never spoke of the new Jewel, Twilight's Dawn, that had taken the place of what she had lost.

  She didn't say much of anything anymore. At least, not to him.

  "It's not over," he told his reflection. "You've kept your best weapons sheathed, old son. Maybe it's time to remind your Lady what you can offer a woman, remind her that you're hers for the taking. If you don't play this game out to the full and you lose because of it, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. It's not over until she asks you to leave, so give her a reason to want you to stay."

  Turning away from the mirror, he slipped into the robe, poured a snifter of brandy, and settled in the chair to take care of the work that had brought him to Amdarh. If he could get through the business that required his immediate attention, he'd have time to take care of some personal errands in the morning before meeting with Marcus…and he'd be home with Jaenelle by tonight.

  Two

  Daemon left the town house and strode down the sidewalk, his hands in the pockets of his wool coat, the collar flipped up to shield his neck from the bite of winter air. The walkways and streets were clear of snow, which made it easy to enjoy a brisk morning walk.

  Personal errands first. As night gave way to dawn, he'd realized the only way to battle doubt was by feeding hope. He knew what he wanted more than anything else, and this would be a small step in the right direction.

  The bookseller he patronized was his first stop, and the man barely had time to open his store before Daemon arrived. Today, browsing wasn't a temptation, so he simply looked at the books the man had set aside for him. Reading was Jaenelle's main entertainment these days, so every time he came to Amdarh on business, he made a point of stopping at the store. He selected three of the six books that had been set aside, but asked the bookseller to hold the others until he returned to the city in a fortnight. Buying them but not giving her all of them seemed dishonest, as if he were withholding a treat. Delaying the purchase gave him the pleasure of bringing her something new each time he had to leave the Hall on family business, and he needed to give her anything he could.

  By the time he left the bookstore, there were plenty of people out and about Amdarh's shopping district. As he walked to his next destination, he greeted the men and women he'd met at aristo houses when he'd been invited to dinner or to a party. He'd made an effort to become acquainted with the Blood aristos in the city, especially the ones who served in Lady Zhara's court, since she ruled Dhemlan's capital. Except for Karla, the boyos and the coven who had made up Jaenelle's First Circle hadn't quite forgiven him for the games he'd played to keep them away from her while she created the spells that would protect them and Kaeleer. And he and Lucivar still weren't quite easy with each other. What he'd done in Dorothea's camp to protect his brother's wife and son was a still-healing wound between them.

  He greeted two witches he'd met at a party when he was in Amdarh a few weeks ago buying gifts for Winsol. Baffled by the wary stares they gave him before returning the greeting, he shrugged it off as unimportant, his mind already focused on the shop at the end of the block.

  "Good morning, Prince Sadi," Banard said as soon as Daemon walked into the shop. "I hadn't expected to see you here so soon after Winsol. Did the Lady like the pin?"

  "Good morning," Daemon replied as he walked up to one of the glass displays that also served as a counter. "Yes, Lady Angelline was delighted with the unicorn pin."

  A gifted craftsman who worked with precious gems and metals, Banard, a Blood male who wore no Jewel himself, had been commissioned over the years to create a number of unique pieces for darker-Jeweled Blood… including Jaenelle's scepter when she'd established her Dark Court.

  "I have a commission for you," Daemon said. "One that requires your discretion for the time being."

  Banard smiled. "Don't they all require discretion, Prince?"

  "Yes, they do," he replied, returning the smile to acknowledge the truth ofBanard's statement. "But this one needs a little more than most."

  Banard just continued to smile.

  Daemon hesitated, wondering if he was being premature. Didn't matter. If he ended up being a fool over this, so be it. "I want you to make two rings. One… I'
m not really sure how I want it to look." Despite the fact that they were alone in the shop, he lowered his voice. "The other is a plain gold band."

  "Do you know the ring size for this gold band?"

  In answer, Daemon held out his left hand.

  "Ah." Banard's smile widened. "Then this other must be a special ring for a special Lady?"

  "A ring worthy of a lifetime."

  Banard called in a velvet-lined ring case. Brass rings marched in neat rows from the largest, which would fit a man twice Daemon's size, to the smallest, which looked like it would fit only a small child.

  "I made the rings for the Lady's Court," Banard said, his fingers moving above the rows of brass rings. "If I remember correctly…" He selected a ring and held it out.

  Daemon slipped it on his finger. A perfect fit. Just as the Consort's Ring had been a perfect fit.

  He removed the ring and gave it back to Banard, who returned the ring to its place and vanished the case.

  "As for the other…"

  Banard broke off as the shop's door opened and a woman stepped inside. She smiled at them, then moved to the display case that contained brooches.

  "I'll give the matter some thought," Banard continued quietly. "Make a few sketches for you to look at the next time you're in Amdarh. Would that be sufficient?"

  "That would be fine," Daemon replied, working to keep his voice from turning into a snarl. Something in the air. Something that honed his temper.

  He turned his head and studied the woman. A lighter-Jeweled witch. Who was cloaked in an illusion spell. The kind of spell that could only be made through the Hourglass's Craft. That's what he sensed. But there was nothing… enhanced… about her appearance. She was attractive but hardly stunning. Perhaps she was disfigured in some way, from accident or illness. There were some things even the best Healer couldn't fix completely, so an illusion spell was sometimes used to hide a disfigurement.

  Wondering if she had come from Terreille, and knowing the cruel and terrible things Dorothea and her followers had done to people, he felt a moment's pity for her and was glad the illusion spell gave her the courage to go out in the world.

  "There is one thing I can show you," Banard said. "I just finished it yesterday." He retreated behind the curtain that shielded his workroom and the private showrooms, then returned quickly with a piece of folded black velvet. He set the cloth on the counter and revealed its contents.

  Daemon picked up the bracelet. It was a double strand of white and yellow gold set with precious and semiprecious gems that matched the colors of the Jewels from the Rose to the Black.

  "It's beautiful," Daemon said. And so appropriate since it reflected every color that made up Twilight's Dawn, the Jewel Jaenelle now wore. "A special gift for a special Lady."

  "I was hoping you would think so," Banard said.

  Grinning, he set it back on the velvet. "Wrap it up, and I'll take it with me."

  "Oh. May I see it?"

  The woman was standing near him, focused on the bracelet. There was a greediness in her eyes that made him want to lash out, to sweep the bracelet out of sight. But he thought of the illusion spell and the reasons she might have paid a Black Widow to create one. Beauty of any kind might be a new discovery for her.

  He forced himself to step aside so she could get a better look at the bracelet, but he rested his hand on the counter close to the velvet, a subtle claim and a warning that she could look but not touch.

  After a long study, she smiled and moved back to the counter with the brooches.

  Wrapping the velvet around the bracelet, Daemon vanished it, promised to return in a fortnight, and turned to leave the shop. At the door, he looked back at the woman, but her attention was on the brooches, not on him. Shrugging off his uneasiness as a reaction to living in Terreille for most of his life, he headed back to the family town house, where he and Marcus would share a midday meal before getting down to business.

  A few minutes later, Roxie left Banard's shop with a brooch safely tucked in her small carry bag. She strolled down the street, stopping to look into store windows, until she reached the horse-drawn cab waiting by the curb. As soon as she scrambled inside, the driver pulled into the stream of horse-drawn conveyances and Craft-powered coaches. "Well?" Lektra demanded, twisting a curl around her finger. "I think he noticed the illusion spell," Roxie said, feeling a little breathless now that their plan was truly in motion.

  "Doesn't matter," Lektra replied. "There are plenty of reasons why people pay for illusion spells to change their looks. Besides, I was assured sensing an illusion spell isn't the same as seeing beneath it."

  Lektra was the niece of a Queen who ruled a two-village District in Dhemlan, so she was known to many of the aristo Blood in Amdarh and couldn't afford to draw attention to herself right now…not if their plan was going to work. That was why Roxie had volunteered to get the information they needed. But Lektra had come up with the idea of paying a Black Widow to create the illusion spell so Roxie, a Rihlander originally from Ebon Rih, would look like a Dhemlan witch.

  "I bought this," Roxie said, taking the brooch out of her carry bag.

  "This will do nicely," Lektra said as she examined the brooch. "It's certainly pretty, and, most important, it has Banard's mark on the back."

  "There were prettier ones," Roxie said.

  "What do you care? You're not going to wear it."

  "But…" Even if it wasn't the one she would have chosen if she could have spent anything she wanted, she'd still expected to keep it. After all, it was a brooch by Banard…something she could never afford for herself.

  "What was Daemon doing there? What was he buying?"

  "I think he commissioned Banard to make something special… probably for that stupid cripple, Jaenelle. But he did buy a bracelet. 'A special gift for a special Lady.' " As she described the bracelet, Lektra's gold eyes gleamed with delight.

  "We can go to another jeweler and get a duplicate made," Lektra said excitedly. "It doesn't have to be exact, just have all the right elements, so when someone sees me wearing it, they'll think it's the one Banard made. And since Jaenelle Angelline isn't likely to be coming to Amdarh anytime soon, no one will know the difference."

  "What about the brooch?" Roxie asked.

  "While he was in Amdarh last time, Daemon attended several parties. There's always dozens of them just before the actual thirteen days of Winsol. Some of the theater folk attended one of them, and I heard Daemon spent some time with one of the actresses. Danced with her a couple of times. Even stood as her escort for dinner." Lektra pouted.

  "So maybe he's not as chaste as everyone thinks."

  "Don't be a fool. Of course he's chaste. Hell's fire! Any hint that he's been unfaithful to precious Jaenelle would have everyone worth knowing shunning him…which is the whole point, remember?" Lektra smiled. "That's why using this actress is the perfect starting point to freeing Daemon from Jaenelle's control. People did notice the attention he paid the bitch. If she receives a gift from a secret admirer…a 'special gift for a special Lady'…she's going to wear it, and she's going to tell people it's from a secret admirer. So all we have to do is mention that someone had seen Daemon in Banard's shop buying a 'special gift' and people will tie the knot between those two bits of information themselves."

  Lektra tapped her lips with a fingertip and looked thoughtful. "Maybe I won't have another bracelet made after all. It will be so much nicer when Daemon takes me to Banard's shop to buy one for me."

  "What do I get out of this?" Roxie muttered.

  "You get to share the prize, just as I promised," Lektra said coolly. "And you get to pay the SaDiablo family back for the way Lucivar Yaslana treated you. And as my friend and guest, you get to attend parties and dances you'd never be invited to on your own…not to mention the lovers who come home with us."

  Lektra's seconds, that's what she got. But what Lektra said was true: being exiled from Ebon Rih six years ago had cost her almost all her social s
tatus. It had gotten so bad in Askavi, no man wanted to dance with her, let alone do something more interesting. So she had moved to Dhemlan, but it wouldn't have been any better if Lektra hadn't befriended her.

  So she put up with the reminders that she owed what social standing she had in Amdarh to Lektra's efforts on her behalf, and she put up with men who wanted Lektra but made do with her.

  Now that Lektra's interest in Daemon Sadi had ripened into obsession, the Dhemlan witch needed her help, and that worked in her favor. Besides, if they won this prize, she wouldn't mind taking whatever crumbs were left over.

  "Oh, Daemon. It's beautiful."

  The delight in Jaenelle's sapphire eyes as she picked up the bracelet warmed him and gave him hope. There was so little these days that delighted her.

  "Try it on." He took the bracelet and fastened it around her wrist, painfully careful not to touch the fragile skin…skin he wanted to caress, kiss, lick. The memory of how even the gentlest touch had left hideous bruises whenever he'd helped her move still made him ill. So he didn't let his fingers brush her skin as he fastened the bracelet, then eased back.

  As she held out her arm to admire the bracelet, he no longer saw something beautiful. He saw the shadow the bracelet cast on her skin. Or was it something else?

  He stiffened. "It's not too heavy, is it?" Fool. Idiot. It hadn't occurred to him when he bought it that having the metal resting against her skin would bruise her. And it should have occurred to him. When he'd brought her back to the Hall last autumn, she couldn't wear anything but the lightest-weight fabrics, couldn't have more than a sheet over her in bed. Anything more had left her covered in bruises…and had left him terrified that the constant effort to keep healing the bleeding under the skin would interfere with her overall healing…or even make it impossible for her to ever completely heal.

  "No, it's not too heavy," Jaenelle said as she lowered her arm.