Dreams Made Flesh bj-5

by Anne Bishop

  "Think they bought it?" she asked.

  "No." Jaenelle set her cup on the table. "But it's understood that they have no justification for going after Falonar, so they'll leave him alone."

  She set her own cup aside. "I owe you for this."

  "Yes, you do." Jaenelle stared at the table. "Do you want to tell me why you really left Falonar and Ebon Rih?"

  "Not really."

  Jaenelle nodded. "Sometimes there's no specific reason," she said softly. "Sometimes things just don't work out between two people."

  Are we still talking about me and Falonar? Surreal wondered. Remembering the way Daemon had lingered for a moment, she had an uneasy feeling Jaenelle was thinking of two other people.

  2

  She waited until Saetan and Lucivar had left the Hall before tracking Daemon to his study. It felt strange walking into that room and seeing another man behind the desk where Saetan had ruled Dhemlan for so many centuries. Even stranger to feel as if nothing had really changed.

  "So," she said, settling into the chair in front of the desk. "Do you ever see any rooms in the Hall besides this one?"

  "Occasionally," Daemon replied with a dry smile. "Brandy?"

  "Sure." She watched him pour a snifter for her and top off his own before he used Craft to float hers over to her waiting hand. "Thanks."

  Daemon leaned back in his chair, the snifter cradled in both hands. His Black-Jeweled ring glittered on his right hand. His left hand looked naked without the Consort's ring. Did he miss the feel of it on his finger? She'd noticed that Saetan still wore the Steward's ring, which the loss of his little finger made more noticeable. But she could understand why Daemon had set the Consort's ring aside. Saetan had withdrawn to live at the Keep, leaving his sons… Daemon, specifically… to handle the property owned by the SaDiablo family as well as the wealth acquired over Saetan's long, long lifetime. Daemon, on the other hand, was still very much in sight. He was no longer the Consort, since Jaenelle, while still a Queen, no longer ruled a court.

  Of course, only a fool wanting to commit suicide would in any way imply that the absence of a ring made him any less Jaenelle's Consort.

  "What are your plans?" Daemon asked quietly. "Or haven't you thought that far ahead?"

  "Know anyone who needs an assassin?"

  He choked back a laugh. "In Kaeleer? Hardly."

  She saw the question in his eyes. "If I'd wanted him dead, Sadi, Falonar wouldn't be breathing. You know that."

  His gold eyes stayed locked on hers as he took a sip of brandy. "Point made. Besides, I'm surprised you put up with him this long."

  That startled her. "Why?"

  "Too much of that Eyrien arrogance for you to swallow for long."

  "You have a brother who has even more of that Eyrien arrogance," she pointed out.

  "You want to sleep with him?"

  "I'd eat worms first. Live." Since the image made her a little queasy, she took a healthy swallow of brandy. "Not that I don't like him," she added. "Maybe even love him a little in a sisterly way… when he's not being a stubborn prick about something."

  "Hmm, all of five minutes a month."

  She grinned. "If you add it up." The grin faded. "What about you?"

  He rolled the snifter between his hands and studied the way the brandy followed the motion. "We're doing all right. He's… wary. Can't blame him for that. But he'll stand. If I need him, he'll stand."

  And you and Jaenelle?

  "Anyway," she said, "I thought I'd spend some time in Amdarh, if you have no objection to me using the town house."

  "It's the family's town house. You're family." He hesitated for a moment. "I have to go to Amdarh in a few days. If you're willing to wait, we can go at the same time. I have a box at two of the theaters, if you'd like to see a play…and wouldn't mind some company."

  I think you're the one who needs some company. Shit, Sadi, what's going on here?

  "Fair enough." She set the snifter on the blackwood desk, stood up, and stretched. "I'd better see what Graysfang is up to. He's of the wolfie opinion that I enjoy drying him off and brushing him when he comes in wet and muddy. Don't know why."

  "He's male. He's getting petted. This is hard to understand?"

  The words were said lightly, but there was an undertone of anguished yearning.

  Not knowing what to say, she left the study. But she thought about it on and off for the rest of the day. She watched the two of them throughout dinner. And when she was staring at the ceiling late that night, with Graysfang curled up beside her, snoring softly, she came to a decision.

  All right, Sadi. I'll keep the peace while we're at the Hall. But once we get to Amdarh… The Blood in Terreille had good reason to call you the Sadist. If I have to dance with that side of your temper to find out what in the name of Hell is wrong between you and Jaenelle, then that's what I'll do. But one way or another, you're going to talk to me.

  And if she couldn't get anything out of him, informing the patriarch of the family that there was serious trouble between Daemon and Jaenelle would get some results. One way or another.

  Five

  1

  Jealousy coiled around Lektra's heart as she watched Daemon settle the lovely woman in the seat beside him. He never invited anyone to sit with him when he came to the theater. Never. "Who is she?" Lektra asked, struggling to hide the feeling of betrayal that welled up at the sight of Daemon with another woman. He should be keeping other women at arm's length until he could be with her.

  Lord Braedon, the Warlord who had agreed to be her escort tonight with gratifying eagerness, looked across the theater to the box opposite theirs. "Who? Oh. That's Sadi's 'cousin.' "

  Tavey Lektra's cousin on her father's side, snickered and leaned forward a little to see around Roxie, who was sitting on Lektra's right. "Convenient, isn't it?"

  "Meaning what?" Lektra snapped.

  "I heard she used to be a whore," Roxie replied primly.

  "A high-priced one, from what I heard," Tavey said. "Wonder if she and Sadi had a standing arrangement when they both lived in Terreille."

  "I doubt there was much standing," Braedon said blandly.

  Shocked, Lektra stared at her escort. "Do you mean Dae… Prince Sadi and that woman used to… ?"

  Braedon shrugged. "It's possible she's really related in some way to the

  SaDiablo family. But if a man needed to be very discreet about getting certain… needs… met, having a 'cousin' who could stay under the same roof without anyone thinking twice about it would make it much easier."

  "Especially an 'experienced' cousin," Tavey said, snickering again.

  "You're both being ridiculous," Lektra said, remembering she was supposed to be Daemon's defender.

  "Is she wearing a bracelet?" Roxie said, then hunched her shoulders as if she'd said something she shouldn't have.

  "Who's going to notice a bracelet when you can notice other things?" Tavey asked, cupping his hands close to his chest.

  Lektra bit back a snappish remark about making such gestures in public. Tavey was a Yellow-Jeweled Warlord who was devotedly loyal to her, which made up for him not being very bright. He also had a thirst for gossip that accounted for his never having a contract renewed when the family managed to get him accepted in a court.

  "Well," Roxie said, sounding reluctant, "I'd heard Prince Sadi had bought a bracelet from Banard. A 'special gift for a special Lady' "

  "Thought it was a brooch," Tavey said, frowning.

  "There was an actress showing off a brooch that had been sent by a secret admirer," Braedon said. His eyes flicked from the stage to Sadi's box and back again. "You don't think…"

  "No, I don't," Lektra said firmly. "Everyone knows Prince Sadi is devoted to Jaenelle Angelline."

  "Who hasn't been seen in months," Braedon murmured.

  "Oh, hush," Lektra said. "The play will start in a few minutes. I'm looking forward to seeing it." Her eyes flicked to the box opposite hers as she added softly
, "I'm definitely looking forward to it."

  2

  Surreal watched Daemon remove two items from the wooden box he'd called in as soon as they were settled in their seats, at first with idle curiosity, then with growing apprehension.

  "Is that a tangled web?" she asked. She knew he was a Black Widow. Hell's fire, she'd lived with him for several years while he was struggling to come back from the Twisted Kingdom and then rehone his Craft skills.

  "Of a kind," Daemon replied as he used Craft to set the frame holding the tangled web on air where it couldn't easily be seen by other people attending the play. Behind the tangled web, he set a faceted, oval crystal. "I started with the kind of web the Hourglass uses to see dreams and visions and adapted it for a specific purpose."

  "Which is?"

  He grinned, but there was an acknowledgment in his eyes of why she was asking the question…and why she was wary of the answer. Daemon rarely announced his intentions when he went hunting, and she'd often wondered how many of the Blood he'd destroyed in the Terreillean courts were aware of what had killed them until the last moment when that slash of Black power burned out their own power, finishing the kill.

  "By using a spell I worked out and channeling through the web, I can retain the play in the crystal so that it can be played again."

  "Like the spelled music crystals retain a musical performance?"

  Daemon nodded. "But this one holds what is seen as well as what is heard."

  Surreal studied the web and crystal again, this time with keen interest. "That's brilliant! But… why?"

  He hesitated. "Jaenelle is still too fragile to come to Amdarh to see a play… so I bring the plays to her."

  Emotion that felt appallingly sentimental welled up in her. She punched it down. "Does she enjoy the plays?"

  Now he smiled ruefully. "I hadn't quite worked out all the snags in the spell the last time I tried it. There was a… lag… between when the actor said his lines and the words were heard. She found it entertaining, but not in the way I'd intended."

  Surreal laughed. "Anything I can do to help?"

  "This spell doesn't work independently. At least not yet. So I need to stay focused on the play."

  She heard the warning under the words. "That explains why you Black-locked the door." And why he'd told her he preferred to attend the theater alone when she'd asked him earlier if he ever invited anyone to join him as a guest. She'd been thinking of Marian, Lucivar's wife, but the chill in the air when he'd replied made her wonder how many offers he'd had for company whenever he came to Amdarh.

  It also told her how much of a concession he'd made by inviting her to join him tonight. And how he trusted her to let him do what he'd come here to do.

  As the house lights went down, Daemon made himself comfortable and focused his eyes on the stage.

  The play was entertaining, but Surreal found Daemon more interesting to watch, even though she, too, kept her eyes fixed on the stage. How much of the play did he actually notice since he kept looking at the center of the stage to see the whole of it instead of shifting his gaze to follow the action when it moved closer to one wing or the other? Or would he finally enjoy it when he replayed it for Jaenelle? Although she doubted his attention would be on the play at that point.

  When the first act ended and she offered to fetch some refreshment, his quick agreement surprised her…until she made her way through the crowd to the curved bar at one end of the theater's lobby and ordered two glasses of sparkling wine. The number of women who had given her a cool appraisal as she passed made her wonder how many of them were trying to find out how deep Daemon's attachment to Jaenelle still ran.

  From their point of view, she understood the interest. Daemon was no longer officially Jaenelle's Consort. Few beyond the family and Jaenelle's former First Circle would know he'd committed himself to Jaenelle years before he ever became her Consort. They wouldn't know what he'd done…and suffered…to try to save an extraordinary child who became the most powerful Queen in the history of the Blood. What they saw was a beautiful, sensual male who came from one of the most powerful, and wealthiest, families in Kaeleer, and was a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince in the bargain.

  He'd be a prize for any woman who could win him.

  She shuddered at the thought of any woman trying to win him away from Jaenelle.

  "That's a lovely bracelet."

  Surreal glanced over at the Warlord who had squeezed in beside her to wait for his order. "Thank you."

  "Is it a design by Banard?"

  Something about his interest wasn't quite right, but she couldn't figure out what it was about him that made her want to spill his guts all over the floor. So she hooked her long black hair behind one delicately pointed ear…and saw his eyes widen at the evidence that she wasn't solely from any of the long-lived races.

  "No," she said, "it's Dea al Mon."

  Nerves danced in his eyes at the mention of the Children of the Wood…a race who fiercely protected their Territory and seldom let anyone who crossed their border walk out again…but he worked to keep his smile easy.

  "Then you must be Lady Surreal," he said. "I've heard of you."

  You didn't hear enough, sugar. If you'd heard about more than my "public" profession, you wouldn't be crowding me.

  She smiled at him, called in a silver mark and put it on the bar when the server gave her the glasses of sparkling wine, and turned to leave. The woman directly in her path stared at her with hostile jealousy for a moment before moving aside.

  She dismissed the look without a second thought as she worked her way back up to the box. She'd seen enough of those looks when she'd been a whore in Terreille.

  Maybe that accounted for the odd feeling she got from the Warlord and his interest in the bracelet. Maybe he'd just been trying to find out where he could buy something similar and was nervous about his Lady seeing him talking to another woman. Besides, there was something about the woman in the moment when their eyes met that practically shouted "possessive bitch" to someone who'd spent her life quickly sizing up rivals, enemies, and prey.

  Not her problem, she thought as Daemon opened the door enough for her to slip back into the box. Noticing the unhappiness lurking in his eyes before he took the glass she offered, she almost said something, but the house lights began fading as a warning that the second act was about to begin.

  No, the Warlord and the bitch weren't her problem…not when she had a bigger, and more dangerous, one sitting beside her.

  3

  Surreal waited until they'd enjoyed the appetizers at the dining house Daemon had chosen for their after-theater meal.

  "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked quietly.

  "The play?"

  "No, about what's going on between you and Jaenelle that's making you so unhappy."

  "Leave it alone, Surreal," he said, his voice turning icy and razor-edged.

  She shook her head. "Can't, sugar."

  "Do you want to talk about Falonar?" he countered.

  She hissed.

  "Exactly." Smiling, he raised his wineglass in a salute. Then he looked down at his plate…and sighed. "I'll talk if you will."

  Hell's fire. The least said about Falonar to any male in her family the better. But… "I have your word you won't do anything to him? Anything?"

  She didn't like the fact that he thought about it for several seconds before inclining his head in agreement.

  Pushing her plate aside, she folded her arms on the table. Not a ladylike posture, but it let her lean closer to him. It occurred to her that they could have this entire conversation on a psychic thread to keep it silent and private, but it felt necessary to give the words the weight of sound.

  "I'm not what he wanted," she said, feeling the sting of the truth.

  "He doesn't want a beautiful, intelligent, talented woman?"

  Realizing Daemon meant what he'd said eased the sting a little. She tried to smile."He wants a Marian. Not Marian." she added quickl
y seeing the instant chill in Daemon's eyes. "The things that intrigued him enough initially for him to offer to share his eyrie with me were the same things that eventually stuck in his throat. Hell's fire, Sadi, I'm not going to apologize for what I've been."

  "He couldn't get past the fact that you used to be paid for sex?" Daemon asked too softly.

  "Since he wasn't offering to be anything more than my lover, that didn't bother him. Well, not much. And he certainly appreciated my… skills." She sighed. "No, what rubbed the wrong way was my skill with a knife…and the fact that an assassin doesn't worry about sticky details like letting the prey know he's about to be turned into carrion."

  "You were a competitor."

  She sat back as the dishes vanished and the server brought the main course. She savored the taste of a perfectly cooked filet before going back to a subject that would ruin her appetite.

  "I was a competitor," she agreed. "Falonar could be indulgent about the Eyrien witches learning to use weapons to defend themselves because none of them will ever have enough skill to be a rival to him. And they were only learning because Lucivar insisted on it, not because they wanted to. But I wanted to improve skills I already had…and killing is what I do."

  "And since Falonar wears a Sapphire Jewel and you wear the Gray, he wasn't stronger than you in that arena," Daemon said. "There are plenty of men who have lovers who wear darker Jewels than they do."

  "Falonar wants a woman who looks at him and sees a protector, a defender. He wants someone who needs his strength, someone whose talents are… gentler."

  "Who is she?" Daemon asked as he dipped a piece of lobster into the bowl of clarified butter.

  Surreal studied him warily. "I didn't say there was someone in particular."

  Daemon just smiled and continued eating.

  She concentrated on her own meal for a few minutes. Then she sighed. "Nurian. She's a Healer."

  "And she's Eyrien."

  "I don't know how deep Falonar's feelings about her run, but I'm pretty sure she's in love with him. Over the winter, things changed between him and me. Lots of sex and not much else. Some snide comments about my snipping off balls because I wanted a pair of my own. And for the record, I'd rather have the discomfort of moontimes than carry what you've got between your legs."