by Anne Bishop
Another pained laugh. “That’s a good way of putting it.”
“After Winsol, you’ll be spending a few weeks in Ebon Rih with Lucivar.” And may the Darkness have mercy on you. “So I suggest you visit your family in Dharo and enjoy the festivities.”
“Am I dismissed?” Rainier asked, his voice a shade too polite.
“Yes, you’re dismissed. Happy Winsol, Rainier.”
Rainier pushed himself to his feet, then leaned on the cane. “Happy Winsol, Prince.”
Daemon suspected that he and Rainier were both wishing each other a lot of things at that moment, and “happy” wasn’t one of them.
He waited until he was sure he’d given Rainier enough time to leave the Hall. Then he left his study—and didn’t have to go far, since Beale was waiting for him.
“Lady Karla requests your presence,” Beale said.
He’d known when the Queen of Glacia had arrived. It was hard to miss that particular psychic scent—and hard to miss the presence of a Gray-Jeweled witch in his home.
“She’s waiting for you in her suite,” Beale added.
“And Lady Angelline?”
“The Lady has gone to the Keep. She intends to be back in time for dinner, but said if she was late, you should start without her.”
Not likely, but he didn’t need to say it, since it was already understood by the household staff.
Daemon made his way through the Hall’s corridors to the section that held the family’s suites of rooms. When Jaenelle was fifteen, the coven came to spend a summer, reuniting with the special friend they thought had been lost. The coven—and the boyos who also came for that afternoon tea and never quite went home again—had been given suites. Even now, when those Ladies were the Queens of their own Territories, those suites were still theirs, a second home and a place where they still gathered as friends and Sisters.
Karla’s suite looked out over Jaenelle’s courtyard. He knocked on Karla’s door and didn’t get an answer. His hand hovered over the door’s handle, but he tried another approach before reacting as if something was wrong.
*Karla?* he called on a psychic thread.
*Come on through,* she replied. *I’m down in the courtyard.*
He entered her sitting room and hurried to the glass doors that led out to the balcony. He paused then, reassured when he saw her standing near the drained fountain, her face raised to the sun. Moving more leisurely, he went down the nearest set of stairs and joined her.
“Kiss kiss,” Karla said, giving him a wicked smile.
Raising the hand she offered, he kissed her knuckles.
“Darling, isn’t it a bit cold out here?” he asked.
“Your blood must be thin if you think this is cold. Which you wouldn’t notice as much if you put on a coat.”
At least he had put a shield on his shoes to keep his feet dry and protect the leather.
She linked her arm in his and sighed. “Glacia’s winter has too much bite for me a lot of days, so I wanted to take advantage of spending a little time outside in softer weather.”
“Meaning a little snow on the ground and air that doesn’t freeze your lungs?” Daemon asked dryly.
“Exactly.”
He felt her shiver and led her to the stairs. “Enough.”
“Bossy.”
“Protective.”
“Bossy.”
He bared his teeth and said, “Kiss kiss,” which made her laugh.
He didn’t know if it was proof of Beale’s uncanny timing or if Karla had made the request earlier, but they entered the sitting room moments before Holt brought a tray of coffee and pastries.
“You look good,” Daemon told her as he poured coffee for both of them.
And she did, despite her face having thinned and aged a decade more than her years. Whether that aging was due to the task of ruling Glacia or a result of the poisoning she’d survived two years ago, he couldn’t tell.
“Flattery will not get you the last nutcake,” Karla said, taking the cup he offered. “I do feel good most of the time. Oh, my legs feel the weather, so there are uncomfortable days, but unlike people whose brains are attached to their penises, I’ve actually done what I was told to do in order to get better and keep my legs as healthy as they can be.”
Shit. “So this isn’t a social call?”
“Jaenelle asked me to come and look at Rainier. Provide a second opinion as a Healer.”
Daemon stiffened. “Jaenelle asked for a second opinion?”
“Tells you something is wrong, doesn’t it?” Karla sipped her coffee. “Doesn’t matter what Jewels she wears; Jaenelle is the most brilliant Healer in the entire Realm. If she can’t heal something, it can’t be healed. I’m testimony to what she can do. I shouldn’t have survived that brew of poisons I was given when my uncle Hobart tried to regain control of Glacia. And having survived, I shouldn’t be as healthy as I am.”
“Do you . . .” Daemon swallowed some coffee to wet a suddenly dry throat. “Do you sometimes wish she’d let you die? You wouldn’t be walking with a cane, wouldn’t have weak legs, if you’d made the transition to demon-dead.”
“That’s your cock talking,” Karla said.
“It is n—” He stopped. Thought. “Rainier.”
“Yes. Rainier.”
He set his cup down on the table in front of the sofa. “He won’t come all the way back, will he?”
“No, his leg will never be what it was. It will never support him the way it did before that Eyrien war blade cut through all that muscle and half the bone. If he’d gone down and stayed down, any of us—Gabrielle, me, Jaenelle—could have healed him and brought him almost all the way back. Maybe so close to all the way back he could do whatever he wanted to on that leg as long as he gave it some care. But he slapped shields around his leg and kept fighting.”
“He did what he had to do.”
“I know. But that leg will never be the same because of it, and he knows that.”
“Does he?”
“Yes, he does. He’s fighting it, Daemon. I don’t know what he’s doing or why, but I can see the results. Jaenelle has had to rebuild that bone and muscle so many times, there is almost nothing left to work with. Something is riding him, and riding him hard, but if he doesn’t stop damaging that leg, he really will be crippled.”
“He’s not a fool,” Daemon said.
“No,” Karla said quietly. “He’s scared. That’s worse.”
“Anything I can do?”
She shook her head. “No, there’s nothing you can do. And there is nothing I can do that Jaenelle hasn’t done.”
“Maybe having a leg so damaged there is no possible way to dance is easier for him than a leg that is almost whole but not whole enough.”
“Maybe, but I wouldn’t have thought Rainier was that much of an ass.” Karla selected a pastry. “Is he still going for this extra training with Lucivar?”
“He’s going. And he’s already been told if he doesn’t show up on his own, Lucivar will hunt him down and drag him all the way to Ebon Rih.”
“Well, then. I’m sure things will get sorted out—one way or another.”
Since he could imagine how things would get sorted out if Rainier started a pissing contest with Lucivar, he changed the subject. “How is Della? Is she excited about Winsol?”
Karla laughed. “She’s more excited that I’ve agreed to let her start learning basic healing.”
Daemon took a nutcake. “Training doesn’t usually start so early, does it? She’s still a girl.” A girl who had lost her mother when her entire village had been slaughtered by Eyriens working for Dorothea and Hekatah SaDiablo. A girl who had been rescued by Arcerian cats and spent months with them, living wild, before being adopted by Karla.
“She’s not a natural Healer—wasn’t born to that caste—but she has good instincts and a keen interest. She wants to specialize in healing kindred.”
He tried to keep a straight face—and couldn’t. “Doe
s she practice her bedside manner on KaeAskavi?”
“Every chance she gets. Which is another reason I’m here today. If you want to know about kindred, you ask Jaenelle. Of course, Della and KaeAskavi are only together these days when we’re at the country house. The house in Sidra is too frustrating for him.”
“City streets would be hard for a cat that size.”
“Oh, it isn’t the confined space,” Karla said, a wicked twinkle in her glacier blue eyes. “It’s the frustration of having all that prey wandering around and not being allowed to catch and eat any of it.”
“We’re talking about horses, right?”
“You know better than that.”
Mother Night.
“So,” Karla said, “we have a plate of goodies and a pot of coffee, and I have another hour to visit before I have to be heading back home. Why don’t you tell me all the things you don’t want the coven to know?”
Since he’d rather chew off his own hand than get backed into that particular corner, he took the easy way out—he put the nutcake back on the plate and gave her all of the goodies.
“Coward,” Karla said.
“Damn right.”
She laughed. “Even if you are a cock, you’re all right, Sadi.” She held out the plate. “Here. We’ll share. No gossip required.”
“Why do you need to go back so soon? Glacia is on the other side of the Realm, and that’s a long way to come to spend so little time here. You and Jaenelle haven’t had an evening together in quite a while.” Putting a touch of persuasion and a hint of seduction in his voice, he purred, “Stay. You can head back early in the morning. I’ll arrange for a driver and Coach so you can work or nap on the way home. Stay.”
She blinked at him. Then blinked again. “Hell’s fire, you’re good. I could feel my bones starting to melt.”
He smiled at her and let the spells fade.
“I had said I might stay over,” Karla said. “But I didn’t want to make it a certainty.”
“Are you worried about Della being home alone?” Would any of the Blood who had supported Karla’s uncle and survived the fighting two years ago try to hurt the girl?
“Yes, but not for the reasons you may be thinking. You’ve got that look in your eyes, Sadi. The ‘I’m ready to bristle and attack—where’s the enemy?’ look.”
“So what is the concern?” he asked too softly. Because she was right—he wouldn’t think twice about going to Glacia and eliminating any problems that might be plaguing Karla or a young girl.
“Prince Hagen, my Master of the Guard, likes children but has none of his own. So Della has found a surrogate father and he has found a daughter.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Rules have a way of getting . . . lost . . . when I’m gone for more than a day. It’s the most amazing thing. No one can remember why vegetables are supposed to be part of a meal. No one can tell time to figure out when a girl Della’s age should go to bed. On the other hand, the man can be so strict about other things, I’d swear he took lessons from Uncle Saetan.”
“So while Auntie Karla is away . . .”
“They’ll have a good time.” She sighed with too much drama. “Fine. I’ll stay.”
“And I’ll be more than happy to entertain you with gossip.” Just not about me. He took the nutcake. “Why did Jaenelle go to the Keep?”
Karla hesitated before answering. “I think she wanted a second opinion.”
“Witch-child.” Saetan leaned against the blackwood table in the Keep’s private library and crossed his arms. He hadn’t known what would cause it, but he’d known this day would come. And because he’d known, he tightened the leash on his temper a little more. It was almost Winsol. He didn’t want a fight to smear the celebrations.
But there was going to be a fight. He could read that truth in the way she moved and the look in her eyes.
“Should I start sorting books?” he asked.
She looked at the empty table and smiled as she shook her head.
It had been a useful ploy, pretending to sort old books while some member of his extended family eased into talking about whatever the trouble was. Useful until he’d discovered the coven knew it was a ploy and were pretending right along with him.
None of the boyos, including his own sons, had figured out the deception, which embarrassed him a little on behalf of his gender. On the other hand, with them it was still a useful tool.
“No, there’s no need to sort books,” Jaenelle said. She hesitated. “Papa, there’s something I want to ask you.”
“Subject?”
“Rainier.”
Not what he’d expected. He relaxed a little.
“He’s not healing the way he should.”
She grabbed her golden hair and pulled hard enough to make him wince.
“Maybe it’s because I can’t . . . because I’m not . . .”
“No,” he said softly, a clear enough warning to anyone who knew him. And Jaenelle, his daughter and Queen, knew him.
She lowered her hands and looked him in the eyes. “Maybe if I took back the power—”
“No.” Saetan straightened, then lowered his arms so that his fingers rested lightly along the edge of the table. “That part of your life is done.”
“I didn’t lose the Ebony like everyone thought. Maybe I can—”
“Damn you to the bowels of Hell, you will not do this.”
He saw the change in her and recognized the instant when it was Witch staring at him through Jaenelle’s sapphire eyes.
“You don’t know why things are different, High Lord,” Witch said in her midnight voice.
“Yes, I do, Lady. I went to Arachna. I met the Weaver of Dreams. I saw the tangled web that made dreams into flesh. And I saw that one slender strand of spider silk that changed the dream when she came back to us. There was another dreamer. You.”
She stepped back, wary now. “How long have you known?”
“A while now. Before you and Daemon married.” He paused, then added dryly, “Well, between the secret wedding and the public one, anyway. The point—and I hope you believe I will do what I say—is that my daughter has the life she wanted for herself, and taking back the Ebony would ruin that life.” And there was no certainty—none at all—that Jaenelle could still be a vessel for that much power, that taking back the Ebony wouldn’t kill her. “So you need to understand that I will fight my Queen into the ground in order to protect my daughter’s life. Witch-child, you never wanted that kind of power, so the only way you will take it back is by going through me. You’ll have to destroy me completely, because I will fight you with everything I am.”
Her face turned alarmingly pale. “You mean that.”
“Yes, I mean that. Everything has a price, Lady. That will be the price if you try to reclaim the Ebony.”
A heartbeat. Another. Then he was no longer facing Witch. It was Jaenelle studying him with haunted eyes.
“But . . . Rainier,” she said.
“I’ll remind you of a few things you’ve obviously forgotten.” His voice slipped into that tightly controlled scolding tone that could intimidate any child. Even this one. “When you were seventeen, you put Lucivar back together. Considering the condition he was in when Prothvar brought him to your cottage in Ebon Rih, he shouldn’t have survived at all. But you not only healed the broken bones and internal damage; you rebuilt his wings out of the few healthy scraps that were left.”
“I wore the Black then and had a reservoir of thirteen Jewels to tap,” Jaenelle said, her voice full of frustration. “And Lucivar was all-or-nothing. Systemic healing. He came out of it whole or he died.”
“The Black isn’t Ebony,” Saetan said. “You’ve never used Ebony for healing because it was too dark, too powerful. You used the Black.”
“Well, Twilight’s Dawn isn’t the Black,” she snapped.
“No, but there is a Black thread in your Jewel. Compared to a true Black, you’ve got a thimbleful
of power at that level, but it’s there. You also have two Black-Jeweled Warlord Princes and an Ebon-gray Warlord Prince who would have given you whatever power you needed for a healing web. And if you’d needed that kind of strength to add to a healing brew, Daemon or Lucivar would have given you the blood. The power was available, witch-child. This has nothing to do with the Jewels you no longer wear.”
“Then why isn’t Rainier healing?” Jaenelle paced, circled—and began snarling in a way that made Saetan wish he could put a shield between them without insulting her. “He was healing. He was.”
“Could he dance again?”
“Yes!” She paused. Thought. “Not everything. Not the demanding dances he and I used to do sometimes as a special performance. His leg muscles will never be able to support that kind of demand. But all the social dances, yes. All the kinds of dances he taught.” She looked cold and bitter. “But he’s done enough damage to those muscles now that he won’t be able to do that.”
“Then whatever is wrong with Rainier has nothing, or little, to do with the healing itself,” Saetan said quietly. “I don’t think it’s his leg that needs to heal so much as his heart.”
He opened his arms. She stepped into the embrace and held on.
“Would you like some advice?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Let Lucivar deal with Rainier.”
She raised her head and narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“Because I think Lucivar will be able to figure out the right motivation to help Rainier heal.”
“Lucivar will scare the shit out of him.”
“Precisely.”
She laughed and rested her head on his shoulder.
He savored the embrace. Since the day he’d met her—a seven-year-old girl who had walked through Hell without fear—he’d had to share her with so many others. Quiet moments when it was just the two of them had been rare, and he cherished every one.
“Papa?”
“Witch-child?”
“I won’t destroy the life your daughter dreamed of having.”
His breath caught. “Is that a promise?”
“Would you see a promise like that as a gift?”
“Yes, I would.”
She looked at him and smiled. “Then it’s a promise.”
