by Anne Bishop
Vanishing his knife, Lucivar looked at Rainier, who lay on the floor, his eyes closed, his face tight with pain. Then he looked at the two Warlords. “Can you get him to the Keep?”
They nodded. Using Craft, they lifted Rainier and gently floated him out of the eyrie.
Hallevar looked at the rest of the Warlords, then jerked a thumb toward the door.
The men bolted, no doubt glad to be clear of the anger and whatever problems were coming.
“Falonar is a Sapphire-Jeweled Warlord Prince and your second-in-command,” Hallevar said. “I trained you both when you were youngsters in the hunting camps, and that gives me some leave to speak my mind, but a Warlord Prince only tolerates so much of that.”
Lucivar just waited.
“It started with Falonar saying something about assessing Rainier’s skills, and Rainier saying he thought it was best to wait for you. Guess that didn’t sit well with Falonar because the next thing I knew, he tossed a sparring stick to Rainier and started the moves. Once you’re that far, the choice is counter the moves or get whacked. I began watching close. You’d said the Dharo Warlord Prince had been wounded in a fight and you had him here to heal and improve his skills. I don’t think you said how bad the leg was. That’s not an excuse, but I don’t think you actually said.”
“A war blade sliced through the muscles of Rainier’s leg and halfway through the bone. He was fighting a demon-dead Eyrien Warlord who had worn Jewels stronger than Opal,” Lucivar said.
“Then Rainier never had a chance.”
“No. He wasn’t supposed to have a chance. He wasn’t supposed to survive. No one who had been trapped in that spooky house was supposed to survive.”
Hallevar sighed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with Falonar lately, but I do know it’s something to do with you.”
Lucivar echoed the sigh. “Not surprising.”
“Not surprising,” Hallevar agreed. “But I think you’d best find out why.”
THREE
Lucivar and Daemon waited in one of the Keep’s sitting rooms while Jaenelle did what she could for Rainier.
Daemon had blocked him from talking to Jaenelle when they arrived at the Keep. She’d gone to the room where Rainier had been taken; Lucivar had ended up prowling a sitting room with a brother whose effort to control an icy temper was much too obvious.
“How angry is she over this?” Lucivar finally asked.
“Old son, you don’t want to ask that question,” Daemon replied softly.
“It wasn’t Rainier’s fault. Something’s been pushing at him and he’s been stupid about the leg because of it, but this wasn’t his fault.”
“He’s not the only one who has something pushing at him,” Daemon said. “I’ve been informed, discreetly, that Surreal isn’t sleeping well, is up reading or just pacing in the town house’s sitting room through the wee hours of the morning. She locked down so tightly after getting out of the spooky house, I don’t think she’s allowed herself to feel. Sooner or later that control will break.”
“And things will get messy.”
He circled the room a couple of times before Daemon said, “What’s chewing on you?”
“A lot of things, but the one bothering me the most is how she went after Falonar. Sight-shielded knife. Man sees a pissed-off woman throwing herself at him with nothing visible in her hands, he thinks of fists and flailing and angry words and boohooing. She knew that. She didn’t challenge him, didn’t square off for a fight.”
“She’s not Eyrien, and she’s not male. Surreal doesn’t play by those rules.”
“Sometimes she does,” Lucivar said. “Sometimes she’ll draw the line, and there’s no mistake she’s looking for a punch-and-roll brawl. But she wasn’t interested in giving a warning this time. She went for him, Daemon. If I hadn’t been there, she would have killed him before he’d realized that was her intent.”
“Are you sure that was the intent?”
He nodded. “If I hadn’t been swinging her away, she would have been in position to drive that knife right through his heart. Even if he realized the intent at the last moment, Sapphire shields wouldn’t have stopped a blade backed by Gray power. Didn’t stop a blade backed by the Gray.”
“Do you want to know what I’m wondering?” Daemon asked. “Surreal has a tendency to kill a man in a way that balances the harm he did to his prey. She hid a physical knife. What kind of blade was Falonar hiding—and who was it aimed at?”
Before he could think of an answer, Jaenelle walked into the room.
“Kindly inform Prince Falonar that if he gets near Prince Rainier again, I will strip his legs, muscle by muscle, until there is nothing left but skin and bone.”
Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. The look in her eyes made Lucivar shiver, made his knees weak. This was no idle warning, no embellished expression of anger. Jaenelle meant exactly what she said, and though she no longer wore Black or Ebony Jewels, there was more than enough power in Twilight’s Dawn to deal with a Sapphire-Jeweled Warlord Prince.
Daemon rose, a deliberate move to draw her attention, for which Lucivar was grateful.
“How is Rainier?” Daemon asked.
“He tore muscles that were already held together with healing spells and spider silk, and the bone is broken all the way through,” she snapped. “How do you think he is?”
They said nothing.
Jaenelle closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. When she looked at them again, sharp temper was still there but so was the usual control. “My apologies, Prince Sadi. You don’t deserve my anger.”
“No, I don’t,” Daemon replied, “but I’m not feeling polite right now either, so I understand.”
“Rainier wants to see you. I suggest you go now. He won’t be awake much longer.”
Lucivar waited until Daemon left the room before asking, “Will Rainier be able to walk on that leg?”
Jaenelle rubbed her hands over her face. When she let her hands fall, he saw the frustration and regret in her eyes. “He’ll walk. I’m not sure he’ll be able to do more than that at this point, but he should be able to walk.”
Sorrow burned in his chest. “I’ll work with him. Whatever it takes, I’ll work with him.”
Jaenelle sank into a chair. “I meant what I said about Falonar.”
He looked at her—and remembered that some of who and what she was had also come from the Dea al Mon. “I know.”
Rainier drifted, fighting the sleep he needed, fighting the healing spells and the healing brew for a little while longer.
He heard no sound, but he felt the dark power when Daemon walked into the room and sat beside the bed.
“I feel like something that had been hidden and festering got lanced,” he said. “I know if my leg wasn’t wrapped in numbing spells, it would hurt like a wicked bitch, but I feel better. Does that make sense?”
“It makes sense to you,” Daemon said. “Maybe it’s easier to accept when there is no longer a possibility of taking up the life you had.”
“Maybe.” Was Sadi weaving a soothing spell in his voice, Rainier wondered, or was it the healing spells that made him feel like he could float on the sound?
“Would you like me to read to you?” Daemon asked.
Rainier laughed. It sounded like heavy syrup. “I’d be asleep before you read the second sentence. I don’t want to waste the offer.”
“All right. Another time, then.”
His arm was so heavy. He wasn’t sure he’d actually moved it until Daemon took his hand.
“I want to stay in Ebon Rih. Have a reason to stay now. Jaenelle won’t like me staying, so I need you to stand for me.”
“Why do you want to stay?”
Something he’d seen in Falonar’s eyes, something he’d felt when Falonar’s Sapphire and Lucivar’s Red powers had crashed into his own effort to keep himself upright, leaving him vulnerable in too many ways. “I’m not sure. . . .”
“W
hatever you tell me now will stay between us,” Daemon soothed.
As I was falling, I felt Falonar ram against my inner barriers, and with all the power slamming around me, I couldn’t keep my mind shut tight, couldn’t keep everything private. Might not have been intentional. He could have been flung against me by the Red, but intentional or not, Falonar grabbed at the chance to find something, anything, I might know that he could use against Lucivar. Some secret, some weakness. The pain in my leg . . . I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to protect a confidence, so I floated a lie near the surface where it would be easy to find that Lucivar’s left ankle was badly damaged when Yaslana first came to Kaeleer, and even now it’s weak and wouldn’t support him if it received a couple of hard blows in a fight.
Did he say the words? Did he voice the suspicion of what Falonar had hoped to achieve by causing him to fall?
“Shh,” Daemon said. “Rest now. I won’t act on what you’ve told me unless I have proof that it’s true. And I’ll talk to Jaenelle so that you can stay in Ebon Rih for a while.”
Having those assurances from the Prince he served, he drifted off to sleep.
Lucivar found Falonar at Nurian’s eyrie. Not unexpected since they were lovers and she was the Healer the Eyriens around Riada and Doun came to when they were injured or ill. The Eyriens who lived in camps in the northern end of the valley complained about having to see one of the Rihlander Healers in Agio because there wasn’t another Eyrien Healer in Ebon Rih, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that. He would have accepted another Healer if one had been willing to sign a contract with him and had the disposition needed to settle comfortably in Kaeleer, but Nurian had been the only one who had been willing to settle in Ebon Rih and live under the rule of a man most Eyriens still thought of as a half-breed bastard despite his bloodlines.
She looked tired. That wasn’t unexpected either, considering the number of people who had become ill recently, but he didn’t think the strain he saw in her face was due to fatigue.
Falonar was settled in her parlor, his left arm shielded and wrapped to protect the fragile, newly healed muscle and skin. He looked comfortable, but his eyes were yellow stones filled with anger.
“Will the Dharo man prance again?” Falonar asked.
“No,” Lucivar replied. “But we’re hopeful he’ll walk on that leg again. You should be hoping that too, because if he can’t walk, neither will you.”
“Is that a threat, Yaslana?”
No title, no courtesy in the voice. More and more, Falonar seemed to be forgetting who ruled and who served.
“That, Prince Falonar, is the message from an enraged Queen drawing a line and stating what the blood debt will be for damage done to one of her court.”
Falonar paled. “There is no court. Hasn’t been one for almost two years.”
Lucivar huffed out a laugh. “You be sure to explain that to Witch while she’s stripping all the muscle out of your legs.”
Falonar paled even more.
“Stay away from Rainier. You won’t get another warning. And if the Queen has a reason to go after you, you won’t find anyone strong enough to stand in her way who will stand in her way. Is that clear?”
“As clear as what passes for Eyrien honor here.”
Ah. Lucivar gave Falonar a lazy, arrogant smile. “So let’s hear what passed for Eyrien honor in Terreille.”
Falonar exploded out of the chair.
Lucivar waited, watching the other man’s eyes.
“We’re Eyriens who aren’t allowed to be Eyriens,” Falonar snarled. “We should rule this valley instead of having to pretend that the Rihlanders are our equals. These mountains should be filled with our kind, but there are less than two hundred Eyriens in Ebon Rih.”
“The others who came through the service fair had no interest in living in Ebon Rih,” Lucivar said.
“No, they had no interest in living under you. Instead of having a new life, they chose to go back to misery rather than serve you. The only thing you honor about our race is our fighting skills and what we can do on a killing field. You’ve cast aside everything else and expect us to accept that, swallow that.”
Well, that’s interesting. Lucivar shifted his expression into puzzlement. “What else is there beyond what was learned in the hunting camps?”
“Our traditions, our customs, our heritage! You send Jillian to school to learn what? Nothing Eyrien.”
“Last time I looked, Eyriens can read the same words and tally the same numbers as Rihlanders or Dhemlans.”
“What about our history?”
Now, that was a sore spot, since Eyrien history was something he wanted Daemonar to learn. “There aren’t any storytellers who can teach the youngsters the old stories,” Lucivar said with genuine regret.
“There were some who came to Kaeleer, but none who would come here,” Falonar said bitterly.
“That was their decision.”
“So you’ll condemn the rest of us instead of making an honorable choice?”
“Meaning what?”
“No matter what you say, there is no longer a Queen ruling Ebon Askavi, which means you’re no longer bound by any contract to that Queen. Give up Ebon Rih. Let it go to another leader Eyriens will follow. Let us build a life here, an Eyrien life. And if you won’t think of the rest of us, think of your own son. Is he going to grow up as an Eyrien or as a Rihlander with wings?”
“And I suppose you, as the leader the other Eyriens will follow, would make sure he was treated as a young man from an aristo family and not the son of a half-breed bastard?”
He saw the truth in Falonar’s eyes.
“Your family is wealthy.” Falonar spit out the words. “You can live anywhere. Do something for your people. Go live elsewhere and let us have Askavi.”
Lucivar smiled. “Funny how all of a sudden you become my people when you want something that would be convenient for you and give me nothing in return. No, Falonar. I am where I choose to live. As for the other Eyriens living in Ebon Rih? I was here first. And the Eyriens who were in this valley before me? They were my uncle and my cousin and the men who served them.”
Falonar stared at him for a long time, then said bitterly, “The only Eyrien thing about you is your wings.”
As Lucivar walked to the door, he tossed back, “My mother would have been pleased to hear you say that.”
FOUR
When a man’s ability to move was severely limited, being in a room with Surreal all day was unnerving, especially when her mood kept swinging from being oversolicitous to looking like she’d explode if she didn’t rip apart everything in the room. Since he was one of the things in the room, Rainier felt giddy relief when Jaenelle ordered Surreal to take her own walk and rest period.
Then Jaenelle worked on his leg, weaving her healing spells around and through the broken bone and severed muscle. Satisfied that, this time, he had done exactly what he’d been told to do, she had given him permission to sit downstairs this evening and have the passive company of Merry and Briggs’s customers.
Wasn’t much of a trade in some ways, since Merry was keeping as sharp an eye on him as Surreal had done, but the difference in personalities made him feel easier. Besides, Merry had plenty of other people to look after—and didn’t look like she wanted to rip out everyone’s throat.
Rainier sat at a table with his left leg resting on cushions that floated on air and enough shields around that part of the table to barricade a whole house—and none of those shields were his. Still, he was happy to be around other people for a while and concerned that Surreal was taking another walk to work off more temper—and he wondered if there was some way for him to find out if there was a problem in Ebon Rih or if Lucivar had a problem with just one man.
* * *
Lucivar prowled the sitting room at the Keep. He’d spent the day trying to figure out whom he could talk to who would just let him talk. Marian would have listened, but he didn’t want to share this with h
er. Not yet. Not when it might change how she felt or acted around some of the other Eyriens.
So he’d come to the Keep, wishing he could have talked to his uncle Andulvar, or even Prothvar, but finally choosing the man he hoped could understand.
“I’m not leaving Ebon Rih for any prick-ass’s benefit,” he said, “but Falonar was right about some things.” He braced when his father rose from the chair where Saetan had sat silently and passively while Lucivar recounted his discussion with the other Eyrien Warlord Prince. But the High Lord just settled on the wide arm of the big stuffed chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Was he?” Saetan asked blandly.
Hell’s fire. He’d asked—no, demanded—to be allowed to talk without having to deal with someone else’s anger, but this blandness in face and voice hid too much, giving him no clue to Saetan’s thoughts or temper.
“What, exactly, was he right about?” Saetan asked.
Lucivar bristled. Couldn’t stop himself. “Look, I didn’t want to deal with anger, but I didn’t say you couldn’t express an opinion.”
“As long as it’s expressed politely?”
He swore savagely. “I was hoping you would understand.”
“I do,” Saetan said, his voice still viciously bland. “Better, I think, than you do at this moment.”
Lucivar snapped to a stop and looked into Saetan’s eyes. Something there, something that warned him that he could hear nothing or he could hear it all.
“Stop that.” If he had to submit to a scolding, he was not going to listen to it delivered in that bland, no-balls voice—not from this man.
Saetan’s gold eyes filled with sharp amusement. “Would you prefer a whack upside the head? It’s what you would have gotten from your uncle.”
