Twilight's Dawn dj-9

by Anne Bishop

  “Uncle Lucivar said it was all right!”

  He saw the room through a red veil. With effort, he released Jaenelle’s wrist. “Get out of here. Now.”

  She ran. The moment she was out of the room, he flung the sheet aside, sprang out of bed, and strode to his own adjoining bedroom to get dressed. He could hear Jaenelle yelling for her mother, felt the crackle of Gray power in response. No doubt Surreal had used Craft to pass through the wall and meet Jaenelle in the corridor. Better that way. Right now he couldn’t get past the rage to deal with the girl in any gentle way.

  He was dressed and striding for his bedroom’s door when Surreal rushed in from her room.

  “Jaenelle’s practically in hysterics,” she said. “What in the name of Hell is going on?”

  “I don’t know yet.” His hand closed on the door’s handle.

  “Where are you going?”

  He turned his head and looked at her—and watched her freeze because she recognized the difference between dealing with the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan and the High Lord of Hell.

  But she swallowed hard and pushed, because Surreal wouldn’t do anything less. “Daemon, where are you going?”

  He yanked on the handle and ripped the door off its hinges. Letting it fall, he snarled, “I’m going to have a chat with my brother.”

  All the way to Ebon Rih, Daemon worked to keep his temper chained—at least until he had some kind of explanation from Prince Yaslana.

  “Oh, tch. I’ve seen boy parts before.... Uncle Lucivar said it was all right!

  Memories swam too close to the surface. Memories of a place called Briarwood and men who were called uncles—men who violated little girls. Memories of Jaenelle Angelline’s body torn from a savage rape. And blood. So much blood. That terrible night had been the first time he’d seen Witch in the Misty Place after he’d fallen too far in the abyss and shattered his mind.

  He dropped from the Black Wind to the landing web below Lucivar’s eyrie. The air around him turned frigid, and the green leaves of the nearby plants frosted as he climbed the steps to the flagstone courtyard.

  He walked into his brother’s home without knocking, then twisted the chain on his temper a little more when he heard Daemonar and Titian chattering in the kitchen—and heard Lucivar answer some question that had been inserted in the chatter.

  Maybe it was better this way, with the children here. If Lucivar had been alone . . .

  He walked into the kitchen. Titian looked up and gave him a cheerful, “Hi, Uncle Daemon,” before she picked up his mood and hunched in her seat.

  Lucivar gave him one measuring look, then continued cooking breakfast.

  Daemonar stood up, a young Warlord Prince prepared to die defending his father and sister. The boy swallowed hard and said, “It wasn’t Jaenelle’s fault.”

  “It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Lucivar said with such dismissive certainty the tone pierced Daemon’s cold rage, leaving behind a moment’s doubt.

  “But something did happen,” Daemon said too softly.

  Lucivar shrugged, then filled two of the plates on the counter with eggs and bacon, adding slices of toast and a bowl of summer berries. Calling in a tray, he stacked it with the plates, silverware, the butter dish, and a jar of Marian’s jam. He took two glasses from a cupboard and filled them with milk.

  “Daemonar, take the tray into the dining room. You and your sister have breakfast in there. Titian, can you carry the milk?”

  “We’re supposed to eat where?” Daemonar asked as Lucivar handed him the tray.

  “Dining room,” Lucivar replied. “You know. The place you only see on special occasions. Now go.”

  “But, Papa.”

  “Go.”

  Daemonar glanced at Daemon, fear in his eyes. “Come on, Titian.”

  Daemon said nothing, did nothing except assess every move and every sound Lucivar made. When the children were in the other room, he wrapped a Black shield around the kitchen, then added an aural shield. Whatever they said to each other would remain private—providing they were both still alive when the discussion was done.

  Lucivar took two white mugs from the cupboard. “Coffee?”

  “Not yet.” He didn’t eat with an enemy. Refusing the coffee right now was a warning that while he and Lucivar would always be brothers, they might no longer be friends.

  Lucivar filled one mug, then set the coffeepot back on the stove. “I’m surprised you didn’t show up sooner. And frankly, Bastard, I’m surprised you’re this pissed off about it.”

  “My daughter was exposed to a naked male. You knew and didn’t tell me. You’re damn right I’m pissed off about it.”

  “I told her to tell you.” Lucivar sighed. “I guess she didn’t.”

  “Now you will,” he said coldly. “And the first thing you’re going to tell me is who displayed himself to a girl her age.”

  Lucivar took a slow swallow of coffee. “Me.”

  It crushed his heart. He suspected that would be the answer and had hoped he was wrong.

  Then he considered Daemonar’s words and Lucivar’s dismissive response. Jaenelle had been equally dismissive about whatever had happened. Was he wrong?

  “Explain.” He could barely force out the word.

  “Do you want the short version or all the details?”

  “Oh, I want all the details, Prick. I do want the details.”

  “All right.” Lucivar huffed out a breath and told him.

  Lucivar rested in the small pool that was one of his favorite places in Ebon Rih, lulled by the twitter of birds, the easy fall of water, and the voices of young girls doing happy girl things. He’d checked the area before setting up a perimeter shield that allowed Titian and Jaenelle Saetien to have a feeling of independence while never being beyond his awareness.

  After a quick dip to cool off from the summer heat, they’d said they wanted to pick wildflowers so that Marian could teach them . . . something. Since he and Daemonar had the pool to themselves, they stripped completely and settled into water he considered sun-warmed to perfection, since it was still first-gasp cool.

  Through half-closed eyes, he watched his son trying to act relaxed and lazy, but the boy was too focused on the sound of the girls’ voices to be either.

  No. Daemonar still acted like a boy at times, but he was well into the adolescent stage, both physically and emotionally, and the aggressive temper of a Warlord Prince was now added to the possessive, protective side of their caste.

  Daemonar sighed and ducked under the water. When he surfaced, he sighed again. “They giggle a lot. Especially when they’re together. Why do they giggle like that?”

  “Because they’re girls.”

  “That’s not much of an answer.”

  “It’s the only one I’ve got, boyo. Young females are still females, and their minds are wondrous, strange, and confusing.”

  Daemonar rolled his eyes. “It makes Titian and Jaenelle sound dumb, like some of the older girls in school. Except Jillian. She wouldn’t act dumb.”

  Quick to defend, Lucivar thought. “Anything I need to know about?”

  “No, sir.”

  And a little too quick with that answer. Might be nothing, but Lucivar wouldn’t dismiss it until he’d had a chat with Jillian and knew it was nothing. Daemonar saw Jillian as an older sister, which meant she was his to protect and defend. So the boy would never admit to an adult that she was doing something dumb even if he thought she was doing something dumb.

  Looked like it was time for a reminder talk about the difference between doing something dumb but not dangerous and doing something that put one of them in the position of needing the intervention of an adult—namely, him.

  “They’re going to pick all the flowers,” Daemonar said.

  Lucivar studied his son. “If you want to do something for your mother, you can help her weed the garden this evening. Then you can have some time alone with her. She’ll like that just as much as picked flowers.”
/>
  Big sigh. “The girls will push in.”

  “I’ll keep the girls out of the way.”

  “Yeah?” Daemonar climbed out of the pool, looking happier.

  “Hey.” Lucivar waited until Daemonar met his eyes. “Do not start teasing them.”

  “I won’t.”

  Lucivar stared at him. “They’re having a good time. Let them be.”

  “I’m not going to do anything. Not with Jaenelle here.”

  “Because she’s younger than you and Titian?”

  Daemonar grinned. “No, because she hits a lot harder than Titian.”

  His sigh turned into a chuckle. “Go on, then.”

  Daemonar grabbed his clothes and darted over to the bushes where he would have privacy dressing.

  Lucivar pushed away from the edge of the pool and floated on his back, his wings spread.

  Didn’t get much quiet time these days, not since Marian had given birth to their third child, a boy they named Andulvar in honor of the Demon Prince. A hard birthing, and it was taking Marian longer to recover. Because she needed more rest and her time and strength were being given to the baby, he made sure Daemonar and Titian had a little time alone with her each day. And he made sure she had a little time for herself. Like today when he took the children for an afternoon at the pool and Jillian was at the eyrie to help out and watch the baby so that Marian could have a couple of hours to sleep or read in peace.

  With all the children nearby but occupied, he could have a few minutes of peace himself.

  The girls’ shrieks had him snapping upright, but he stayed in the pool, listening while he sent out psychic probes to search for the problem. They weren’t yelling for help, and those shrieks weren’t telling him much. The sound could be for anything—bug, snake, weird formation of bark on a tree. Granted, the girls weren’t prone to shrieking, since they’d learned early how their fathers responded to the sound, but they were young girls of a certain age, so . . .

  Daemonar’s voice. Angry. Distressed. Close to panic.

  It didn’t matter if he couldn’t sense anything wrong. If all three of them were upset, there was a problem.

  Lucivar surged out of the water, calling in his war blade as he strode toward their voices. He used Craft to pass through the bushes in his way, never breaking stride. Nothing should have been able to slip through his perimeter shield. Nothing! But if something had and the children were under attack . . .

  He burst in on them, his temper rising to the killing edge as he scanned the clear, grassy area where Jaenelle and Titian stood, then probed the bushes behind Daemonar—and found nothing.

  “What in the name of Hell is going on?” he roared.

  Daemonar and Titian began talking so fast they were barely coherent, their words a cacophony of tripping sounds full of accusations, justifications, denials, and explanations. But it was Jaenelle’s expression—baffled and a bit disappointed—that caught his attention and made him uneasy.

  A sharp whistle silenced his children. Daemonar clutched his clothes to cover himself. Titian twisted her fingers. Jaenelle remained focused on ... whatever.

  Then, sounding apologetic, she said, “It looks like baby Andulvar’s stuff.”

  Daemonar made a strangled noise. Titian glanced at her father, blushed fiercely, and looked away. Jaenelle cocked her head and continued to ponder.

  “What?” He looked down to figure out what the witchling found so interesting—and swore silently but with great sincerity. And suddenly all the accusations, justifications, denials, and explanations made sense.

  After making one more swift probe to be sure there was no danger, Lucivar vanished his war blade and called in the loin wrap he usually wore as a morning cover-up in the summer. As he secured the wrap, he said, “Before I decide whose ass gets kicked, let me see if I understand this. Some of the older girls at school have gotten curious about what a boy has tucked in his pants, and they’ve been teasing Titian, saying she’s too young to know about such things.”

  “They made it sound all mysterious, and I wanted to know!” Titian wailed.

  “So when you heard Daemonar in the bushes, Jaenelle tried to sneak up on him and get a look at what the older girls were talking about.”

  “I tried to be quiet, but Daemonar heard me right away,” Jaenelle said.

  No, he didn’t, Lucivar thought. Otherwise, he would have started yelling before the shrieking started. But he found it interesting that Jaenelle was trying to give Daemonar credit for catching her—and even more interesting that she had been able to sneak up on an Eyrien boy who already had a few years of formal training. Of course, that boy was still naked and nowhere near the bushes where he’d gone to get dressed, which meant he’d decided to sneak up on the girls and see what they were doing and had been so intent on that he’d forgotten the reason he was still carrying his clothes—until Jaenelle sneaked up on him and he realized how much trouble he’d be in for being naked in front of his young cousin.

  Lucivar said, “So now you’ve seen the mysterious boy parts that are making the older girls act silly.”

  “Really?” Jaenelle asked doubtfully.

  “Darling, if someone is male and human, this is what he’s got in his pants.”

  “Oh.”

  He quivered with the effort not to laugh at the keen disappointment held in that single word. Apparently boy parts weren’t mysterious after all. In fact, they weren’t even interesting. At least, not for a good many years.

  Thank the Darkness for that.

  “Papa?” Titian said after a long moment of feet-shuffling silence. “Can we go back to picking flowers?”

  “Not yet.” Lucivar gave all the children a lazy, arrogant smile. “First, we’re going to discuss some new rules.”

  “That’s it,” Lucivar said, setting his coffee mug on the counter.

  Daemon stood still, saying nothing, trying to find his balance. Jaenelle Saetien hadn’t seen a strange man intent on doing her harm in any way. And he couldn’t fault Lucivar for choosing the war blade over pants when it sounded like the children were in trouble. He would have made the same choice of weapons over modesty.

  His head throbbed and his stomach churned, no doubt from holding in all that rage that now had no target.

  He watched Lucivar pick up the coffeepot and refill one mug. “Is there enough in there for another cup?”

  Lucivar gave him that measuring look, understanding the message. He filled the other mug and handed it to Daemon.

  “I don’t know what to say.” Daemon sipped the coffee. “I know too much, Lucivar. I heard too many nightmares while Jaenelle and I were married, and I never want my little girl to know the things my Queen knew.”

  “I know about those nightmares too.” Lucivar took two plates out of the cupboard and divided the rest of the food. “Jaenelle Saetien didn’t say anything about her visit here until this morning?”

  “Oh, she was a bundle of information about the visit, talking about the baby, and Auntie Marian teaching her and Titian to make wildflower wreaths, and getting to do practice routines with you using the sparring sticks, and playing with the wolf pack who lives on the mountain with you, and shopping in Riada with Titian and Jillian and the three of them stopping at The Tavern for the midday meal. She said you had some new rules, but that was thrown in with the rest, and she didn’t elaborate, so it sounded like they were boundaries that just applied to her when she was with you in Ebon Rih.” Daemon took a long swallow of cool coffee. “She didn’t say anything about seeing a man’s body until she wanted to show me something wonderful and tried to drag me out of bed.”

  “What was it?” Lucivar asked.

  Daemon sighed. “I don’t know. The conversation ended once she mentioned boy parts.”

  Lucivar looked out the kitchen window. “Hell’s fire. What time did she jump on you that you got here so early?”

  “Before sunup.”

  Lucivar huffed out a laugh. “No wonder you arrived her
e looking like you were skating the border of the Twisted Kingdom.”

  “Prick, I know you better than to think what I was thinking. For that, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. If Titian had hit me with that bit of information before I was awake, I would have landed on your doorstep wondering the same thing. The only difference is I would have pinned your ass to the wall before we started talking.”

  He meant it. All of it.

  Lucivar picked up one of the plates and held it out. “You want this?”

  “Yes, I do.” Taking his plate and mug to the kitchen table, he sat down.

  Lucivar tossed him a fork, then joined him.

  “Tell me about these rules,” Daemon said.

  “I kept it simple.” Lucivar spread jam on his toast. “Look equals tell. Touch equals tell. Permission before action. No exceptions.”

  “Is that supposed to make sense?”

  “The long version of the rules is, if any male tries to show them his stuff or tries to talk them into showing him their bodies, the first thing they do is shield. The second thing they do is holler for you or me, and we will decide what needs to be done. If anyone tries to touch them or tries to make them touch body parts—”

  “They shield and holler for one of us.”

  Lucivar nodded. “If they want to spend private time with a friend, male or female, they get our permission first. I won’t refuse any reasonable request and will set whatever boundaries I feel are necessary, but permission comes before action.”

  “And the consequences of disobeying your rules?”

  Lucivar looked him in the eyes. “I’ll destroy the enemy, regardless of gender or age. And unless there is permission beforehand, I will regard any person who tries to sneak off with one of my children as an enemy.”

  Daemon sat back. “There might be mitigating circumstances.”

  “Not if I find out about it afterward instead of beforehand.”

  “That’s a hard line.” One he knew Lucivar would hold. “Do these rules apply to Daemonar too?”

  “Yes. And Jillian.”

  Daemon stiffened. “Has someone been bothering Jillian?”

  Lucivar shook his head. “No—and I intend to keep it that way.” He paused. “Look, Bastard, you may think those rules are harsh, and maybe you want to soften them for Jaenelle Saetien. But when it comes to my children, when they stay with you, I expect you to hold that line.”