The knife went through as if there was nothing there and vanished.
"What are you?" Surreal gasped.
"An illusion that's called a shadow."
"Who are you?"
"Briarwood is the pretty poison. There is no cure for Briarwood." The woman smiled coldly. "Does that answer your question?"
Surreal studied the woman, trying to find some trace of
the child she remembered. After a minute, she said, "You really are Jaenelle, aren't you? Or some part of her?"
Jaenelle smiled, but there was no humor in it. "I really am." A pause. Then, "We need to talk, Surreal. Privately."
Oh, yes, they needed to talk. "I have to go to the market first."
The hand with the dagger-sharp, black-tinted nails tightened for a moment before releasing her. "All right."
Surreal hesitated. Snarls and crunching noises came out of the mist behind them. "Don't you have to finish the kill?"
"I don't think that'll be a problem," Jaenelle said dryly. "Piles of Hound shit aren't much of a threat to anyone."
Surreal paled.
Jaenelle's lips tightened. "I apologize," she said after a minute. "We all have facets to our personalities. This has brought out the nastier ones in mine. No one will enter the alley and nothing will leave. The Harpies will arrive soon and take care of things."
Surreal led the way to the market square, where she bought folded breads filled with chicken and vegetables from one vendor, small beef pies from another, and fresh fruit from a third.
"I'll make you a healing brew," Jaenelle said when they finally returned to Surreal's rooms.
Still wondering why Jaenelle had sought her out, Surreal nodded before retreating into the bathroom to get cleaned up. When she returned, there was a covered plate on the small kitchen table and a steaming cup filled with a witch's brew.
Settling into a chair, Surreal sipped the brew and felt the pain in her abdomen gradually dull. "How did you find me?" she asked.
For the first time, there was amusement in Jaenelle's smile. "Well, sugar, since you're the only Gray Jewel in the entire Realm of Terreille, you're not that hard to find."
"I didn't know someone could be traced that way."
"Whoever is hunting you can't use that method. It’ requires wearing a Jewel equal or darker than yours."
"Why did you find me?" Surreal asked quietly.
"I need your help. I want to find Daemon."
Surreal stared at the cup. "Whatever he did at Cassandra's Altar that night was done to help you. Hasn't he suffered enough?"
"Too much."
There was sorrow and regret in Jaenelle's voice. The eyes would have told her more. "Do you have to wear those damn dark glasses?" Surreal asked sharply.
Jaenelle hesitated. "You might find my eyes disturbing."
"I'll take the chance."
Jaenelle raised the glasses.
Those eyes belonged to someone who had experienced the most twisted nightmares of the soul and had survived.
Surreal swallowed hard. "I see what you mean."
Jaenelle replaced the glasses. "I can bring him out of the Twisted Kingdom, but I need to make the link through his body."
If only Jaenelle had come a few months ago.
"I don't know where he is," Surreal said.
"But you can look for him. I can stay in this form only three days out of the month. He's running out of time, Surreal. If he isn't shown the road back soon, there won't be anything left of him."
Surreal closed her eyes. Shit.
Jaenelle poured the rest of the brew into Surreal's cup. "Even a Gray-Jeweled witch's moontime shouldn't give her this much pain."
Surreal shifted. Winced. "I suppressed last month's time." She wrapped her hands around the cup. "Daemon lived with me for a little while. Until a few months ago."
"What happened a few months ago?"
"Kartane SaDiablo happened," Surreal said viciously. Then she smiled. "Your spell or web or whatever it was you spun around Briarwood's uncles did a good job on him. You wouldn't even recognize the bastard." She paused. "Robert Benedict is dead, by the way."
"How unfortunate," Jaenelle murmured, her voice dripping yenom. "And dear Dr. Carvay?"
"Alive, more or less. Not for much longer from what I've heard."
"Tell me about Kartane . . . and Daemon."
"Last spring, Daemon showed up at the flat where I was living. Our paths have crossed a few times since—" Surreal faltered.
"Since the night at Cassandra's Altar."
"Yes. He's like Tersa used to be. Show up, stay a couple of days, and vanish again. This time he stayed. Then Kartane showed up." Surreal drained her cup. "Apparently he's been hunting for Daemon for some time, but, unlike Dorothea, he seems to have a better idea of where to look. He started demanding that Daemon help him get free of this terrible spell someone had put on him. As if he'd never done anything to deserve it. When it became apparent that Daemon was lost in the Twisted Kingdom and, therefore, useless, Kartane looked at me—and noticed my ears. At the same moment he realized I was Titian's child—and his—Daemon exploded and threw him out.
"I guess he figured that bringing Sadi to Dorothea wouldn't buy him enough help, but bringing Dorothea his only possible offspring would be a solid bargaining chip. And a female offspring who could continue the bloodline would provide strong incentive—even if she was a half-breed.
"Daemon insisted that we leave immediately because Kartane would return after dark with guards. And he did.
"Before Daemon and I caught the Wind and headed out, we had agreed on a city in another Territory. He was right behind me, riding close. And then he wasn't there anymore. I haven't seen him since."
"And you've been running since then."
"Yeah." She felt so tired. She wanted to lose herself in a book, in sleep. Too much of a risk now. The rest of the Hayllian guards would start wondering about those four men, would start looking soon.
"Eat your food, Surreal."
Surreal bit into the folded bread and finally wondered why she hadn't tested that brew—and wondered why "she didn't care.
Jaenelle checked the bedroom, then studied the worn
sofa in the living area. "Do you want to tuck up in bed or curl up here?"
"Can't," Surreal mumbled, annoyed because she was going to cry.
"Yes, you can." Taking comforters and pillows from the bedroom, Jaenelle turned the sofa into an inviting nest. "I can stay two more days. No one will disturb you while I'm here."
__ "I'll help you search," Surreal said, snuggling into the sofa.
"I know." Jaenelle smiled dryly. "You're Titian's daughter. You wouldn't do anything else."
"Don't know if I like being that predictable," Surreal grumbled.
Jaenelle made another cup of the healing brew, gave Surreal first choice of two new novels, and settled into a chair.
Surreal drank her brew, read the first page of the novel twice, and gave up. Looking at Jaenelle, questions buzzed inside her head.
She didn't want to hear the answers to any of them.
For now, it was enough that, once they found Daemon, Jaenelle would bring him out of the Twisted Kingdom.
For now, it was enough to feel safe.
PART IV
chapter thirteen
1 / Kaeleer
Ccopring is the season of romance," Hekatah said, watching her companion. "And she's eighteen now. Old enough to enjoy a husband."
"True." Lord Jorval traced little circles on the scarred table. "But selecting the right husband is important."
"All he needs to be is young, handsome, and virile— and capable of obeying orders," Hekatah snapped. "The husband will merely be the sexual bait that will lure her away from that monster. Or do you want to live under the High Lord's thumb, once his 'daughter' sets up her court and begins her reign?"
Jorval looked stubborn. "A husband could be much more than sexual bait. A mature man could guide his Queen wife, help her to make the
right decisions, keep unhealthy influences away from her."
Frustrated to the point of screaming, Hekatah sat back and curled her hands around the wooden arms of the chair so that she wouldn't reach across the table and rip half that fool's face off.
Hell's fire, she missed Greer. He had understood subtlety. He had understood the sensible precaution of using intermediaries whenever possible to avoid being in the direct line of fire. As a member of the Dark Council, Jorval was extremely useful in keeping the Council's dislike and distrust of Saetan quietly simmering. But he lusted for Jaenelle Angelline and entertained fantasies of nightly
bouts of masterful sex which made the pale bitch pliant and submissive to his every whim, in and out of the bed. Which was fine, but the fool couldn't seem to see past the sweaty sheets to consider what might be waiting to have a little chat with him.
She was fairly sure that Saetan would grit his teeth and endure an unwelcome male his Queen was besotted with. He was too well trained and too committed to the old ways
of the Blood to do otherwise. But the Eyrien half-breed-----
He wouldn't think twice about tearing his Lady out of her lover's arms—or tearing off her lover's arms—and keeping her isolated until she was clearheaded again.
And she doubted either of them could be convinced that Jaenelle was panting and moaning for someone who looked like Lord Jorval.
"He must be young," Hekatah insisted. "A pretty boy with enough experience between the sheets to be convincing, and charming enough for her family to believe, however doubtfully, that she's wildly in love."
Jorval sulked.
Tightening her hold on her temper a little more, Hekatah altered her voice to sound hesitant. "There are reasons for caution, Jorval. Perhaps you remember a colleague of mine." She curled her hands until they looked like twisted claws.
Jorval abandoned his sulk. "I remember him. He was most helpful. I'd hoped he would return." When Hekatah said nothing, he took an unsteady breath. "What happened to him?"
"The High Lord happened to him," Hekatah replied. "He made the mistake of drawing attention to himself. No one has seen him since."
"I see."
Yes, finally, he was beginning to see.
Hekatah leaned forward and stroked Jorval’s hand. "Sometimes the duties and responsibilities of power require sacrifices, Lord Jorval." When he didn't protest, she hid a triumphant smile. "Now, if you were to arrange a marriage for Jaenelle Angelline with the son of a man
you felt comfortable working with—a handsome, controllable son—"
"How would that help me?" Jorval demanded.
Hekatah stifled her irritation. "The father would advise the son on the policies and changes that should be implemented in Kaeleer—changes that, at Jaenelle's insistence, would be accepted. A great many decisions are made during pillow talk, as I'm sure you know."
"And how would that help me?" Jorval demanded again.
"Just as the son follows the advice of the father, so the father follows the advice of his friend—who just happens to be the only source for the tonic that keeps the Lady so hungry for the son's attentions that she'll agree to anything."
"Ah." Jorval stroked his chin. "Aahhh."
"And if, for some reason, the High Lord or some other member of the family"—the flicker of fear in Jorval's eyes told her he'd already had a close brush with Lucivar Yaslana's temper—"should react badly, well, finding another hot, handsome boy would be easy enough, but finding strong, intelligent men to guide the Realm ..." Hekatah spread her hands and shrugged.
Jorval considered her words for several minutes. Hekatah waited patiently. As much as he might want the hot sexual fantasy, Jorval wanted power—or the illusion of power— much more.
"Lady Angelline will be coming to Little Terreille in two weeks. And I do have a ... friend . . . with a suitable offspring. However, getting Lady Angelline to agree to the marriage . . ."
Hekatah called in a small bottle and set it on the table. "Lady Angelline is well-known for her compassion and her healing abilities. If, by some terrible accident, a child were injured, I'm sure she could be prevailed upon to do the healing. If the injuries were life threatening, the power expended for a full healing would leave her physically and mentally exhausted. Then, if someone she trusted were to offer her a relaxing glass of wine, she would probably be too tired to test it. The wedding would, regrettably, have to be a small, quiet affair that
would take place shortly afterward. Between the fatigue and this brew mixed with the wine, she would be compliant anything to say what she was told to say and sign what she was told to sign.
"The young couple would stay at the wedding feast for a short time before retreating to their room to consummate the marriage."
Jorval's nostrils flared. "I see."
Hekatah called in a second bottle. "The proper dose of this aphrodisiac, slipped into her wine during the wedding toast, will make her hungry for her new husband." Jorval licked his lips.
"The next morning, the second dose must be given. This is very important because her hunger must be strong enough to override the High Lord's desire for an interview with her husband. By the time she's ready to release the boy from his conjugal duties, the High Lord won't be able to deny or object to the attachment without looking like a tyrant or a jealous fool." Hekatah paused, not pleased with the way Jorval was eyeing those bottles. "And the wise man guiding this affair will never be suspected—unless he calls attention to himself."
With visible effort, Jorval put his fantasies aside. He carefully vanished the bottles. "I'll be in touch."
"There's no need," Hekatah said a little too quickly. "Knowing I could help is enough. I'll let you know where, and when, to pick up the next supply of the aphrodisiac." Jorval bowed and left.
Hekatah sat back, exhausted. Jorval was ignorant of, or chose to ignore, the common courtesies. He'd brought no refreshment and had offered none. Probably thought he was too important. And he was, damn him. Right now he was too important to her plans for her to insist on the amenities. However, once the little bitch was sufficiently cut off from Saetan, she would be able to eliminate Jorval.
Two weeks. That would give her enough time to complete the rest of her plan and set the trap that would, with luck, get rid of a half-breed Eyrien Warlord Prince as well.
2 / Kaeleer
Something felt wrong.
Lucivar set the armload of wood into the box by the kitchen hearth.
Very wrong.
Straightening up, he made a sweeping psychic probe of the area, using Luthvian's house as the center point.
Nothing. But the feeling didn't go away.
Preoccupied with the nagging uneasiness, he didn't move when Roxie entered the kitchen, didn't really notice the light in her eyes or the way her walk changed as she came toward him.
He'd spent the past two days doing chores for Luthvian while dodging Roxie's amorous advances. Two days was about all he and Luthvian could manage together, and they only managed that because she was busy with her students most of the day, and he left right after dinner to spend the night in a mountain clearing.
"You're so strong," Roxie said, running her hands over his chest.
Not again. Not again.
Normally he wouldn't have allowed a woman to touch him like that. Normally he would have considered that tone of voice an invitation to an intimate introduction to his fist.
So why was he afraid? Why were his nerves buzzing?
Sever it this time. Break the link for good. No. Can't. Won't be able to reach him if. . .
Roxie's arms wound around Lucivar's neck. She rubbed her breasts against his chest. "I haven't had a Warlord Prince yet."
Where was the fear coming from?
You can't have this body. This body is promised to him.
Roxie pressed against him. She playfully nipped his neck. He set his hands on her hips, holding her still while he concentrated on finding the source of that wasp-angry buzzing.
<
br /> No. Not again.
It was coming from the Ring of Honor Jaenelle had given him. The buzzing, the fear, the cold rage building under
the fear. Those weren't his feelings washing through him, but hers.
Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. Hers.
"I see you've changed your tune," Luthvian said tartly as she entered the kitchen.
Cold, cold rage. If it wasn't banked quickly . . .
"I have to go," Lucivar said absently. He felt the pull of arms around his neck and automatically shoved the body away from him.
Luthvian started swearing.
Ignoring her, he turned toward the door and wondered for a moment why Roxie was lying in a heap on the kitchen floor.
"You have to service me!" Roxie shouted, pushing herself into a sitting position. "You got me aroused. You have to service me."
Spinning around, Lucivar snapped a leg off a kitchen chair and tossed it into Roxie's lap. "Use that." He headed out the door.
7 won't allow this. I will not submit to this.
"Lucivar!"
Snarling, he tried to shake off Luthvian's hand. "I have to go. Cat's in trouble."
Luthvian's hand tightened. "You're sure, aren't you? You sense her well enough that you're sure."
"Yes!" He didn't want to hit her. He didn't want to hurt her. But if she didn't let him go ...
The hand on his arm trembled. "You'll send word to me? You'll let me know if ... if she needs help?"
Lucivar gave Luthvian a hard, steady look. She might be jealous of the way the men in the family were drawn to Jaenelle, but she cared. He kissed her cheek roughly. "I'll send word."
Luthvian stepped back. "You spent all those years training to be a warrior, so go make yourself useful."
No.
Lucivar sped along the Ebon-gray Web, squeezing out all the speed he could, knowing it was already too late.
I won't let you.
Whatever happened, he'd take care of her afterward. Sweet Darkness, please let there be an afterward. He pushed harder.
No feelings from the Ring. No buzzing. Nothing at all except . . .
Noooooo!
. . . the rage. Mother Night, the rage!
Lucivar thrust his way through the sick-faced crowd, homing in on the spot where Jaenelle's unleashed power was concentrated. A middle-aged Warlord stood on one side of the hallway, babbling at a grim-looking Mephis. The aftertaste of power swirled behind a door on the opposite side.
Bishop, Anne - Dark Jewels 02 - Heir to the Shadows (v1.0) Page 34
