Bishop, Anne - Dark Jewels 02 - Heir to the Shadows (v1.0)

by Heir to the Shadows [lit]

  Black-Jeweled rings decorated both hands. Around her neck was a Black Jewel centered in a web made of delicate gold and silver strands.

  It was a gown made for Jaenelle the Witch. Erotic. Romantic. Terrifying. He could feel the latent power in every thread of that gown. And he knew then who had created it: the Arachnians. The Weavers of Dreams.

  Saying nothing, Jaenelle picked up Kaetien's horn and glided toward open ground, the gown's small train flowing out behind her.

  Saetan wanted to remind her that it was her moon time, that she shouldn't be channeling her power through her body right now. But he remembered that, behind the

  human mask, Witch had a tiny spiral horn in the center of her forehead, so he said nothing.

  She spent several minutes walking around, looking at the ground as if she wanted a particular site.

  Finally satisfied, she faced the north. Raising Kaetien's horn to the sky, she sang one keening note. She lowered her hands, pointed the horn at the ground, and sang another note. Then she swept her arms upward and began to sing in the Old Tongue.

  Witch song.

  Saetan felt it in his bones, felt it in his blood.

  A ghostly web of power formed under her bare feet and swiftly spread across the land. Spread and spread and spread.

  Her song changed, became a dirge filled with sorrow and celebration. Her voice became the wind, the water, the grass, the trees. Circling. Spiraling.

  . The still, white bodies of the dead unicorns began to glow. Mesmerized, Saetan wondered if, viewed from above, the glowing bodies would look like stars that had come to rest on sacred ground.

  Perhaps they were. Perhaps they had.

  The song changed again until it became a blend of the other two. Ending and beginning. From the land and back to the land.

  The unicorn bodies melted into the earth.

  Kindred didn't come to the Dark Realm. Now he knew why. Just as he knew why humans would never easily settle in kindred Territories without the kindred's welcome. Just as he knew what had created those pockets of power he'd avoided so carefully.

  Kindred never left their Territories, they became part of it. What strength was left in each of them became bound with the land.

  The ghostly web of power faded.

  Jaenelle's voice and the last of the daylight faded.

  No one moved. No one spoke.

  Coming back to himself, Saetan realized Lucivar's arm was around his shoulders.

  "Damn," Lucivar whispered, brushing away tears.

  "The living myth," Saetan whispered. "Dreams made flesh." His throat tightened. He closed his eyes.

  He felt Lucivar leave him and reach for something.

  Opening his eyes, he watched Lucivar support Jaenelle into the camp. Her face was tight with pain and exhaustion, but there was peace in her sapphire eyes.

  The coven gathered around her and led her into the trees.

  Talking quietly, the boys stirred the pots of stew, sliced bread and cheese, gathered bowls and plates for the evening meal.

  Beyond the firelight, the unicorns settled down for the night.

  Khary and Aaron took bowls of stew and water out to where Ladvarian and Kaelas were keeping watch over the foals.

  When the girls returned, Jaenelle was dressed in trousers and a long, heavy sweater. She gave Lucivar a halfhearted snarl when he wrapped her in a spell-warmed blanket and settled her on the log next to Saetan, but she didn't grumble about the food he brought.

  They all talked quietly as they ate. Small talk and gentle teasing. Nothing about what they'd done today or what still waited for them tomorrow. Despite their best efforts, they'd covered a very small part of Sceval, and only Jaenelle knew how many unicorns lived there.

  Only Jaenelle knew how many had been sung back to the land.

  "Saetan?" Jaenelle said, resting her head against his shoulder.

  He kissed her forehead. "Witch-child?" She didn't respond for so long he thought she'd dozed off. "When does the Dark Council next meet?"

  5 / Kaeleer

  Lord Magstrom tried to keep his mind on the petitioner standing in the circle, but she had the same complaints as the seven petitioners before her, and he doubted the twenty petitioners after her would have anything different to say to the Dark Council.

  He had thought that, when he became Third Tribune, his opinions might carry a little more weight. He had hoped his position would help quell the continued, whispered insinuations about the SaDiablo family.

  That none of the Territory Queens outside of Little Terreille believed there was any truth in those whispers should have told the Council something. That the Dark Council's judgments had been respected and trusted by all of the Blood races for all the years the High Lord and Andulvar Yaslana had served in the Council should have told them even more—especially since it was no longer true.

  Lord Jorval was First Tribune now, and it was disturbing how easily he shaped other Council members' opinions.

  And now this.

  "How can I settle the territory granted to me when my men are being slaughtered before they even set up camp?" the Queen petitioner demanded. "The Council has to do something!"

  "The wilderness is always dangerous, Lady," Lord Jorval said smoothly. "You were warned to take extra precautions."

  "Precautions!" The Queen quivered in outrage. "You said these beasts, these so-called kindred had a bit of magic."

  "They do."

  "That wasn't just a bit of magic they were using. That was Craft!"

  "No, no. Only the human races are Blood, and only the Blood has the power to use Craft." Lord Jorval looked soulfully at the Council members seated on either side of the large chamber. "But, perhaps, since we know so little about them, we were not fully aware of the extent of this animal magic. It may be that the only way our Terreillean Brothers and Sisters will be able to secure the land granted to them is if the Kaeleer Queens they're serving are willing to send in their own warriors to clear out these infestations."

  And every Queen who sent assistance would expect a higher percentage of the profit from the conquered land, Magstrom thought sourly. He was about to antagonize the

  rest of the Council—again—by reminding the members that the Dark Council had been formed to act as arbitrators to prevent wars, not to provoke them. Before he could speak, a midnight voice filled the Council chamber.

  "Infestations?" Jaenelle Angelline strode toward the Tribunal's bench and stopped just outside the petitioner's circle, flanked by the High Lord and Lucivar Yaslana. "Those infestations you speak of, Lord Jorval, are kindred. They are Blood. They have every right to defend themselves and their land against an invading force."

  "We're not invading!" the petitioning Queen snapped. "We went in to settle the unclaimed land that was granted to us by the Dark Council."

  "It's not unclaimed," Jaenelle snarled. "It's kindred Territories."

  "Ladies." Lord Jorval had to raise his voice to be heard over the muttering of Council members and petitioners. "Ladies!" When the Council and the petitioners subsided, Lord Jorval smiled at Jaenelle. "Lady Angelline, while it's always a pleasure to see you, I must ask that you not disrupt a Council meeting. If there is something you wish to bring before the Council, you must wait until the petitioners who have already requested an audience have been heard."

  "If all the petitioners have the same complaint, I can save the Council a great deal of time," Jaenelle replied coldly. "Kindred Territories are not unclaimed land. The Blood have ruled there for thousands of years. The Blood still rule there."

  "While it pains me to disagree," Lord Jorval said gently, "there are no Blood in these 'kindred territories.' The Council has studied this matter most diligently and has reached the conclusion that, while these animals may be thought of as 'magical cousins,' they are not Blood. One must be human to be Blood. And this Council was formed to deal with the Blood's concerns, the Blood's rights."

  "Then what are the centaurs? What are the satyrs? Hal
f-human with half rights?" No one answered. "I see," Jaenelle said too softly.

  Lord Magstrom's mouth felt parched. His tongue felt shriveled. Did no one else remember what had happened the last time Jaenelle Angelline had stood before the Council?

  "Once the Blood are established in these Territories, they will look after the kindred. Any disagreements can then be brought to the Council by the human representatives for those Territories."

  "You're saying that the kindred require a human representative before they're entitled to any consideration or any rights?"

  "Precisely," Lord Jorval said, smiling.

  "In that case, I am the kindred's human representative."

  Lord Magstrom suddenly felt as if a trap had been sprung. Lord Jorval was still smiling, still looked benign, but Magstrom had worked with him enough to recognize the subtle, underlying cruelty in the man.

  "Unfortunately, that isn't possible," Lord Jorval said. "This Lady's claim may be under dispute"—he nodded at the petitioning Queen—"but you have no claim whatsoever. You don't rule these Territories. Your rights are not being infringed upon. And since neither you nor yours are affected by this, you have no justifiable complaint. I must ask you now to leave the Council chambers."

  Lord Magstrom shuddered at the blankness in Jaenelle's eyes. He sighed with relief when she walked out of the Council chamber, followed by the High Lord and Prince Yaslana.

  "Now, Lady," Lord Jorval said with a weary smile, "let's see what we can do about your rightful petition."

  "Bastards," Lucivar snarled as they walked toward the landing web.

  Saetan slipped an arm around Jaenelle's shoulders. Lucivar's open anger didn't worry him. Jaenelle's silent withdrawal did.

  "Don't fret about it, Cat," Lucivar continued. "We'll find a way around those bastards and keep the kindred protected."~

  "I'm not sure there is a legitimate way around the Council's decision," Saetan said carefully.

  "And you've never stepped outside the Law? You've never overruled a bad decision by using strength and temper?"

  Saetan clenched his teeth. In trying to explain why the family had difficulties with the Dark Council, someone must have told Lucivar why the Council made him Jaenelle's guardian. "No, I'm not saying that."

  "Are you saying kindred aren't important enough to fight for because they're animals?"

  Saetan stopped walking. Jaenelle drifted a little farther down the flagstone walk, away from them.

  "No, I'm not saying that, either," Saetan replied, struggling to keep his voice down. "We have to find an answer that fits the Council's new rules or this will escalate into a war that tears the Realm apart."

  "So we sacrifice the nonhuman Blood to save Kaeleer?" Smiling bitterly^ Lucivar opened his wings. "What am I, High Lord? By the Council's reckoning of who is human and who is not, what am I?"

  Saetan took a step back. It could have been Andulvar standing there. It had been Andulvar standing there all those years ago. When honor and the Law no longer stand on the same side of the line, how do we choose, SaDiablo?

  Saetan rubbed his hands over his face. Ah, Hekatah, you spin your schemes well. Just like the last time. "We'll find a legitimate way to protect the kindred and their land."

  "You said there wasn't a legitimate way."

  "Yes, there is," Jaenelle said softly as she joined them. She leaned against Saetan. "Yes, there is."

  Alarmed by how pale she looked, Saetan held her against him, stroking her hair as he probed gently. Nothing physically wrong except the fatigue brought on by overwork and the emotional stress of tallying the kindred deaths. "Witch-child?"

  Jaenelle shuddered. "I never wanted this. But it's the only way to help them."

  "What's the only way, witch-child?" Saetan crooned.

  Trembling, she stepped away from him. The haunted look in her eyes would stay with him forever.

  "I'm going to make the Offering to the Darkness and set up my court."

  chapter sixteen

  1 / Kaeleer

  Banard sat in the private showroom at the back of his shop, sipping tea while he waited for 'the Lady.

  He was a gifted craftsman, an artist who worked with precious metals, precious and semiprecious stones, and the Blood Jewels. A Blood male who wore no Jewel himself, he handled them with a delicacy and respect that made him a favorite with the Jeweled Blood in Amdarh. He always said, "I handle a Jewel as if I were handling someone's heart," and he meant it.

  Among his clients were the Queen of Amdarh and her Consort, Prince Mephis SaDiablo, Prince Lucivar Yaslana, the High Lord and, his favorite, Lady Jaenelle Angelline.

  Which was why he was sitting here long after the shops had closed for the day. As he'd told his wife, when the Lady asked for a favor, why, that was almost like serving her, wasn't it?

  He nearly spilled his tea when he looked up from his musings and saw the shadowy figure standing in the doorway of the private showroom. His shop had strong guard spells and protection spells—gifts from his darker-Jeweled clients. No one should have been able to get this far without triggering the alarms.

  "My apologies, Banard," said the feminine, midnight voice. "I didn't mean to startle you."

  "Not at all, Lady," Banard lied as he increased the illumination of the candlelights around the velvet-covered display table. "My mind was wandering." He turned to smile at her, but when he saw what she held in her hands, he broke out in a cold sweat.

  "There's something I'd like you to make for me, if you can," Jaenelle said, stepping into the small room.

  Banard gulped. She had changed since he'd last seen her a few months ago. It was more than the Widow's weeds she was wearing. It was as if the fire that had always burned within her was now closer to the surface, illuminating and shadowing. He could feel the dark power swirling around her—brutal strength offset by a worrisome fragility.

  "This is what I'd like you to make," Jaenelle said.

  A piece of paper appeared on the display table.

  Banard studied the sketch for several minutes, wondering what he could say, wondering how to refuse gracefully, wondering why she, of all people, would have the thing she held in her hands.

  As if understanding his silence and reluctance, Jaenelle caressed the spiraled horn. "His name was Kaetien," she said softly. "He was the Warlord Prince of the unicorns. He was butchered a few days ago, along with hundreds of his people, when humans came in to claim Sceval as their territory." Tears filled her eyes. "I've known him since I was a little girl. He was the first friend I made in Kaeleer, and one of the best. He gifted me with his horn. For remembrance. As a reminder."

  Banard studied the sketch again. "If I may make one or two suggestions, Lady?"

  "That's why I came to you," Jaenelle said with a trembling smile.

  Using a thin, charcoal pencil, Banard altered the sketch. At the end of an hour of fine-tuning, they were both satisfied.

  Alone again, Banard made another cup of tea and sat for a while, studying the sketch and staring at the horn he couldn't yet bring himself to touch.

  What she wanted made would be a fitting tribute for a beloved friend. And it would be an appropriate tool for I such a Queen.

  2 / Kaeleer

  Saetan paced the length of the sitting room Draca had reserved for them at the Keep. Reserved? Confined them to was closer to the truth.

  Lucivar abandoned his chair and stretched his back and shoulders. "Why is it that your pacing isn't supposed to annoy me, but when I start pacing I get chucked into the garden?" he asked dryly.

  "Because I'm older and I outrank you," Saetan snarled. He pivoted and paced to the other side of the room.

  From sunset to sunrise. That's how long it took to make the Offering to the Darkness. It didn't matter if a person came away from the Offering wearing a White Jewel or a Black, that's how long it took. From sunset to sunrise.

  Jaenelle had been gone three full days.

  He had remained calm when the first dawn had passed in
to late morning because he could still remember how shaky he'd felt after making the Offering, how he'd remained in the altar room of the Sanctuary for hours while he adjusted to the feel of the Black Jewels.

  But when the sun began to set again, he'd gone to the Dark Altar in the Keep to find out what had happened to her. Draca had forbidden him entrance, sharply reminding him of the consequences of interrupting an Offering. So he'd returned to the sitting room to wait.

  When midnight came and went, he'd tried to reach the Dark Altar again and had found all the corridors blocked by a shield even the Black couldn't penetrate. Desperate, he'd sent an urgent message to Cassandra, hoping she would be able to break through Draca's resistance. But Cassandra hadn't responded, and he'd cursed this evidence of her further withdrawal.

  She was tired. He understood that. He came from a long-lived race and had already gone several lifetimes beyond the norm. Cassandra had lived hundreds, had watched the people she'd come from decline, fade, and finally be absorbed into younger, emerging races. When she had ruled; she had been respected, revered.

  But Jaenelle was loved.

  So Cassandra hadn't responded. Tersa had.

  "Something's wrong," Saetan snarled as he passed the couch and low table Tersa hunched over while she arranged puzzle pieces into shapes that had meaning only for her. "It doesn't take this long."

  Tersa poked a puzzle piece into place and pushed her tangled black hair away from her face. "It takes as long as it takes."

  "An Offering is made between sunset and sunrise."

  Tersa tilted her head, considering. "That was true for the Prince of the Darkness. But for the Queen?" She shrugged.

  Cold whispered up Saetan's spine. What would Jaenelle be like when she was the Queen of the Darkness?

  He crouched opposite Tersa, the table between them. She paid no more attention to him than she did to Lucivar's silent approach.

  "Tersa," Saetan said quietly, trying to catch her attention. "Do you know something, see something?"

  Tersa's eyes glazed. "A voice in the Darkness. A howling, full of joy and pain, rage and celebration. The time is coming when the debts will be paid." Her eyes cleared. "Leash your fear, High Lord," she said with some asperity. "It will do her more harm now than anything else. Leash it, or lose her."