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

by Heir to the Shadows [lit]

  Saetan's hand closed over her wrist. "I'm not afraid of her, I'm afraid for her."

  Tersa shook her head. "She will be too tired to sense the difference. She will only sense the fear. Choose, High Lord, and live with what you choose." She looked at the closed door. "She is coming."

  Saetan tried to rise too quickly and winced. He'd overworked his bad leg again. Tugging down the sleeves of his tunic jacket and smoothing back his hair, he wished, futilely, that he'd bathed and changed into fresh clothes. He also wished, futilely, that his heart would stop pounding so hard.

  Then the door opened and Jaenelle stood on the threshold.

  In the seconds before rational thought fled, his mind registered her hesitation, her uncertainty. It also registered the amount of jewelry she was wearing.

  Lorn had gifted her with thirteen uncut Black Jewels. An uncut Jewel was large enough to be made into a pendant and a ring, as well as providing smaller chips that could be used for a variety of purposes. If he was estimating correctly, she'd taken the equivalent of six of those thirteen Jewels in with her when she made the Offering. Six Black Jewels that, somehow, had been transformed into more than Black.

  Into Ebony.

  No wonder it had taken her so long to make the descent to her full strength. He couldn't begin to estimate the power at her disposal now. Since the day he'd met her, he'd known it would come to this. She was traveling roads now the rest of them couldn't even imagine.

  What would it do to her?

  His choice.

  The thought shocked him with its clarity. It freed him to act.

  Stepping forward, he offered his right hand.

  Wild-shy, Jaenelle slipped into the room, hesitated a moment, then placed her hand in his.

  He pulled her into arms, burying his face against her neck. "I've been worried sick about you," he growled softly.

  Jaenelle stroked his back. "Why?" She sounded genuinely puzzled. "You've made the Offering. You know—"

  "It doesn't usually take three days!"

  "Three days!" She jerked back, stumbling into Lucivar, who had come up behind her. "Three days?"

  "Do we have to observe Protocol from now on?" Lucivar asked.

  "Don't be daft," Jaenelle snapped.

  Grinning, Lucivar immediately wrapped his left arm around her, pinning her arms to her sides and holding her tight against his chest. "In that case, I propose dunking her in the nearest fountain."

  "You can't do that!" Jaenelle sputtered, squirming.

  "Why not?" Lucivar sounded mildly curious.

  The reason she gave was inventive but anatomically impossible.

  Since laughing wouldn't be diplomatic, even if it was prompted by the relief that wearing Ebony Jewels hadn't changed her, Saetan clenched his teeth and stayed silent.

  Tersa, however, finally stirred herself and joined them. Shaking her head, she gave Jaenelle a poke in the shoulder. "There's no use wailing about it. You've taken up the responsibilities of a Queen now, and part of your duties is taking care of the males who belong to you."

  "Fine," Jaenelle snarled. "When do I get to pound him?"

  Tersa tsked. "They're males. They're allowed to fuss and pet." Then she smiled and patted Jaenelle's cheek. "Warlord Princes especially need physical contact with their Queen."

  "Oh," Jaenelle said sourly. "Well, that's just fine then."

  Tersa stretched out on the couch.

  "All right, grumpy little cat, you have a choice," Lucivar said.

  "Not one of your choices," Jaenelle groaned, sagging against him.

  "Does either of those choices include food and sleep?" Saetan asked.

  "And a bath?" Jaenelle added, wrinkling her nose.

  "One does," Lucivar said, releasing her.

  "Then I don't want to know what the other one is." Jaenelle rubbed her back. "Your belt buckle bites."

  "So do you."

  Saetan rubbed his temples. "Enough, children."

  Amazingly, they both stopped. Gold and sapphire eyes studied him for a moment before they left the room, arms about each other's waists.

  "You did well, Saetan," Tersa said quietly.

  Picking up a blanket draped over a chair, Saetan tucked it around Tersa and smoothed back her hair. "I had help," he replied, then laughed softly when she batted at his hand. "Males are allowed to fuss and pet, remember?"

  "I'm not a Queen."

  Saetan watched her until she fell asleep. "No, but you are a very gifted, very extraordinary Lady."

  3 / Kaeleer

  Telling himself he wasn't nervous, despite the pounding heart and sweaty palms, Saetan entered the large stone chamber that Draca had indicated was the place where the invited guests were to wait until they were summoned to the Dark Throne. Except for the blackwood pillars that contained the candle-lights and a few long tables against the walls that held assorted beverages, the room was bare of furniture.

  Which was just as well since threading their way through seating designed for humans would have made the kindred more tense than they already were, and some species—like the small dragons from the Fyreborn Islands—needed a generous amount of space. Saetan noticed, with growing uneasiness, that all the kindred, not just the ones who had had little or no contact with people, weren't mingling with the human Blood, even though most of the humans present were friends-—or had been before the slaughters. That they were in this closed, confined space at all said a great deal for their devotion to Jaenelle.

  That was one worry. Ebon Rih was the Keep's Territory in Kaeleer—Jaenelle's Territory now. Ruling Ebon Rih wouldn't help the kindred or keep the human invaders out of their Territories. Traditionally, the Queen of Ebon Askavi had considerable influence in all the Realms, but would that influence and the innate caution within the Blood not to antagonize a mature dark power be enough? Would any of the fools in Kaeleer's Dark Council even recognize who they were challenging?

  Another worry was who was going to make up Jaenelle's court. He'd always assumed that the coven and Jaenelle's male friends would form the First Circle. It wasn't unprecedented for Queens to serve in a stronger Queen's court since District Queens served Province Queens who, in their turn, served the Territory Queen. That was the web of power that kept a Territory united.

  But Queens who ruled a Territory didn't serve in other~ courts. They were the final law of their land and yielded to no one.

  In the past week, while Jaenelle rested after making the Offering, her coven, Queens all, had also made the Offering. And every one of them had been chosen as the new Queen of their respective Territories, the former Queens stepping aside and accepting positions in the newly formed courts.

  The boys, too, had come to power. Chaosti was now the Warlord Prince of Dea al Mon and Gabrielle's Consort. Khardeen, Morghann's Consort, was the ruling Warlord of Maghre, his home village. After accepting Kalush's Consort ring, Aaron had become the Warlord Prince of Tajrana, the capital of Nharkhava. Sceron and Elan were the Warlord Princes of Centauran and Tigrelan, serving in the First Circles of Astar's and Grezande's courts. Jonah now served as First Escort for his sister, Zylona, and Morton served as First Escort for his cousin Karla.

  As feminine voices drifted down the corridor behind him, Saetan headed for the table where Lucivar, Aaron, Khary, and Chaosti were gathered. Geoffrey and Andulvar nodded in greeting but didn't break away from their conversation with Mephis and Prothvar. Sceron, Elan, Morton, and Jonah were talking to a diminutive Warlord Prince Saetan hadn't seen before. Little Katrine's First Escort or Consort?

  "The tailor did an excellent job," Saetan told Lucivar, accepting the glass of warmed yarbarah.

  "Uh-huh." The reply sounded sour, but after a moment Lucivar shook his head and laughed. He put his hand over his heart. "I represent a challenge worthy of good Lord Aldric who, as he happily informed me while he was sticking pins everywhere, had never designed formal attire that had to accommodate wings."

  "Well, now that he has your measurements—" Saetan b
egan.

  "Oh, no." Lucivar shook his head, wearing an expression Saetan recognized all too well from his own dealings with good Lord Aldric. " 'Each fabric has a character of its own, Prince Yaslana,'" Lucivar said, mimicking the tailor's mournful voice. " 'We must learn how each one will flow around these marvelous additions to your physique.' "

  Khary, Aaron, and Chaosti coughed in unison.

  "Maybe he just wants to stroke your wings," Karla said as she joined them. She slid her hand over Saetan's shoulder and leaned against his back, her sharp chin digging into his other shoulder. "They are impressive. Is it true that the length of your"—her ice-blue eyes flicked to Lucivar's groin—"is in direct proportion to your wings?"

  Lucivar made a very crude sexual gesture.

  "Touchy, isn't he? But not touchable? Ah, well. Kiss kiss."

  "Stuff yourself, Karla," Lucivar said, baring his teeth in a smile.

  Karla laughed. "It's so good to be back among the surly. A few days ago I said 'kiss kiss' and everyone tried to." She shuddered dramatically, then ruffled Saetan's hair, cheerfully ignoring the accompanying snarl. "You know what, Uncle Saetan?"

  "What?" Saetan replied warily, sipping his yarbarah.

  Karla's wicked smile bloomed. "Since you're the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan and rule that Territory, and I'm the Queen of Glacia and rule that Territory, now whenever Dhemlan has to deal with Glacia, you get to deal with me."

  Saetan choked.

  "Appalling thought, isn't it, that you're going to have to deal with all the things you taught me."

  "Mother Night," Saetan gasped as Karla plucked the glass out of his hand and thumped his back.

  "What'd you do to Uncle Saetan?" Morghann asked, accepting a glass of wine from Khary.

  "Just reminded him that we're now the Queens he has to deal with."

  "How unfair, Karla," Kalush said, joining them. "You should have eased into it instead of springing it on him."

  "How?" Karla frowned. "Besides, he knew it already. Didn't you?"

  Saetan retrieved his glass and drained it to avoid answering. After all the hours he, Geoffrey, Andulvar, and Mephis had spent chewing over the implications of having this particular group of Queens coming into power at this time,

  none of them had thought of the obvious—that he was going to have to deal with them as Territory Queens.

  A gong sounded throughout the Keep. Once. Twice. Thrice. Then, after a pause, a fourth time.

  Four times for the four sides of a Blood triangle, the fourth side being what was held within the other three. Like the three males—Steward, Master of the Guard, and Consort—who formed a strong, intimate triangle around a Queen.

  At the back of the room, huge double doors opened outward, revealing a dark emptiness.

  Paying no attention to the hesitant stirring around him, Saetan set his glass aside, smoothed his hair, and straightened his new clothes. Since Protocol dictated that processions went from light Jewels to dark, first all the males and then the females, he would be at the end of the male line.

  So he didn't realize no one had moved and that everyone was looking at him until Lucivar poked him.

  "Protocol dictates—" he began.

  "Screw Protocol," Karla replied succinctly. "You go first."

  When everyone nodded agreement, he slowly walked toward the double doors. Lucivar and Andulvar fell into step on either side of him. Mephis, Geoffrey, and Prothvar followed them.

  "What's in there?" Lucivar asked quietly.

  "I don't know," Saetan replied. "I've never been in this part of the Keep before." He glanced back at Geoffrey, who shook his head.

  They reached the doors and stopped. The lights from the room behind them revealed the first handful of wide, descending steps.

  We'll all break our necks trying to go down without lights.

  The thought was barely completed when little sparkles embedded in the dark stone began to glow, growing brighter and brighter.

  Like swirls of stars, Saetan thought, his breath catching. Like the poem Geoffrey quoted to him years ago, about the great dragons who had created the Blood. They spiral down into ebony, catching the stars with their tails.

  Ebony had once been the poetic term for the Darkness.

  Saetan froze, his foot suspended over the first step.

  Was it still?

  "Something wrong?" Lucivar whispered.

  Saetan shook his head and slowly descended, grateful for the solid Eyrien strength on either side of him.

  When he reached the bottom step, a second set of double doors swung inward. The midnight-black chamber slowly lightened, the dark giving way to the dawn. The light gradually spread from their end of the chamber to the other. But he noticed, as he moved forward, that it didn't illuminate the ceiling. At thrice his height, the light gave way to twilight, which, in its turn, yielded once again to the dark.

  The back wall began to lighten from either side. Filling the wall, as high as the light reached, was a highly detailed bas-relief. A dreamscape, a nightscape, shapes rising up from and dissolving into others. Kindred shapes. Human shapes. Blending. Entwined. Fierce and beautiful. Ugly and gentle.

  The light finally reached the center of the back wall and the Dark Throne. Three wide steps ran around the dais on three sides. On the dais itself was a simple blackwood chair with a high, carved back. Its simplicity said that the power that ruled here had no need for ornamentation or ostentation—especially when it was protected on the right-hand side by a huge dragon head coming out of the stone.

  "Mother Night," Andulvar said in a hushed voice. "She created a sculpture of Lorn's head."

  "Hell's fire," Lucivar whispered. "Where'd she find so many uncut Jewels to make the scales?"

  Trembling, Saetan shook his head, unable to speak. Maybe Andulvar couldn't see the darkness beyond the lit bas-relief from where he stood, a darkness that suggested another large chamber beyond this one. Maybe he couldn't see the iridescent fire in the dragon's scales. Maybe he'd forgotten the sound of that ancient, powerful voice. Maybe . . .

  Eyelids slowly opened. Midnight eyes pinned them where they stood.

  Geoffrey clutched Saetan's arm, his fingers digging in

  hard enough to hurt. "Mother Night, Saetan," Geoffrey said, his breathing ragged. "The Keep is his lair. He's been here all the time."

  He hadn't expected Lorn to be so big. If the body was in proportion to the head . . .

  Dragon scales. The Jewels were dragon scales somehow transformed into hard, translucent stones. Had there been dragons who matched the specific colors of the Jewels or had they all been that iridescent silver-gold, changing color to match the strength of the recipient?

  Saetan gingerly touched the Black Jewel around his neck. His Birthright Red and the Black had been uncut Jewels. Were there two missing scales somewhere along the great body that must lie in the next chamber that would have matched his uncut Jewels?

  Then he finally understood why there had been a hint of maleness in the uncut Jewels Jaenelle had been gifted with.

  Lorn. The great Prince of the Dragons. The Guardian of the Keep.

  Needing to get his mind focused on something other than the power that ancient body must contain, Saetan turned to Geoffrey. "His Queen. What was the name of his Queen?"

  "Draca," said a sibilant voice behind them.

  They turned and stared at the Keep's Seneschal.

  Her lips curled in a tiny smile. "Her name wass Draca."

  Looking into her eyes, Saetan wondered what subtle spell had been lifted that allowed him to see what he should have guessed long before. Her age, her strength, the uneasiness so many felt in her presence. Which made him think of something else. "Does Jaenelle know?"

  Draca made a sound that might have been a laugh. "Sshe hass alwayss known, High Lord."

  Saetan grimaced, then gave in as gracefully as he could. Even if he'd thought to ask, he doubted he'd have gotten an answer. Jaenelle was very good at keeping her own counsel.


  "Are they relatives of yours?" Lucivar asked, indicating the Fyreborn dragons who were staring at Lorn.

  "You are all relativess," Draca replied, looking pointedly at Lucivar's Ebon-gray Jewel. "We created the Blood. All

  the Blood. Therefore, you are all dragonss under the sskin."

  Saetan glanced at the kindred who were edging closer. "You, of course, would know." He saw amusement in Draca's eyes.

  "It iss not I who ssayss sso, High Lord. Jaenelle ssayss sso." Draca looked past them to the Dark Throne.

  As one, they turned.

  Dressed in that cobwebby black gown and wearing Ebony Jewels, Jaenelle sat serenely in the blackwood chair. Her long golden hair was brushed away from the face that finally revealed its unique beauty.

  "The time has come for me to take up my duties as the Queen of Ebon Askavi," Jaenelle said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried throughout the chamber. "The time has come for me to choose my court."

  A breathless tension filled the chamber.

  Saetan concentrated on breathing slowly, steadily. For days he'd been telling himself that court service was for the young and vigorous, that he'd never intended to serve formally, that the unspoken service he performed was enough, that he had experienced serving in the Dark Court at Ebon Askavi when he'd been Cassandra's Consort.

  Except he hadn't, because, in a way he couldn't put into words, it hadn't really been the Dark Court. Not like this one.

  And he suddenly understood why Cassandra had withdrawn from them.

  This was the court he had waited to serve in. This was the court he'd always craved. He wanted to serve the daughter of his soul, who had finally come into her dark, glorious power.

  Witch. The living myth. Dreams made flesh.

  This had been his dream.

  And Lucivar's, he realized, seeing the fire in his son's eyes. Yes, Lucivar would have craved a Queen who could meet his strength.

  Jaenelle's voice pulled him back. "Prince Chaosti, will you serve in the First Circle?"

  Gracefully, Chaosti knelt on one knee, a fisted hand over his heart. "I will serve."