by Anne Bishop
"She's no bother," Khardeen said pleasantly.
The woman pulled the girl close to her and tried to smile. "She likes animals. My husband's mother made her a girl doll before we left, but Orian wanted to bring this one."
And where was your own mother while that bitch was giving you a verbal knife?Surreal wondered as she watched shadows gather in the woman's eyes and picked up a flicker of shame in the psychic scent. Well, that answered which side of the girl's heritage was in question.
The Warlord who had protested when Friall refused to finish the contract turned away from his conversation with a couple of Eyrien males, glanced sharply at Khardeen, and then moved protectively closer to the woman and children.
Khardeen leaned back, returning that sharp glance with a mild look.
Sitting next to him, with his arm brushing hers, Surreal felt his tension—and anger?—but he gave no outward sign of it. When he looked at her, his expression was solemn, but his blue eyes held amusement.
"I wonder how the little Queen's mother will react when she sees the 'woofers' her daughter's going to be hugging," he said softly.
"Will they bite her?" Surreal asked.
"The girl? No. The mother?" Khardeen shrugged.
Hearing the warning underneath the amusement, Surreal shivered. Then Daemon approached them, and she took a sharp breath.
He moved carefully, like a man who had received a fatal wound and was quietly bleeding to death.
Khardeen stood up and gestured toward the vacated seat. "Why don't you sit down? I've got a couple of things to see to."
As soon as Daemon sat down, he wrapped his arms around himself.
She'd seen that protective gesture before, when he had been pushing too hard at his Craft studies, when dreams had haunted his sleep.
Khardeen gave her a questioning look. She shook her head. She appreciated his concern, but there was nothing anyone could do for Daemon just then except let him retreat until he felt strong enough to face the world again.
A minute later, Lucivar came out of the private room, his expression carefully blank.
For the rest of the journey, Daemon sat beside her with his eyes closed and Lucivar stood near the back of the Coach, talking quietly to the Eyrien males who cautiously approached him.
For the rest of the journey, she wondered what had happened in that private room. And she worried.
4 / Kaeleer
Lord Jorval cowered in the chair and watched the Dark Priestess storm around the outer room of the suite he'd rented for this meeting.
Red Moon houses hadn't existed in Kaeleer until four years ago—and still didn't exist anywhere outside of Little Terreille. But certain influential Council members, himself included, had argued that the stronger immigrating males, who had little chance of having a Kaeleer-born woman for a lover, needed some way to relieve their sexual tension. The Queens in Little Terreille had yielded to the argument with no more than a token protest since they quickly recognized the usefulness of such places. Now a visit to a Red Moon house became a way of rewarding males for good behavior in the Queens' courts. They could take their frustrations and aggressions out on women who couldn't refuse them, who couldn't demand courtesy and obedience. And no one noticed—or cared, if they did—that all the women in those houses were immigrants who had been claimed the day after a service fair.
And some Kaeleer males, himself included, had discovered the pleasure that could be had from a cringing woman's obedience.
He'd chosen this Red Moon house, on the edge of the slums that had sprung up near the fairground, because the proprietors wouldn't ask any questions. The two men who owned the place didn't care if a woman was damaged physically or mentally, as long as they were suitably compensated. And they wouldn't care about the youth who was now bound and gagged in the other room—the offering he had brought in the hopes it would lessen the Dark Priestess's rage.
Hekatah threw off the cloak that had shrouded her face and body.
Jorval swallowed hard. He had become violently ill once at the sight of her decaying, demon-dead body. Her punishment for his lack of control had given him nightmares for months.
There were times when he desperately wished he'd never met her or become entangled in her schemes. But she had been behind his rise to power in the Dark Council, and he had discovered that she owned him before he even realized he had agreed to serve her.
"There were four Queens suitable for our purpose," Hekatah snarled. "Four. And you still couldn't manage to get him tucked away until we found a way to use him."
"I tried, Priestess," Jorval said, his voice quivering. "I blocked the inquiries Sadi made about serving outside of Little Terreille. Those were the only names I offered him."
"Then why isn't he with one of them?"
"He walked out of the last meeting," Jorval cried. "I didn't know he had signed another contract until Friall told me."
"He signed another contract," Hekatah crooned. "With his brother!"
Jorval's chest jerked with the effort to breathe. "I tried to stop it! I tried..." His voice trailed off as Hekatah slowly approached him.
"You didn't handle him well," she said, her girlish voice becoming dangerously gentle. "Because of that, he's now connected with the court we wanted unaware of his presence in Kaeleer, and we have no way of using that Black-Jeweled strength for our own purposes."
Jorval tried to get up. Fear clogged his throat when he realized she was using Craft to keep him pinned to the chair.
She settled gracefully in his lap and wrapped one arm around his neck. As her long nails brushed against his cheek, he wondered if he was going to lose an eye. Maybe that would be best. Blind, he wouldn't be able to see her. On second thought, no. She wore darker Jewels than he did. She could force his mind open and leave an image that was a hundred times worse than her actual appearance.
He whimpered as his stomach rolled ominously.
"Just as there are rewards for success, there are penalties for failure," Hekatah said as she stroked his face.
Knowing what was required, he whispered, "Yes, Priestess."
"And you did fail me, didn't you, darling?"
"Y-Yes, Priestess."
What was left of her lips curved in a smile. Using Craft, she called in a stoppered crystal bottle and a small silver cup. They floated in the air while she removed the stopper and poured the dark, thick liquid into the cup. She closed the bottle and vanished it, then held the cup up to Jorval's lips.
"I brought you a fresh offering," he said weakly.
"I saw him. Such a pretty boy, full of the hot sweet wine." She pressed the cup against his lower lip. "I'll get to him shortly."
Having no choice, Jorval opened his mouth. The liquid slid over his tongue like a long warm slug. He gagged on it, but managed to swallow.
"Is it poison?" he asked.
Hekatah vanished the cup and leaned back, her eyes widening in surprise. "Do you really think I would poison a man who's loyal to me? And you are loyal to me, aren't you, darling?" She shook her head sadly. "No, darling, this is just a little aphrodisiac brew."
"S-Safframate?" He would have preferred poison.
"Just enough to make the evening interesting," Hekatah replied.
He sat there, helpless, while she caressed skin that began to quiver at the slightest touch. Groaning, he wrapped his arms around her, no longer noticing the smell of decay, no longer caring about who or what she was, no longer caring about anything except using the female body that was sitting on his lap.
When he tried to thrust his tongue into her mouth, she pulled back with a satisfied laugh.
"Now, darling," she said while she caressed him, "you're going to bring one of those whores up here."
The lust-fog cleared a little. "Up here?"
"We still have to take care of your punishment," Hekatah said gently, viciously. "Get one that has golden hair and blue eyes."
The lust became fierce, almost painful. "Like Jaenelle Angelline."
"Exactly. Think of this as a little rehearsal for the day when that pale bitch has to submit to me." She kissed his temple, licked the throbbing pulse. "Will it excite you if I sip a little blood while you're locked inside her?"
Jorval stared at her, wildly aroused and terrified.
"I'll drink from her, too. By then you won't care if you're mounting a corpse, but I won't do that to you, darling. This is just a rehearsal, after all, for the night when you'll have Jaenelle under you."
"Yes," Jorval whispered. "Yes."
"Yes," Hekatah echoed, satisfied. She stood up and slowly walked to the bedroom door. "Don't worry about the whore telling anyone about our little game. I'll fog the bitch's mind so that she'll never be certain about anything except that she was well used."
Rising, Jorval moved unsteadily to the outer door, painfully aware that Hekatah watched him.
"The pretty boy will be the appetizer and the dessert," Hekatah said. "Fear gives blood such a delightfully piquant taste, and by the end of the evening, he'll be fully ripened. So don't spend too much time making your choice, darling. An appetizer doesn't take long to consume, and if I become impatient, we may have to adjust your punishment. And you wouldn't want that, would you?"
He waited until the bedroom door closed behind her before whispering, "No, I wouldn't want that."
5 / Kaeleer
A warm hand gently squeezed his shoulder.
"Daemon," Lucivar said quietly. "Come on, old son. We've arrived."
Daemon reluctantly opened his eyes. He wanted to withdraw from the world, wanted to sink into the abyss and just disappear. Soon, he promised himself. Soon. "I'm all right, Prick," he said wearily. It was a lie, and they both knew it.
Getting stiffly to his feet, Daemon rolled his shoulders. His muscles hummed with tension while a violent headache gathered behind his eyes. "Where are we?"
Saying nothing, Lucivar guided him out of the Coach.
Surreal stood just outside the Coach's door, staring up at the massive, gray stone building. "Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. What is this place?"
Prince Aaron grinned at her. "SaDiablo Hall."
"Oh, shit."
The ground spun under Daemon's feet. He flung out an arm. Lucivar grabbed him, steadied him. "I can't," he whispered. "Lucivar, I can't."
"Yes, you can." Holding his arm, Lucivar led him to the double front doors. "It'll be easier than you think. Besides, Ladvarian's been waiting to meet you."
Daemon didn't have the energy to wonder, much less care, why this Ladvarian wanted to meet him, not when the next step might bring him face-to-face with the High Lord again—or Jaenelle.
Lucivar pushed the doors open. Daemon followed him into the great hall, the rest of the immigrants crowding behind him. They'd only gone a few steps when Lucivar stopped suddenly and swore under his breath.
Daemon glanced around, trying to understand the flash of wariness he'd picked up from Lucivar. At the far end of the hall, a maid knelt under one of the crystal chandeliers, wiping the floor. A few feet away from them stood a large Red-Jeweled Warlord dressed in a butler's uniform. His expression was more icy than stoic.
Eyeing the butler, Lucivar said cautiously, "Beale."
"Prince Yaslana," Beale replied with stiff formality.
Lucivar winced. "What—"
Someone giggled. They all looked up.
High overhead, a naked Eyrien boy, barely more than a toddler, balanced precariously on the nearest chandelier.
Lucivar glanced at Beale, sighed, and took a couple of steps forward. "What are you doing up there, boyo?"
"Flyin'," the toddler said.
"Take a guess," the maid growled as she dropped her cloth into a bucket and got to her feet.
"Slipped past your keepers, did you?" Lucivar muttered.
The toddler giggled again and then made a very rude noise.
"Come down, Daemonar," Lucivar said sternly.
"No!"
Tears stung Daemon's eyes as he stared at the boy. He swallowed hard to get his heart out of his throat.
Lucivar took another step forward and slowly spread his dark, membranous wings. "If you don't come down, I'll come up and get you."
Daemonar spread his little wings. "No!"
Lucivar shot into the air. As he passed the chandelier, he made a grab for Daemonar, who ducked and dove. The boy flew like a drunken bumblebee trying to elude a hawk, but he managed to stay out of reach.
"Boy's got some good moves," Hallevar said approvingly, moving to the front of the crowd.
Surreal glanced at the older Eyrien Warlord. "He seems to be getting the better of Yaslana."
Hallevar snorted as Lucivar swept past Daemonar and tickled his foot, making the boy squeal and dodge. "He could have caught him on the first pass. The young one will have to concede the battle, but it'll stay in his mind that he put up a good fight. No, Lucivar understands how to train an Eyrien warrior."
Daemon barely heard them. Hell's fire! Couldn't Lucivar see the boy was getting tired? Was he going to push until the baby fell to the floor?
As the toddler headed toward him, he stepped forward, reached up, and grabbed one chubby leg.
Daemonar shrieked and furiously flapped his little wings.
Pulling down gently, Daemon wrapped his other arm around Daemonar, drawing the boy against his chest.
A small fist smacked his chin. The other small hand grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked, making his eyes water. An indignant shriek lanced his ear and made his head vibrate.
Lucivar landed and rubbed the back of his hand against his mouth. It didn't quite erase the smile. Hooking his left arm around the boy's middle, he carefully pried open the small hand. "Let go of your Uncle Daemon. We want him to like you." He stepped back quickly, then he tethered the boy's feet with one hand and growled, "That's not a good place to kick your father."
Daemonar made a rude noise and grinned.
Lucivar looked at the squirming boy and said ruefully, "At the time, you seemed like a good idea."
"Yeah!" Then Daemonar noticed the woman holding the little girl. "Baby!" he shouted, squirming to get loose. "Mine!"
"Mother Night," Lucivar muttered, turning to block Daemonar's view.
Two wet, disheveled women entered the hall. One of them held up a large towel. "We'll take him, Prince Yaslana."
"Thank the Darkness." With a little effort, Lucivar and the two women got Daemonar bundled up in the towel and out of the great hall.
Watching them, Daemon's heart ached. The boy looked like Lucivar. He wasn't sure if he felt regretful or relieved that there was no hint of sapphire in the child's gold eyes, no lightening of the black hair and brown skin, no trace of the mother's exotic beauty.
Lucivar returned quickly.
"Once the guests are settled in their rooms, dinner will be served in the formal dining room," Beale said.
"Thank you, Beale," Lucivar replied a bit meekly.
"Are there any arrangements the household should be aware of?"
Lucivar made a "come-here" gesture to the young Warlord who had remained protectively close to the woman with the two young children. "This is Lord Endar, Lady Dorian's husband."
Endar stiffened under Beale's scrutiny.
Prince Aaron wrapped a hand around Surreal's arm and pulled her forward. "I'll escort Lady SaDiablo and Lady Benedict to their rooms."
"Lady SaDiablo?" Beale said, startled.
Aaron grinned.
Surreal hissed.
"I'm sure the High Lord will be pleased to welcome the Lady," Beale said, a suspicious twinkle in his eyes.
Before Surreal could stop him, Aaron brushed her hair back, revealing a delicately pointed ear. "So will Prince Chaosti."
Beale's lips twitched. Then he resumed his stoic demeanor and turned to the immigrants. "Those of you who are here as servants will follow Holt," he said, indicating the waiting footman. "The rest of you will follow me."
&nbs
p; As soon as all the Eyriens except Prince Falonar had left the great hall, along with Manny, Jazen, and Andrew, Surreal turned to Lucivar. "Shouldn't you have told him to let the children stay with their parents? I doubt they're going to feel easy, being in a strange place."
Prince Aaron vigorously cleared his throat.
Lord Khardeen tipped his head back and studied the ceiling.
Lucivar just stared at her for a moment before saying slowly, "If you want to tell Beale or Helene how to run this place, you go right ahead and try. Just let me get out of the line of fire before you do."
"Come on, Lady Surreal," Aaron said. "Let's get you settled in before you start bringing the place down around us."
Lucivar waited until Aaron and Khardeen had escorted Surreal and Wilhelmina out of the hall before turning to Falonar. "What?"
Falonar squared his shoulders. "Why did you single out Endar?"
"As long as the household knows that Endar is Dorian's husband, no one will challenge his being in her bed. And believe me, there are males here who won't hesitate to tear him apart if they aren't made aware that he's in her bed by her choice." He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I'll explain the rules tomorrow. For tonight, just tell the men to keep their distance from all the women." He paused, and then added, "You'd better get settled in. We'll be here for a few days."
After Falonar left, Lucivar turned to Daemon. "Come on. Let's finish this so we can both get some food and rest."
Daemon followed Lucivar up the staircase in the informal receiving room and through the labyrinth of corridors. After a couple of minutes of silence, he said, "You named him Daemonar."
"It was the closest I could come and still keep the name Eyrien," Lucivar said quietly, his voice a little thick.
"I'm flattered."
Lucivar snorted. "Well, you would have been when he was an infant. Once he got his feet under him, he turned into a little beast." He raked a hand through his shoulder-length hair. "And it is not all my fault. I didn't do this by myself. But nobody seems to remember that."
"I can't imagine why," Daemon said dryly, watching Lucivar swell with indignation.
"When he does something adorable, he's his mother's son. When he does something clever, he's the High Lord's grandson. But when he acts like a rotten little beast, he's my son." Lucivar rubbed his chest. "Sometimes I swear he does things just to see if my heart will stop."
