by Anne Bishop
Surreal felt a little queasy. She'd heard about the kindred, who supposedly had some kind of small animal magic. But calling him a Warlord... "You mean he's Blood?"
"Of course."
"Why is he in the Hall?"
"Well, offhand, I'd say he was looking for a friend."
Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful, Surreal thought. What did that mean? "I guess he's not really wild then. If he's in the house, he must be tame."
Aaron gave her a feral smile. "If by 'tame' you mean he doesn't pee on the carpets, then he's tame. But then, by that standard, so am I."
Surreal clamped her teeth together. Screw small talk. In this place, it turned into verbal quicksand.
She echoed Wilhelmina's sigh of relief when they reached a stairway. Hopefully the dining room wasn't too far away and she could put some distance between herself and her escort. Escorts. Whatever.
Shit.
Maybe Khardeen would be in the dining room. He was a Warlord, which made him an equal caste, and her Gray Jewels outranked his Sapphire, which gave her an advantage. Right now, she wanted an advantage because she had the strong impression that, of her two escorts, the one with the more impressive set of teeth was really the less dangerous one.
Surreal stared at the closed wooden door and wished she'd done this before eating. The thick beef and vegetable stew had been delicious, as had been the bread, cheese, and slightly tart apples, and she'd consumed them with enthusiasm. Now, her tightened stomach was packing that food into a hard ball.
Snarling quietly, she raised her fist to knock on the door. Hell's fire, this was just a required meeting with the Steward of the court... who now had the authority to control her life... who was also the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan... who was also the High Lord of Hell... whose name was Saetan Daemon SaDiablo.
"Rrrf?"
Surreal looked over her shoulder. The wolf cocked his head.
"I think you'd better stay out here," she said, giving the door one hard rap. When a deep voice said, "Come," she slipped inside the room, closing the door before the wolf could follow her.
The room was a reversed L. The long side contained a comfortable sitting area with tables, chairs, and a black leather couch. The walls held a variety of pictures, ranging from dramatic oil paintings to whimsical charcoal sketches. Intrigued by those choices, she turned toward the alcove.
Dark-red velvet covered the side walls. The back wall contained floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A blackwood desk filled the center of the space. Two candle-lights lit its surface and the man sitting behind it.
At first glance, she thought Daemon was playing some kind of trick on her. Then she looked closer.
His face was similar to Daemon's, but handsome rather than beautiful. He was definitely older, and his thick black hair was heavily silvered at the temples. He wore half-moon glasses, which made him look like a benevolent clerk. But the elegant hands had long, black-tinted nails like Daemon's. On his left hand, he wore a Steward's ring. On his right, a Black-Jeweled ring.
"Why don't you sit down," he said as he continued making notes on the paper in front of him. "This will take a minute."
Surreal sidled over to the chair in front of the desk and gingerly sat down. His voice had the same deep timbre as Daemon's, had the same ability to reach a woman's bones and make her itchy. At least the sensual heat that poured out of Daemon even when he kept it tightly leashed was muted in the High Lord. Maybe that was just age.
Then he tucked the pen in its holder, laid the glasses on the desk, leaned back in his chair, and steepled his fingers, resting them against his chin.
Her breath clogged in her throat. She'd seen Daemon sit exactly that way whenever a conversation was "formal."
Hell's fire, what was the connection between Sadi and the High Lord?
"So," he said quietly. "You're Surreal. Titian's daughter."
A shiver went through her. "You knew my mother?"
He smiled dryly. "I still do. And since I am kin to her kin, she considers me a tolerable friend, despite my being male."
The words that had been rankling inside her all through the journey here burst out. "My mother is not a Harpy."
Saetan gave her a considering look. "A Harpy is a witch who died violently by a male's hand. I'd say that describes Titian, wouldn't you? Besides," he added, "being the Harpy Queen is hardly an insult."
"Oh." Surreal hooked her hair behind her ears. He made it sound so matter-of-fact, and there was no mistaking the respect in his voice.
"Would you like to see her?" Saetan asked.
"But ... if she's demon-dead..."
"A meeting could be arranged here at the Hall. I could ask her if she would be willing."
"Since you're the High Lord, I'm surprised you wouldn't just order her to come," Surreal said a bit tartly.
Saetan chuckled. "Darling, I may be the High Lord, but I'm also male. I'm not about to give an order to a Black Widow Queen without a very good reason."
Surreal narrowed her eyes. "I can't picture you as submissive."
"I'm not submissive, but I do serve. You would be wise not to confuse those two things when dealing with the males in this court."
Oh, wonderful.
"Especially since you've formally declared yourself part of this family," Saetan added.
Mother Night. "Look," Surreal said, leaning forward. "I didn't know anyone was using that name here." And I certainly didn't expect to meet them.
"All things considered, you have as much right to that name as Kartane SaDiablo," he said cryptically. "And since you did list it, you're stuck with the results."
"Which are?" Surreal asked suspiciously.
Saetan smiled. "The short version is, as the patriarch of this family, I am now responsible for you and you are answerable to me."
"When the sun shines in Hell," Surreal shot back.
"Be careful what conditions you set, little witch," he said softly. "Jaenelle has an uncanny—and sometimes disturbing—way of meeting someone's terms."
Surreal swallowed hard. "She really is in Kaeleer?"
Saetan held up the mark of safe passage that had been sitting on his desk. "Isn't that why you came?"
She nodded. "I wanted to find out what happened to her."
"Why don't you save those questions for Jaenelle. She'll be home in a few days."
"She lives here?"
"This isn't her only home, but, yes, she lives here."
"Does Daemon know?" she asked. "He wasn't at dinner."
"He knows," Saetan said gently. "He's feeling a bit unsettled."
"That's an understatement," she muttered. Then she thought of something else, something that had nagged at her curiosity for thirteen years. If there was anyone in the Realms who would know the answer, she figured it was the High Lord. "Have you ever heard of the High Priest of the Hourglass?"
His smile had a sharp edge. "I am the High Priest."
"Oh, shit."
His laughter was warm and full-bodied. "You're willing to snarl at me as the High Lord, the Steward, and the family patriarch, but knowing I'm the Priest knocks your feet out from under you?"
Surreal glared at him. Put that way, it did sound silly. But it was disconcerting to find out that the dangerous male she'd caught a whiff of that night at Cassandra's Altar was the same amused man sitting on the other side of the desk. "Then you can tell Daemon what happened that night. You can tell him what he doesn't remember."
Saetan shook his head. "No, I can't. I can confirm what happened while we were linked, and I can tell him what happened after. But there's only one person who can tell him what took place in the abyss."
Surreal sighed. "I'm almost afraid of what he'll find out."
"I wouldn't be too concerned. When Jaenelle formally set up her court, the Consort's ring was set aside for him, by her decree. So whatever happened between them couldn't have been that distressing. At least for her," he added solemnly. Rising, he came around the desk. "
I still have to meet with several of the Eyriens tonight as well as get the reports from Aaron, Khardeen, and Lucivar. If you need any help understanding the Blood here, please come and talk to me."
Accepting dismissal, Surreal rose and glanced at the door. "There is one other thing."
Saetan studied the closed door. "I see you've met Lord Graysfang."
Surreal choked back a laugh.
"I know. Their names sound as strange to us as ours do to them. Although they may have more reason to think so. When kindred young are born, a Black Widow makes that mental sidestep into the dreams and visions. Sometimes she sees nothing. Sometimes she names one of the young according to the visions."
"Well," Surreal said, smiling, "he is gray, and he does have fangs. Aaron said he was in the Hall because he's looking for a friend."
Saetan gave her an odd look. "I'd say that's accurate. The kindred dogs and horses relate well to the human Blood since they've lived among them for so long, although, until eight years ago, in secret. The rest of the kindred tend to stay away from most humans. But whenever they come across a human who is compatible with them, they try to form a bond, to better understand us."
"Why me?" Surreal asked, intrigued.
"The Queens here have strong courts, and the males in the First Circle are entitled to the first share of their time and attention. A youngster like Graysfang has to wait for his turn and then has to share that time with other young males in the same position. But you're a Gray-Jeweled witch who does not, as yet, have any other male claims."
"Except the males in the family," Surreal said sourly.
"Except the males in the family," Saetan agreed. "On both sides."
She sputtered.
"But that claim isn't quite the same thing. You're not a Queen, whose courts are set up by a different Protocol. So if you accept Graysfang before the other males realize you're here, he will hold the dominant position over any male except your mate, even if the other male wears darker Jewels. Since he's not old enough to make the Offering to the Darkness and still wears his Birthright Purple Dusk Jewel, the odds of a darker-Jeweled male becoming interested in you are rather high."
"Which still doesn't explain why he's interested in me in the first place."
Saetan reached out slowly. His left index finger hooked the gold chain around her neck and drew it out of her shirt until her Gray Jewel hung between them.
At first, she thought the caress accompanying that movement was a subtle kind of seduction. Then she realized that, for him, it wasn't meant to be seductive at all. It was simply a gesture that was as natural to him as breathing.
Which wasn't doing her breathing a whole lot of good.
"Consider this," he said. "He may not have been given that name because he's gray and has fangs but because he is Gray's fang."
"Mother Night," Surreal said, looking down at her Jewel.
He lowered her Jewel until it rested above her breasts. "The decision about him is yours, and I'll support any decision you make. But think carefully, Surreal. A Black Widow's visions should not be dismissed in haste."
Nodding, she savored the feel of his hand on her lower back as he guided her to the door. When he reached for the doorknob, she put her hand on the door to keep it shut. "What's your connection with Daemon?"
"He and Lucivar are my sons."
That figured.
"Daemon inherited your looks," she said.
"He also inherited my temper."
Hearing the warning in his voice, she noticed, at the back of his golden eyes, the same wariness she had seen in Aaron's. Hell's fire, she was going to have to find someone to talk to soon who could explain the male-female rules in Kaeleer. Being wary of her as an assassin was one thing. Being wary of her as a woman... She didn't like it. Not coming from him. She didn't like it at all.
"I'd like to meet my mother," she said abruptly.
Saetan nodded. "The court's coming in this evening, and I can't leave until the Queen approves the new arrivals, but I'll see that a message gets to Titian."
"Thank you." Damn it, stop delaying. Get out of here. She bolted from the room as soon as he opened the door.
As Graysfang anxiously trotted beside her, she kept feeling that odd psychic brush against her inner barriers.
She would have gotten lost twice without him, although she noticed there were footmen in all the major corridors. Each man rose from his chair, glanced at Graysfang, smiled at her, and said nothing. So she followed the wolf until, with a sigh, she was safely in her room.
When he left her a minute later to take care of his own nightly business, she quickly undressed and pulled on a pair of long-sleeved pajamas. She still preferred silky nightgowns most of the time, but there were times—like tonight—when she wanted to wear something that looked and felt asexual.
Dumping her soiled clothes into a basket in the bathroom, she hurried through her nighttime ritual, slipped into bed, and turned off the candle-light on the bedside table.
Someone had put a light warming spell on the sheets. Probably the maid. Silently thanking the woman, Surreal snuggled under the covers.
She was just starting to doze off when a shape passed through the glass door. She tensed, waiting, until a body landed lightly on the bed, circled three times, then settled next to her with a content sigh.
Twisting her upper body slightly, she looked at Graysfang. Feeling that odd psychic brush again, she followed it, too tired to think about what she was doing and more concerned with whether or not she was going to end up with fleas in the morning.
*No fleas,* said a sleepy male voice on a psychic thread. *Kindred know spells for fleas and other itchies.*
With a yelp, Surreal shot into a sitting position.
Graysfang leaped up, his teeth bared and hackles raised. *Where is the danger?* he demanded. *I smell no danger.*
"You can talk!"
Slowly, Graysfang's hackles smoothed. He covered his teeth. *I am kindred. We do not always want to talk to humans, but we can talk.*
Mother Night, Mother Night, Mother Night.
Wagging his tail, he leaned forward and licked her cheek. *You heard me!* he said happily. *You are not even trained yet and you can hear kindred!* He raised his head and howled.
Surreal grabbed his muzzle. "Hush. You'll wake everyone."
*Ladvarian will be pleased.*
"Great. I'm delighted." Who in the name of Hell is Ladvarian? "Let's just go to sleep now, all right?" And since she didn't know how she had made this link in the first place, how was she going to sever it so that her thoughts were private again?
She felt a gentle mental push, then, that odd brush again.
"Rrrf."
"Thank you," Surreal said weakly. In the morning, she thought as she snuggled back under the covers and felt Graysfang settle himself against her back. She'd think about this in the morn...
Chapter Three
1 / Kaeleer
Daemon carefully adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and jacket. He felt steadier that morning, but not rested. His sleep had been broken by vague dreams and flashes of memory, by the knowledge that nothing but a door separated his bedroom from Jaenelle's, and by an aroused, restless body that knew quite fiercely what it wanted.
Slipping his hands into his trouser pockets made him aware of the Consort's ring on his left hand. As if he hadn't been aware of it from the moment he'd woken up. It wasn't just the unfamiliar feel of a ring on that hand; it was the duties and responsibilities that came with that ring that made him uneasy. Oh, his body would perform its duties eagerly enough. At least, he thought it would. And that was the point, wasn't it? He really didn't know how he would respond when he met Jaenelle again. And he didn't know how she would respond to him.
Finally aware that Jazen, his valet, was still dawdling through the morning tasks, Daemon studied the man.
"Did you get settled in all right last night?" Daemon asked.
Jazen made an effort to smile but didn't look at him.
"The servants' quarters here are very generous."
"And the servants?"
"They're... polite."
Daemon felt the beginning chill of temper and reined it in, hard. Jazen had already endured enough. If he had to shake the Hall down to its foundation, he'd make sure the man's life wasn't made more difficult by servants who had no understanding of the brutality men faced in the Terreillean Territories under Dorothea's control.
"I'm not sure what's going to be required of me today."
Jazen nodded. "The other personal servants indicated that dress would be relaxed today since the First Circle will be assessing the new arrivals. Those who sit at the High Lord's table do dress for dinner. Not formal dress," he added when Daemon raised one eyebrow. "But I gathered the Ladies are usually casual in their attire during the day."
Daemon turned that bit of information over and over as he made his way through the corridors toward the dining room. Based on his experience in Terreillean courts, casual attire meant practical dresses made of fabrics only slightly less sumptuous than those worn to dinner.
Then he turned a corner and noticed the fair-skinned, red-haired witch coming toward him. She wore threadbare, dark-brown trousers and a long, baggy, heather-green sweater that was decoratively patched. There was approval in the fast assessment her green eyes made over his body but no active interest. "Prince," she said politely as she passed him.
"Lady," he replied with equal politeness, wondering how such a stickler as he suspected Beale to be would allow a servant to dress like that. When he caught a whiff of her psychic scent, he spun around and stared at her until she turned the corner and disappeared.
A Queen. That woman was a Queen.
His stomach growled, which finally got him walking again.
A Queen. Well, if that was the Ladies' idea of casual attire, he wholeheartedly approved of the High Lord's insistence on dressing for dinner—a sentiment he strongly suspected he should keep to himself.
He had almost reached the dining room when he met up with Saetan.
"Prince Sadi, there's something I need to discuss with you," Saetan said quietly, but his expression was grim.
