by Anne Bishop
Daemon picked up the cards and began shuffling the deck.
Hell's fire, he shouldn't be having this much trouble with a card game. It was just a variation of the game "cradle" that Jaenelle had played as a child. All right, it was twenty-six variations of "cradle." He still shouldn't be having this much trouble winning a round. But there was something a little off about this game, something that defied rational thinking. Male thinking.
A game board with colored stones and bone discs with symbols etched on one side. A hand of cards. And the convoluted interaction between them. He could picture the coven sitting around on a stormy winter afternoon, putting this game together piece by piece, building one variation off another, adding bits from other games distinct to their own cultures, until they had created something that was pure torture for the male brain. He particularly despised the wild card game because the player in control of the board when the wild card turned up could call for a different variation—which could turn a good hand and game plan into garbage.
There had to be a way to turn that to his advantage. Had to...
Continuing to shuffle the cards, Daemon studied the game board carefully, studied the stones and the bone discs. Thought about how each piece could interact with the other pieces—and the cards.
Yes, that would work. That would work quite well.
"Which variation do you want to play?" Jaenelle asked as she placed the stones and discs in their starting positions.
Daemon gave her the smile that used to terrify the Queens in Terreille. "Variation twenty-seven."
Jaenelle just frowned at him. "Daemon, there is no variation twenty-seven."
He dealt the cards and purred, "There is now."
11 / Kaeleer
She was so young, Surreal thought as she studied her mother. I had thought of her as being so big, so strong. But she's smaller than me... and she was so young when she died.
Titian tucked her feet up on the window seat and wrapped her arms around her knees. "It's good you've come to Kaeleer."
Surreal stared out the window. But the night-darkened glass didn't show her anything but her own reflection— and that made her think of the questions that had gone unanswered for too long. "Why didn't we come here before?" she asked quietly. "Why didn't you go home after you got away from Kartane?" She hesitated. "Was it because of me?"
"No," Titian said sharply. "I chose to keep you, Surreal. I had to fight against my body's instinctive rejection of a child conceived by force, and I chose you." Now Titian hesitated. "There were other reasons not to go home then. If I had, your life would have been easier, but..."
"But what?" Surreal snapped. "If you had gone home, you wouldn't have had to whore for food and shelter. If you had gotten out of Terreille, you wouldn't have died so damn young. What reason is good enough to balance those things?"
"I loved my father," Titian said softly. "And I loved my brothers. Rape is punishable by execution, Surreal. If I had gone home as soon as I escaped from Kartane, my father and brothers would have gone to Hayll to kill him."
Surreal stared at her. "How in the name of Hell did they expect to get past all of Dorothea's guards in order to get to Kartane?"
"They would have died," Titian said simply. "And I didn't want my father and brothers to die. Can you understand that?"
"Not really, since I've spent most of my life preparing for the day when I can kill Kartane. Now, if it had been your mother..." Surreal tried to smile and couldn't. "What do you think your father would have said about your choice?"
Titian's smile was rueful. "I know what he said. He was in the Dark Realm for a little while before he returned to the Darkness. But he lived the full span of his years, Surreal, and my brothers raised children who never would have been born." She paused. "And if I had chosen differently, you wouldn't have been in Chaillot thirteen years ago, and we would have lost the greatest Queen the Blood has ever known."
"And if you hadn't ended up in Terreille, under Kartane, you would have been a Queen and a Black Widow."
"I still am a Queen and a Black Widow," Titian snapped. "When Kartane broke me, he severed me from the strength that would have been mine, but he couldn't take away what I am."
"I'm sorry," Surreal said, not sure how to express regret without giving insult.
"Don't shoulder regrets, little witch," Titian said gently as she got to her feet. "And don't shoulder the burden of anyone's actions but your own." She held out her hand. "Come on. You'll need your wits about you if you're sparring with Lucivar tomorrow."
Surreal rose wearily and followed Titian. Between that scene with Vania at midday, the extra workout with Falonar, and coping with the aftermath of Jaenelle's fury, she was more than ready to crawl into bed. She had hugged more distressed males that day than she had in her entire life. Which reminded her of something else. "How do I deal with the male relatives I've suddenly acquired?"
"You set your boundaries," Titian replied as they reached the corridor near Surreal's room. "You decide what you're willing to let them do for you and what you have to do for yourself. Then you tell them—gently. This is Kaeleer, Surreal. You have to handle the males—" Titian froze. Her nostrils flared.
"Titian?" Surreal asked, startled by the awful expression on her mother's face. "What's wrong?"
"Where's the High Lord?" Titian snarled. Not waiting for an answer, she ran for the nearest staircase.
Surreal raced after her, catching up to her when Titian jerked to a halt in front of a door.
Titian banged the door once with her fist, then flung it open. "High Lord!"
A muffled sound came from the adjoining room.
Titian flung that door open and rushed into the room. Surreal rushed in behind her, then stopped abruptly.
Saetan froze in the act of reaching for the dressing robe that was on his bed. He slowly straightened up and turned to face them.
Surreal couldn't stop herself from giving him one quick, professional—and approving—glance.
Titian didn't seem to notice that she had walked in on a naked, and now irritated, man.
"There's a tainted male in the Hall," Titian said abruptly.
Saetan stared at her for a moment. Then he grabbed the robe, said tersely, "Where?" and was out the door, with Titian at his heels, before Surreal could gather her wits.
By the time she caught up to them, Titian was questing back and forth in the corridor like a hound searching for a scent while Saetan prowled more slowly. Neither of them paid any attention to her arrival.
"It was here," Titian said as she searched. "It was here."
"Can you still sense it?" Saetan asked too quietly.
Titian's shoulders tensed. "No. But it was here."
"I'm not doubting you, Lady."
"But you sense nothing."
"No. Which only means that whoever created the spells designed to hide him knew exactly who and what to hide him from."
"Hekatah did this," Titian said.
Saetan nodded. "Or Dorothea. Or both. Whoever he is, they made sure he would blend in so there would be no reason to give him a closer look. The only thing they couldn't anticipate was a Harpy catching a trace of his true psychic scent. But why was he lingering here?" He turned to study the doors. "Surreal's room. And Wilhelmina's room."
Surprised by her own discomfort, Surreal cleared her throat. "It could just be a man who hasn't heard that I retired from the Red Moon houses."
Saetan gave her a long, assessing look, then turned to Titian, who shook her head. "I agree," he said cryptically. He knocked sharply on Wilhelmina's door. When he got no answer, he went in. He came out a minute later. "She's in the garden with Dejaal. He'll stay with her."
It took Surreal a moment to connect the name with the young tiger she had frequently seen with Wilhelmina.
"Graysfang is on his way," Saetan said, giving Surreal a hard look. "He's not to leave your side tonight."
It took her another moment to fit the pieces together. She bristled
. "Wait just a minute, High Lord. I can take care of myself."
"He's a Warlord," Saetan snapped. "He defends and protects."
"He wears Purple Dusk to my Gray. You can't assume that this other male wears a lighter Jewel than he does."
"I'm assuming nothing. He defends and protects."
Furious, Surreal strode up to Saetan and grabbed two fistfuls of his robe. "He's not fodder," she snarled. "It's not right for him to die when I'm perfectly capable of defending myself."
Dry amusement slowly filled Saetan's eyes. "You will not wound his pride by telling him he isn't capable of protecting you. However, since the Queens share your opinion, it is considered acceptable for you to provide the protective shields for both of you and to guard his back."
"Oh." Releasing him, Surreal tried to smooth the wrinkles in his robe that her fists had made. When she noticed Saetan's amusement growing, she gave up and stepped back.
"Will you station guards tonight?" Titian asked.
Saetan thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No. Nothing that obvious tonight. The Ladies in the court will be protected. The rest we'll deal with in the morning." He looked at Surreal. "I'd like you to stay in your room tonight, or the inner garden your room overlooks. No one will be coming at you or Wilhelmina from that direction."
All of Surreal's instincts sharpened as she considered all the ways an assassin could gain access. "Are all these rooms occupied?" she asked thoughtfully. Slip into an empty room, slip through the garden, enter the victim's room through the glass doors that opened onto the garden...
"A couple of the guest rooms are empty," Saetan said, "but no one will be coming at you through the garden. Kaelas will be there."
Daemon took one look at Saetan and Titian, stepped into the corridor, and closed Jaenelle's sitting room door. "Lady Titian," he said respectfully, masking his surprise at seeing her. He knew she was demon-dead, but he hadn't expected to see her at the Hall—and he didn't like her tense stance any more than he liked Saetan's controlled neutrality.
"As Steward of the Court, I'm formally requesting that you remain with the Queen tonight," Saetan said quietly. "All night."
Daemon tensed. This evening was the first time since Jaenelle had finished healing his mind that she'd been willing to spend time with him, and he'd hoped playing a few hands of cards would remind her that he was a friend, which was the first step toward her accepting him as her lover. But if he told her he was going to spend the night in her bed, she'd start running from him again. Didn't Saetan understand that?
Yes, he realized as he studied that controlled neutrality, Saetan understood. But the Steward of the Court, while sympathizing with the Consort's hesitation and feelings, felt compelled to dismiss them.
"I'm making this request to all the Consorts and First Escorts," Saetan added.
Daemon nodded as he considered that bit of information. A formal request like that, in this court, was equal to a call to battle. Every Warlord Prince at the Hall would be riding the killing edge that night. "Will Lucivar be with Marian?"
"No," Saetan said, "Prothvar will stay with Marian and Daemonar. Lucivar will... tour... the Hall tonight."
"Where will Kaelas be?" Daemon asked. Suddenly that feline strength and temper were a comfort.
"Kaelas will be in the garden. It will give him more flexibility."
"Then I'll wish you a good night—and good hunting," Daemon added too softly. "High Lord. Lady."
"Is there a problem?" Jaenelle asked when he returned to the sitting room.
Daemon hesitated but couldn't think of any other way to say it. "The Steward has formally requested that I remain with you tonight."
The flicker of panic in her eyes hurt him, but it was the knife-edged way she focused on the sitting room door that made him wary—especially when that focus shifted to him.
"Is that request being made of all the Consorts and First Escorts?" Witch asked in her midnight voice.
"Yes, Lady, it is."
A long silence. Then Jaenelle wrinkled her nose. "A formal request seems a bit much just to get the boyos off the couches tonight."
Daemon suppressed a sigh of relief. She was willing to pretend that that's all the request meant. Most likely, she just wanted a few more hours before admitting that Alexandra or one of her entourage had done something serious that would have to be dealt with.
"Would you like to play another round?" he asked, taking his seat.
She narrowed her eyes. "Whose deal is it?"
He smiled at her. "Mine."
"Why didn't you tell him about the tainted male?" Titian asked.
"I can't count on Daemon's control right now," Saetan replied after a long pause. "A Warlord Prince who's focused on being accepted as a Consort has an extremely volatile temper."
After a moment, Titian shook her head. "Even if everyone else didn't sense the spells Dorothea and Hekatah created, I don't understand why Jaenelle didn't notice them."
"Nor do I. But as I said, Dorothea and Hekatah knew exactly who they had to hide him from," Saetan replied, feeling his heartbeat thicken until he could feel each thump like a blow.
"Even so, Jaenelle always takes a careful look at the people who intend to stay in Kaeleer."
"But she would have no reason to look that closely at someone who wasn't intending to stay, especially if emotional and personal issues were being used as a blind to hide a different purpose."
Titian frowned. "Who else is staying at the Hall?"
"Jaenelle's Chaillot relatives and their companions." He saw his own hatred reflected in Titian's face.
"And you haven't done anything about them?"
"My formal request for execution was denied," Saetan replied, doing his best not to respond to the accusation in her voice. "I'll choke on it, but I'll abide by it. Besides, there will be another time and another place to settle those debts," he added softly.
Titian nodded. "If I slip into their rooms, maybe I can sense something. Then we could quietly take care of the tainted male tonight."
Saetan snarled in frustration. "Except for that bitch Vania, no one has done anything yet that justifies an execution." He shook his head. "We've made sure nothing will happen tonight. After breakfast, I'll talk to Jaenelle about getting those... people... out of the Hall and out of Kaeleer."
"I suppose that's best." They walked in silence for a while. "Are all of Jaenelle's relatives here?"
"Except for Robert Benedict. He died a few years ago— and was in the Dark Realm for a very brief time."
Titian stopped walking. Saetan turned to face her. She lifted her hand and pressed it lightly against his face.
"And, during that time, did he have a private conversation with the High Lord of Hell?" she asked with malevolent sweetness.
"Yes," Saetan replied too softly, "he did."
Chapter Six
1 / Kaeleer
Daemon's nerves were raw when he and Jaenelle walked into the dining room the next morning, and the speculative looks from the other males in the First Circle didn't help. The fact that it was Jaenelle's moontime and he couldn't have done more than warm the bed didn't matter. He knew what was expected of a Consort, and he knew the other men were aware that he wasn't fulfilling those duties.
He tried to push those thoughts aside. There were reasons to be alert that day.
Lucivar stood near the sideboard, sipping a mug of coffee, while Khardeen and Aaron filled their plates. Leland and Philip, the only members of Alexandra's entourage who were present, were eating breakfast at one end of the table. Surreal and Karla were at the other end.
A greedy look filled Jaenelle's eyes when she focused on the mug in Lucivar's hand. "Are you going to share that?"
Lucivar bared his teeth in a smile. "No."
She gave him a frigid look but kissed his cheek anyway.
Daemon could have cheerfully killed Lucivar for being given that kiss. It was a grumpy, habitual kiss, but still a kiss—which was more than he'd gotten t
hat morning. Since killing Lucivar wasn't an option—at that moment, anyway—he watched Jaenelle select two slices of pear and a spoonful of scrambled eggs.
As she turned away from the sideboard, Lucivar reached over, jabbed a fork into a hunk of steak, and dumped it on her plate. "You need the meat today. Eat it."
She snarled at him. Lucivar just sipped his coffee.
"Long night?" Daemon quietly asked Lucivar.
"I've had longer," Lucivar replied with a smile that turned sharp as he flicked a glance at Philip and Leland, then raised his voice just enough to carry. "What about you, old son? You look like you put in a long night yourself."
"It was interesting," Daemon said cautiously. He wasn't about to admit that he and Jaenelle had played cards until, bleary-eyed, they had fallen into bed for a few hours of restless, broken sleep.
Jaenelle snorted. "There's something a bit sneaky about the positions in variation twenty-seven that give a male so much of an advantage, but I haven't worked it out... yet."
Daemon noticed Philip's white-lipped anger—and he noticed the way Khardeen and Aaron snapped to attention.
"You know twenty-seven variations?" Khardeen asked slowly.
Daemon said nothing.
"Yes, he does," Jaenelle grumbled. "And that variation is brilliant. Sneaky, but brilliant." She studied the platter of steaks, selected two more pieces, and headed for the table.
Before Daemon could reach for a plate, Khardeen was holding one arm and Aaron had the other, and they were hustling him out of the dining room.
"We'll get breakfast later," Khary said as he and Aaron led Daemon to the nearest empty room. "First, we need to have a little talk."
"It's not what you think," Daemon said. "It's really nothing."
"Nothing?" Aaron sputtered, while Khary said, "If you've figured out a new variation of 'cradle' that gives a man the advantage, it's your duty as a Brother of the First Circle to share it with the rest of us before the coven figures out how to beat it."
He just stared at them, not sure he had heard them correctly.
