by Anne Bishop
"What can I do?" Daemon asked, knowing with dread certainty where the conversation was leading.
"It's what we can do as Steward and Consort, what Protocol gives us the right to do in situations like this."
"Protocol didn't take into account dealing with a Queen who's twice as strong as a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince!"
Saetan's hand shook a little as he smoothed his hair back. "More like six times our combined strength."
"What?" Daemon said weakly. He braced a hand against the wall.
"There's no real way to measure Jaenelle's strength. But considering the number of Birthright Black Jewels that were transformed into Ebony when she made the Offering to the Darkness, my best guess is that, at her full strength, she's six times more powerful than our full strength combined."
"Mother Night." Daemon concentrated on breathing for a minute. "Just when were you going to mention this to me? Or weren't you?"
Saetan winced. "I wanted you to be... comfortable... with each other before I told you. But now—"
A blast of power shook the Hall, tossing them to the floor.
Daemon felt as if he were desperately holding on to a crumbling bank inches from a raging flood that would not only sweep him away but crush him in the process.
He felt Saetan grab him, dig in, hold on.
That rush of power vanished as quickly as it had struck— and that scared him more than the blast. For Jaenelle to unleash and reabsorb that much power that quickly...
"Jaenelle," Daemon said, springing to his feet. He sent out a psychic probe, a quick, casting search for her, and brushed against a spot in the Hall that was burning cold. Despite his pulling back quickly, the lancing pain almost drove him to his knees. And that drove him forward.
"Daemon, no!" Saetan said, struggling to get to his feet.
Daemon ran through the corridors. He didn't need to search anymore. The corridors got colder and colder the closer he got to the room where she had unleashed that power.
"Daemon!"
He heard Saetan running to catch up to him, but by then he'd reached the door to the room. Using Craft, he opened the door, then stepped into the room.
The cold had a jagged edge that was physically painful, but he barely noticed it because, as he looked around, he couldn't quite understand what he was seeing. It wasn't until he realized that the odd red speckles on the windows were frozen drops of blood that his mind identified the rest...
"Daemon."
... and he understood what Lucivar had been telling him about Jaenelle's forced marriage. She splattered him all over the room.
"Daemon."
He heard the plea in Saetan's voice, but couldn't respond to it. A peculiar numbness had settled over his emotions ... and without being able to feel, he could think.
He knew why Saetan hadn't wanted him to see this room. By the very nature of his duties, a Consort couldn't be inhibited when dealing with his Queen. A Consort knowingly and willingly made himself physically vulnerable to her in ways no other male in the court had to. A Consort who feared his Queen couldn't function in the bed.
But he'd seen this side of her before. Oh, it had been only a faint glimpse, but he'd known that this was another facet of Witch.
And this was the side of her that would be drawn to the surface by intense arousal as well as intense rage. Could he live with that? Could he lead the sexual dance once he brought out this side of her?
The heat of the sexual hunger inside him, the driving need to mate with Witch that suddenly engulfed him, burned away the emotional numbness. And left in its place a chilling approval of what he saw.
He stepped out of the room and closed the door.
"Daemon," Saetan said softly, watching him.
Daemon smiled. "It's a pity about the wallpaper. It was a lovely design."
4 / Kaeleer
"Well," Surreal said as she pushed her hair away from her face, "I don't think any of the 'guests' are going to be eager to leave their rooms right now, do you?"
"No," Falonar replied, sounding a bit queasy, "I don't."
"Yeah." Surreal leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. "Shit."
"Were you hurt by ... that?" Falonar asked, meaning the blast of power that had shaken the Hall. He briefly touched her shoulder before stepping back.
Surreal shook her head. Hurt? No. Scared shitless? Oh, yes.
But the people who lived with Jaenelle didn't live in constant fear. In fact, thinking about how Karla and Lucivar had acted in the courtyard, she would have called their behavior cautious rather than fearful—and that caution wasn't usually in evidence either.
Putting those thoughts aside for the moment, she scowled at Falonar and decided to tackle something easier—like the arrogant way he had been tossing out orders after they reached the courtyard. "I could have handled that bastard."
Falonar looked insulted. "It's a male's right to defend and protect."
Surreal bared her teeth. "I've heard that song before, and—"
"Then you should heed that song, Lady—and respect it."
"Why? Because poor little me isn't capable of handling myself in a fight?" she said with venom-laced sweetness.
"Because you're deadlier," he snarled. He paced a few steps away from her, swore, paced back. "That's why males defend, Lady Surreal. Because you females are deadlier when you're roused—and you're merciless when you're riding the killing edge. At least if I go down first in a fight, I don't have to deal with you afterward."
Not sure if she'd just been complimented or insulted, Surreal said nothing. She was about to concede that he might have a point when he growled at her, "You've picked a lousy time to play the bitch. It's going to be hard enough facing Yaslana without having to dance with you right now."
Now that was an insult. "Since you feel like that, sugar, I'll just get out of your way." She pushed away from the wall.
Falonar reached out, touched her arm. "Surreal... You were right. I should have killed that bastard. Now I'll have to accept the consequences for that error." He hesitated, and added quietly, "He could have killed you or Lady Benedict with that poisoned knife."
She shrugged. "You couldn't have known about the knife, and he didn't kill either one of us, so—"
"What difference does that make?" Falonar said harshly. "My error gave him the chance."
Surreal studied him. "You think you're going to be punished?"
"That's a certainty. The only question is how severe it will be."
"Well, I have a few things to say about that. When Lucivar gets around to discussing this—"
"There is no discussion," Falonar snapped. "He's the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih. I serve him. He'll do as he pleases." He looked away. "I'd rather be tied to the whipping posts than be sent back to Terreille."
"There's no reason for you to be punished at all!"
Falonar smiled grimly. "That's the way it is, Lady Surreal."
We'll just see about that, Surreal thought.
5 / Kaeleer
Daemon watched Saetan pour a large brandy. "Can you drink that?" he asked, keeping his voice mildly curious.
"It gives me vicious headaches," Saetan replied, pouring a second glass for Daemon. "But I doubt it's going to make the one I've already got any worse, so..." He raised his glass in a salute, then swallowed half the brandy. "Dejaal was Prince Jaal's son."
Mentioning the tiger Warlord Prince seemed an abrupt change of subject. "Lucivar found the men?"
"And got the information we wanted before they were executed."
Daemon studied his father. Something wasn't quite right here. Since he didn't know what questions to ask, he voiced his own concern. "Jaenelle isn't here, is she?"
Saetan shook his head. "She's gone to Ebon Askavi— and has asked to be left alone for the time being."
"Are you going to abide by her wishes?" Daemon asked carefully.
Saetan's look was steady and far too knowing. "We are going to abide by her wishes. If she needs to
remain cold in order to make the decisions that have to be made, forcing her to feel before she's ready would be cruel."
Daemon nodded. He didn't like it, but he could accept it. His thoughts went back to the three men who had been waiting to help Osvald abduct Wilhelmina. "Those men served Hekatah and Dorothea?"
"They worked for them."
He felt Saetan retreat, so he pressed. "Lucivar executed the men?" It wouldn't have been Lucivar's first kill, so that couldn't be bothering Saetan. Was there something different about a formal execution?
"The other males in the First Circle withdrew their right to collect any part of the debt that was owed them for the death of a Brother," Saetan said.
"What does that mean?" Daemon asked slowly.
Saetan hesitated, then finished the brandy before replying. "It means they gave those men to Jaal... and to Kaelas."
6 / Kaeleer
Fuming silently, Surreal glared at the four men in the High Lord's study. She had snarled her way into this little discussion, only to be bluntly told that they would tolerate her presence as long as she didn't interfere. Her opinion wasn't requested or required.
If it had been any other men, she would have given them her opinion of that, probably delivered on the end of her stiletto. But Lucivar looked like he'd been pushed hard enough and wouldn't hesitate to throw her out— throughthe door. And Saetan and Andulvar Yaslana weren't the kind of men who would allow anyone to step on their authority as Steward and Master of the Guard.
What really bit her was that Falonar hadn't looked at her once since she'd managed to win enough of the argument to stay in the room. She would have thought that he'd be grateful to have someone speak in his defense. But he ...
Well, that was fine. That was just fine. She didn't need to be there, wasting her time on a thick-skinned, hard-headed male who didn't want her there in the first place.
She looked at Lucivar at that moment, saw the sharp amusement in his gold eyes, and knew that, now, if she tried to leave, she would be ordered to stay. So instead of cursing herself for her own stubbornness, she cursed Lucivar instead. And seeing his amusement deepen, realized he knew it—the prick.
Saetan leaned against his blackwood desk and crossed his arms. "Prince Falonar, please explain your actions this morning."
His voice sounded polite, only mildly curious. Surreal wondered if that was a bad sign.
Falonar responded. In Surreal's opinion, the dry recitation of actions fell far short of an explanation, but the other men didn't seem to notice that.
When Falonar finished speaking, Saetan looked at Andulvar and Lucivar, then back at Falonar. "You erred on the side of caution," Saetan said quietly. "That's understandable—and, in a Warlord Prince, also unacceptable. You can't afford the luxury of caution."
Falonar swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."
"You do understand that discipline is required?"
"Yes, sir."
Saetan nodded, appearing satisfied. He looked at Lucivar. "This is your decision."
Falonar turned to face Lucivar.
Lucivar studied him for a moment. "Five days of extra guard duty, beginning tomorrow."
Instead of looking relieved, Falonar looked as if he'd been slapped.
"Anything else we need to discuss?" Saetan asked.
Lucivar looked at her, then at Saetan, who, after a pause, dipped his head in the barest of nods.
Lucivar opened the study door and waited.
After bowing to Saetan and Andulvar, Falonar walked out. Since it seemed the proper thing to do, Surreal also bowed to the two men, then followed Falonar out of the study so fast she stepped on his heels.
Swearing, he lengthened his stride, finally stopping when he reached the center of the great hall.
Surreal caught up to him. "Well, that wasn't—" The dislike and anger in his face as he watched Lucivar approach them stopped her.
"Five days of extra guard duty is an insult," Falonar said.
Surreal grabbed two fistfuls of her long tunic to keep from belting him. Fool. Idiot. He should be grateful it wasn't worse.
"It's not an insult," Lucivar replied mildly. "It's fair. You made a mistake, Falonar. Some reparation has to be made for it. You acted, but you also hamstrung yourself by being too cautious."
"I realize what my caution could have cost."
"Yes, you do. Which is why the discipline is fair." Lucivar's mouth curved in a lazy, arrogant smile. "Don't worry about it. You'll stand extra guard duty plenty more times before you've been here a year. I certainly did."
Falonar stared at him. "You?"
The smile sharpened. "Hard to believe that I would err on the side of caution, isn't it? But I wanted to stay in Kaeleer, and I wanted to serve my Queen, so I kept my temper leashed as much as possible—for me. And ended up in that study, facing those two, more times than I care to count." Lucivar paused. "This is Kaeleer. Here, a Warlord Prince's temper is considered an asset to a court."
Falonar took a moment to digest this. Then, courteously, "Extra guard duty doesn't seem like much when a witch could have died."
"Well, there is another part to your... discipline," Lucivar said. He tipped his head toward Surreal. "You get to cope with her until sunrise. Since she looks like she's going to break her teeth unless she gets to yell at a male, it might as well be you." The smile got even sharper. "Of course, you could always offer to warm her bed and see if that buys you any leniency."
Falonar choked. Surreal made a sound like a teakettle ready to boil over.
"You consider spending a night with me a form of discipline!" Surreal shouted. "You prick. You... I would call it a reward!"
Lucivar shrugged. "Please yourself. Just keep in mind that, if you both decide to extend this 'discipline' past tonight, you have to have formal permission from the Steward of the Court. He agreed to overlook that formality until sunrise, but not after that. And this is an area where it isn't wise to push Saetan's temper."
After he left them, Surreal and Falonar eyed each other.
"It would seem that I didn't keep my... interest... in being with you as... restrained... as I had thought since Lucivar noticed it," Falonar said.
Or the High Lord did, Surreal thought. As family patriarch and sexual chaperon, she didn't think much got past that man.
"So," Falonar said warily. "Are you going to yell at me?"
Surreal smiled at him. "Well, sugar, I may not yell at you. With the right incentive, I may just yell."
Chapter Seven
1 / Kaeleer
Lord Jorval settled into a chair in Kartane SaDiablo's sitting room. "Your meeting with the Healer has been delayed."
"Why?" Kartane said sharply. "I had thought it was all arranged."
"It was," Jorval soothed. "But there was an... incident... at the Healer's residence, so it will be a few more days before she can meet with you."
"You could insist," Kartane said. "Perhaps she doesn't realize how important I—"
"It would do no good to insist," Jorval interrupted. "When she comes here, you want her attention on you, not on some domestic trivia."
"Then I suppose I have no choice but to wait."
Jorval rose. "No choice at all."
An incident has occurred that requires postponing...
An incident, Jorval thought as he walked back to his own home. That was how the High Lord had so carefully, so courteously phrased it. Since the men who had been in Halaway to assist the escort had suddenly disappeared, and there was no word from or sign of the escort, he had a good idea what sort of "incident" was delaying Jaenelle Angelline's trip to Little Terreille.
Which meant he had to inform the Dark Priestess that, in all probability, Alexandra was no longer a useful tool.
Hekatah wouldn't be pleased about that, would probably come to Little Terreille in a foul temper—which she would take out on him.
But, perhaps, he could redirect that temper. Perhaps now would be a good time to take care of that other little proble
m.
Reaching his home, he rushed into his study and penned a quick note to Lord Magstrom.
2 / Kaeleer
"Where is my escort?" Alexandra demanded as soon as she took a seat in the High Lord's study. After being confined for two days, she felt relieved to be out of her room, but she felt no relief at being in this room—or being with him.
Saetan leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, resting the long, black-tinted nails against his chin. His gold eyes looked sleepy—just as they had when he'd first seen her.
Conscious of the chill in the room, she pulled her shawl more tightly around herself.
"It's interesting that Osvald is the first person you ask about," Saetan said too mildly.
"Who should I have asked about?" Alexandra snapped, fear making her voice sharp.
"Your granddaughter, Wilhelmina. She is recovering from the drugs that bastard gave her. There will be no permanent damage."
"Of course there's no damage. He only gave her a mild sedative."
"What he gave her was a great deal more than a mild sedative, Lady," Saetan replied, his own voice turning sharp.
Alexandra hesitated. He was lying. Of course he was lying.
Saetan looked at her, curious. "I keep wondering what sort of payment Dorothea and Hekatah offered you that was worth your granddaughter's life."
She shot out of the chair. "You're insulting!"
"Am I?" he replied, his voice returning to that infuriating—and frightening—mildness.
"I wasn't selling Wilhelmina to Dorothea, I was just trying to get her away from you!"
A queer look came over his face. "Yes, that always seems sufficient justification, doesn't it? Just get the child away from me and be damned to what happens to the child. A lifetime of pain, of humiliation and torture, is certainly better than being with me."
Alexandra settled back in the chair and watched him. He had turned inward, following some private thought—and she didn't think he was talking about Wilhelmina anymore.
"What did you think was going to happen to Wilhelmina?" he asked.
"Osvald was going to get her out of Kaeleer, and then we would take her home."
