Queen of the Darkness bj-3

by Anne Bishop

  He stepped away from those thoughts. Not only were they useless tonight, they teased his body into wanting to respond to her in a way that wouldn't be acceptable.

  "Are they gone?" Jaenelle asked quietly, still staring out the window.

  Daemon studied her, trying to decide if it was meant as small talk or if she had withdrawn so deep within herself she really didn't know. "They're gone." He moved toward her slowly, cautiously, until he was only a few feet away and at an angle where he could see her profile.

  "It was the appropriate punishment," Jaenelle said as another tear rolled down her face. "It's the appropriate punishment when one Queen violates another's court to do harm."

  "You could have asked one of us to do it," Daemon said quietly.

  Jaenelle shook her head. "I'm the Queen. It was mine to do."

  Not if you're going to eat your heart out because of it.

  "There's a traditional way to break one of the Blood, to strip away the power without doing any other harm. It's quick and clean." She hesitated. "I took her deep into the abyss."

  "You took her to the misty place?"

  "No," Jaenelle said too sharply, too quickly. "That's a special place. I didn't want it tainted—" She bit her lip.

  He didn't want to examine the relief he felt at knowing Alexandra hadn't fouled the misty place with her presence.

  As he continued to study her, it struck him with the force of a blow: she hadn't withdrawn so far into herself because she grieved over having to break another witch; she had withdrawn in order to deal with some kind of personal pain.

  "Sweetheart," he said quietly, "what's wrong? Please tell me. Let me help."

  When she turned to look at him, he didn't see a grown woman or a Queen or Witch. He saw a child in agony.

  "Leland... Leland cared, I think, but I never expected much from her. Philip cared, but there was nothing he could really do. Alexandra was the m-mother in the family. She was the one who had the strength. She was the one we all wanted to please. And I could never please her, could never be... I loved all of them—Leland and Alexandra and Philip and Wilhelmina." Jaenelle's breathing hitched on a suppressed sob. "I loved her —and she s-said I was m-monstrous."

  Daemon just stared at her, the sudden rage that engulfed him making it impossible to speak for a moment. "The bitch said what?"

  Startled by the venom in his voice, she gave him a clear-eyed look before she crumbled again. "She said I was monstrous."

  He could almost see all the deep childhood scars reopening, bleeding. This was the final rejection, the final pain. The child had defied that rejection, had tried to justify the sparse love given only with conditions placed on it. The child had tried to justify being sent to that horror, Briarwood. But the child was no longer a child, and the agony of having to face a bitter truth was ripping her apart.

  He also realized that, faced with this emotional battering, she was now clinging to the one solid wall of her childhood: Saetan's love and acceptance.

  Well, he could give her another wall to cling to. He opened his arms enough to invite but not enough to demand. "Come here," he said softly. "Come to me."

  It broke his heart the way she crept toward him without looking at him, the way her body was braced for rejection.

  His arms closed around her, comforting and protecting.

  "She was a good Queen, wasn't she?" Jaenelle asked in a pleading voice a few minutes later.

  Daemon felt a stab of pain. At another time, the lie would have been easy enough to say, but not tonight. Knowing he was going to rip away her last justification for Alexandra's behavior, he gave her the truth as gently as he could. "Compared to the other Queens in Terreille, she was a good Queen. Compared to any of the Queens I've met since I've been in Kaeleer... No, sweetheart, she was not a good Queen."

  Pain flowed with the tears as Jaenelle finally gave up the people she had once tried to love.

  He held her, saying nothing. Just held her while he let all of his love surround her.

  The door opened quietly. Ladvarian walked in, followed by Kaelas.

  Daemon watched them, and wondered if they had decided on their own to defy the command for solitude or if they had equated his presence with permission to enter.

  After a minute, the tip of Ladvarian's tail waved once. *We will come back later.*

  They left as quietly as they had come.

  Chapter Eight

  1 / Kaeleer

  Lord Magstrom nervously wandered around the room where the records from the service fair were stored. He'd only been home a couple of days and was still catching up on the official business of his own village. But Lord Jorval had urgently requested him to return to Little Terreille's capital to discuss something of the "utmost importance."

  He'd spent several days with his eldest granddaughter and her husband—days that had been filled with excitement and apprehension instead of the rest he so badly needed. His granddaughter was pregnant with her first child, and, though delighted, she was also quite ill. So he'd spent most of his time reassuring her husband that his granddaughter wouldn't divorce a man she loved just because she couldn't keep her breakfast down for a few weeks.

  He shouldn't have said "a few weeks." The younger man had looked ready to faint when he'd said that.

  He had written a hurried letter to the High Lord about the discrepancies he had found in the service fair records but then had hesitated over sending it, wondering if his own exhaustion had made something sinister out of what was really just sloppy clerical work.

  No matter. As soon as he was home again, he would write a more thoughtful, carefully worded letter, one that expressed concern rather than alarm.

  He had just reached this decision when the door swung open and Lord Jorval entered the room.

  "I'm glad you came, Magstrom," Jorval said a little breathlessly. "I wasn't sure who else I could trust. But anyone who's worked with you knows you couldn't be involved in this."

  "And just what is 'this'?" Magstrom asked cautiously.

  Jorval went to the shelves holding the records and pulled out a thick folder.

  Magstrom's stomach tightened. It was the Hayllian folder—the same one he had examined before his hasty departure from Goth.

  Jorval's hands trembled as he leafed through the papers, then put several on the large table. "Look. There are discrepancies in these lists." Hurrying to the shelves, he pulled out several folders and dumped them on the table. "And not only in the Hayllian lists. At first I thought it was a clerical error, but..." Taking a sheet of paper from one of the folders, he pointed. "Do you remember this man? He was most unsuitable to immigrate to Kaeleer. Most unsuitable."

  "I remember him," Magstrom said faintly. A brute of a man whose psychic scent had made his skin crawl. "He was accepted into a court?"

  "Yes," Jorval said grimly. "This one."

  Magstrom squinted at the scrawled writing. The Queen's name and the territory she ruled were almost illegible. The only thing he could definitely make out was that the territory was in Little Terreille. "Who is this... Hektek?"

  "I don't know. There is no Queen named Hektek who rules so much as a village in Little Terreille. But thirty Terreilleans were accepted into this alleged court. Thirty."

  "Then where are these people going?"

  Jorval hesitated. "I think someone is secretly creating an army right under our noses, using the service fair to cover the tracks."

  Magstrom swallowed hard. "Do you know who?" he asked, half expecting Jorval to accuse the High Lord— which was ridiculous.

  "I think so," Jorval replied, an odd glitter appearing in his eyes. "If what I suspect is true, the Territory Queens in Kaeleer must be warned immediately. That's why I asked you to come. I'm to meet someone tonight who claims to have information about the people missing from the lists. I wanted another member of the Council to come with me as a witness to confirm what was said. I wanted you because, if we are in danger, the High Lord will listen to you."

&
nbsp; That decided Magstrom. "Since there may be some risk in revealing this information, we shouldn't keep this person waiting."

  "No," Jorval replied, sounding queer, "we shouldn't."

  They found an available horse-drawn cab almost as soon as they left the building. A heavy silence filled the cab until, a few minutes later, it pulled up.

  Magstrom stepped out, looked around, and felt a jagged-edged fear. They were at the edge of Goth's slums, not a place for the unwary—or for an older man at any time.

  "I know," Jorval said hurriedly as he took Magstrom's arm and began leading him through narrow, dirty streets. "It seems an unlikely meeting place, but I think that's why it was chosen. Even if someone recognized us, they would think they were mistaken."

  Breathing heavily, Magstrom struggled to keep up with Jorval. He could feel eyes watching them from shadowed doorways—and he could sense the flickers of power coming from the ones who watched. There were many reasons why a dark-Jeweled male could end up in a place like this.

  Finally, they slipped into the back door of a large building and silently climbed the stairs. At a second floor door, Jorval fumbled with a key, then stepped aside to allow Magstrom to enter the suite.

  The furnishings in the sitting room were secondhand and shabby. The room itself looked as if even minimal cleaning hadn't been done in a long time. And it stank of decay.

  "Something wrong?" Jorval asked in an oddly gleeful voice.

  Magstrom moved toward the narrow windows. A little air might help relieve the smell. "I think a mouse or a rat must have died behind the walls, so—"

  Jorval made a queer sound—a sharp, high-pitched giggle—at the same time the bedroom door opened and a hooded figure stepped into the sitting room.

  Magstrom turned—and couldn't say a word.

  Knucklebones peeked out of the split skin as brown hands pushed the hood back.

  Magstrom stared at the hate-filled gold eyes in the ravaged, decaying face. She took a step toward him. He took a step back. Then he took another... and another... until there was nowhere to go.

  Jorval smiled at him. "I thought it was time you met the Dark Priestess."

  2 / Kaeleer

  "Is something wrong?" Daemon asked Saetan. He glanced at Lucivar, who was intently studying their father.

  Saetan finally looked up from the sheet of paper lying in the middle of his desk. "I received a letter from Lord Jorval, informing me that Lord Magstrom was brutally killed last night."

  Daemon let his breath out slowly while Lucivar swore. "I met Magstrom briefly at the service fair. He seemed to be a decent man."

  "He was," Saetan replied. "And he was the only member of the Dark Council Jaenelle was willing to deal with."

  "How did he die?" Lucivar asked bluntly.

  Saetan hesitated. "He was found in an alleyway in the Goth slums. The body was so torn up that speculation is running wild that Magstrom was killed by kindred."

  Daemon said, "Why would they suspect the kindred?" at the same time Lucivar snarled, "It was a full death?"

  "Yes, it was a full death," Saetan said grimly, answering Lucivar's question first. "So there's not even a chance of Magstrom being a ghost in the Dark Realm long enough to tell someone what really happened to him. There are feral dog packs, and they can be a danger, but a Craft shield would have protected Magstrom from them. Only a pack of kindred, or one who wore darker Jewels than Magstrom, could have drained his psychic power to finish the kill."

  "Is that likely?" Daemon asked.

  "If an unknown human wanders into one of the kindred Territories, it's almost a given. But in Goth? No."

  "So he was mutilated in order to hide the real death wounds."

  "So it would seem."

  "Does Jorval want to postpone the healing?" Lucivar asked.

  Saetan shook his head. "The meeting is still set for late this afternoon. Is everything ready?"

  Lucivar nodded. "We'll be leaving within the hour."

  "The place you're taking Jaenelle to is secure?" Saetan asked.

  "It's a guardhouse in Dea al Mon," Lucivar said. "Chaosti will come with us, and the Dea al Mon guards will supply the added physical protection. Cat said she has a few errands to run in Amdarh, so we'll go directly there afterward, and probably stay for a day or two. Chaosti will return here and report."

  With effort, Daemon caged the jealousy that was chewing him up inside. There was no reason for Lucivar to think twice about making plans to spend a couple of days with Jaenelle, despite the Eyriens still waiting to be settled in Askavi before winter set in, despite his having a wife and child. Jaenelle was not only his sister but his Queen. There was no question that he would go with her whenever or wherever she needed him.

  Putting those thoughts aside, Daemon concentrated on the timetable. He hadn't really been aware of the journey from Goth to the Hall, but it had to have taken a couple of hours at the least. Going to this secret location in Dea al Mon would probably take even more time. If Lucivar was planning to leave within the hour to reach the guardhouse, he was planning to arrive so that there would be just enough time for Jaenelle to rest and eat a late midday meal before doing whatever she was going to do. Just enough time...

  The Sadist in him woke up. He looked at Saetan and saw his own suspicions reflected in his father's eyes. "When was the body found?" he asked too softly.

  Lucivar jerked to attention, then swore viciously.

  Saetan returned his stare for a moment. "If Jorval had been informed immediately, there would have been just enough time to pen a hasty note and send it here by courier."

  "Was it hastily written?"

  "No, I wouldn't say so."

  Which meant Jorval had known about Magstrom's death before the body had been found. And Jorval was the one who had made these arrangements for Jaenelle to come to Little Terreille.

  As soon as he and Lucivar were away from Saetan's study, Daemon settled one hand on Lucivar's shoulder, his long, black-tinted nails providing just enough bite to ensure that he had his brother's undivided attention. "You will do anything you have to in order to keep her safe and take care of her, won't you?"

  "I'll keep her safe, Bastard. You can count on that." Then Lucivar smiled that lazy, arrogant smile. "But you're the one who's going to take care of her. You've got less than an hour to get packed, old son. Bring enough to get you through a couple of days in Amdarh as well."

  Daemon stared at Lucivar, then stepped back and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. "She's not comfortable with me, Prick." Not even to Lucivar would he admit how Jaenelle had practically fled her own rooms in order to get away from him after he had spent the night with her. "My being there would only distress her."

  "You're her Consort," Lucivar said sharply. "Stand your ground."

  "But..."

  "She isn't going to pay attention to either of us before this meeting, and I'll be with you when you go to Amdarh. While she's swearing about tripping over me, she isn't going to have time to feel nervous about being around you." Lucivar rode over another, more feeble protest. "I want you at that guardhouse, Daemon."

  He finally understood. Lucivar didn't want him there because he was the Consort, but because he was the Sadist.

  Daemon nodded. "I'll be ready to leave when you are."

  3 / Kaeleer

  Seeing the contained grief in Jaenelle's eyes, Lucivar didn't need to ask if she'd been told about Lord Magstrom's death. He almost asked if she wanted to postpone the meeting, but didn't bother. There was something else in her eyes that told him she would see this meeting through, for her own reasons.

  He eyed the large flat case that stood near her traveling bag. She had several cases like that of different sizes that contained the wooden frames she used to weave her various webs.

  "You're expecting to weave a healing web that size?" he asked.

  "It's not for a healing web; it's for the shadow."

  He eyed the case again. A "shadow" was an elaborate illusion
that could fool the eye into believing a person was really there. Jaenelle could create one that was so realistic, the only difference between it and her real body was that, while the shadow could pick up or touch anything, it couldn't be touched. She had made that kind of shadow eight years ago, when she had begun her search for Daemon to bring him out of the Twisted Kingdom, and he still clearly remembered the kind of physical toll it had taken.

  "Do you feel well enough to channel that much power through your body to make the shadow capable of doing an extensive healing?"

  "There won't be much healing required," Jaenelle replied calmly.

  That wasn't the impression he or Saetan had gotten from Jorval's urgent letters, but he knew better than to say anything. Serving Jaenelle in the past few years had taught him when to yield.

  She vanished the case and traveling bag, then picked up a hooded, full-length black cape. "Shall we go?"

  4 / Kaeleer

  Kartane SaDiablo restlessly paced the sitting room of his suite.

  The bitch was late. If he'd been home, the bitch wouldn't have dared keep Dorothea's son waiting. Hell's fire, he'd almost be glad to get back to Hayll.

  Working himself up to insulted outrage, he almost missed the quiet knock on the door. He pulled himself together. He needed this bitch, who, Jorval assured him, was the best Healer in Kaeleer. If he was uncivil, nothing and no one could stop her from walking out the door again.

  He walked over to the windows and looked out. There was no reason for her to know he had been waiting anxiously, no reason to give her even that little bit of power over him. "Come in," he said when the knock sounded again.

  He didn't hear the door open, but when he turned around, a figure shrouded in a hooded black cape stood inside the room.

  At first he thought it was that witch Dorothea called the Dark Priestess, but there was something slimy about the Dark Priestess's psychic scent and this one's scent...

  Kartane frowned. He couldn't detect a psychic scent at all. "You're the Healer?" he asked doubtfully.