by Anne Bishop
"The other thing to be aware of is that, when the shield wakes, the only people who will be able to reach you if you physically need help are the rest of the First Circle," Jaenelle said.
Karla nodded. "In that case, I'd better always wear it. It wouldn't do to have someone else slip it on and have that kind of protection."
"No one else can wear this ring. It was made for you. If anyone else tried to activate the shield, the results would be ... unpleasant."
"I see." She didn't ask Jaenelle to define "unpleasant."
Jaenelle studied Karla for a moment. "Wear it well, Sister."
"Thank you. I will."
"I'd better see that the rest of the coven gets their rings." Jaenelle picked up the bag that held the other ring boxes, then hesitated. "Do you really have to leave tomorrow?" she asked a little plaintively.
"Duty calls," Karla said with a smile. She waited until Jaenelle left the room before adding, "And Uncle Saetan made it quite clear that no excuse for staying would be considered acceptable."
All the Queens were returning to their home Territories. So were the First Circle males. Lucivar was taking his family and the other Eyriens to Ebon Rih. Surreal and Wilhelmina would go with him as well. Andulvar and Prothvar were already on their way to Askavi, and Mephis had left for his town house in Amdarh.
She understood why Saetan was clearing the Hall. They all did. By tomorrow afternoon, all the friends Jaenelle had used as buffers would be gone. Her only human companions would be the High Lord, who, Karla was sure, was going to make himself scarce, and Daemon. The Consort would have a clear field in which to woo his Lady.
"May the Darkness help us," Karla muttered as she strode to the door and threw it open. Then she stood in the doorway and stared.
Lucivar, Aaron, Chaosti, Khardeen, and Morton smiled at her.
"Well, well, well," Lucivar crooned. "Look who we found."
Trying to return the smile, Karla said weakly, "Kiss kiss," and sincerely hoped it wouldn't take Jaenelle long to activate the other rings.
Chapter Ten
1 / Kaeleer
After spending two weeks in Ebon Rih, Surreal returned to the Hall, took one look at Daemon, and went hunting for Jaenelle.
She finally tracked Jaenelle down—actually, Graysfang tracked down Ladvarian, who was with Jaenelle—in a part of the Hall so far away from the family's living quarters that it practically guaranteed no one would think to look there.
Jaenelle stepped out of a room and noticed Surreal striding down the corridor. Her face lit up with pleasure. "Surreal! I didn't expect you back so—"
Surreal grabbed Jaenelle's arm and hauled the younger woman back into the room. "This is girl talk," she growled at Graysfang and Ladvarian. "Go water some bushes." Then she slammed the door on two startled, furry faces.
"Surreal," Jaenelle said, shaking free of the hard grip, "did something happen in—"
"What in the name of Hell are you doing?" Surreal shouted.
Jaenelle looked wary and baffled. "I was reading."
"I'm not talking about what you were doing five minutes ago. I'm talking about Daemon. Why are you doing this to him?"
Jaenelle flinched and said defensively, "I'm not doing anything to him."
"That's exactly the point. Damn it, Jaenelle, he's your Consort. Why aren't you using him?"
In the flick of a moment, she saw a defensive young woman change into an angry Queen.
"He's been used enough, don't you think?" Jaenelle said quietly in her midnight voice. "And I am not going to be the next in a long list of women who have forced him into physical intimacy."
"But—" Surreal took a mental step back. She hadn't expected this to be the reason for Jaenelle's resistance— and she was sure Daemon had no idea this was why he was getting locked out of the bedroom. Ah, sugar, she thought sadly. You made all the wrong moves for all the right reasons. "That was different. He was a pleasure slave then, not a Consort."
"Is there that much difference, Surreal?"
Remember who you're talking to. Remember what she must have seen in Briarwood— and what sort of conclusions a twelve-year-old girl who knew about that side of sex would come to about the time Daemon had spent as a pleasure slave.
"The boyos who are Consorts don't seem to mind performing their duties. Quite the opposite, in fact."
"They've never been pleasure slaves. They've never been forced. All right, yes, sometimes a Consort is asked to give more than he feels like giving at that moment, but when a man accepts the Consort's ring, he goes into that kind of service willingly and by his own choice."
"Daemon made that choice," Surreal pointed out quietly. "Not because he wants the status of being the Consort and is willing to put up with the duties that go along with it, but because he wants to be your lover." She studied Jaenelle. "You do care about him, don't you?"
"I love him."
Surreal heard such a deep river of feelings in those simple words.
"Besides," Jaenelle said, shifting back into a nervous young woman, "I'm not sure he really does want to do... that. He hasn't even tried to kiss me," she added sadly.
Surreal hooked her hair behind her pointed ears. Damn, damn, damn. How had the ground gotten so boggy so fast? "If I understand the rules a Consort is supposed to play by, isn't the Queen supposed to initiate the first kiss so that the Consort knows his attentions will be welcome?"
"Yes," Jaenelle said reluctantly.
"But you haven't kissed him either?"
Jaenelle snarled in frustration and started pacing. "I'm not twelve anymore."
Surreal braced her hands on her hips. "Sugar, from where I'm standing, that's all to the good."
Jaenelle threw up her hands and shouted, "Don't you understand? I don't know how to do any of this!"
Surreal just stared. "You've never been kissed? Family kisses and friendly kisses don't count," she quickly amended.
A disgusted look filled Jaenelle's face. "Teeth, tongues, and drool."
"Wolves and dogs don't count either."
Jaenelle let out a huff of laughter, and said dryly, "I wasn't referring to the kindred."
Shit. "Haven't you received even one kiss you liked?"
Jaenelle hesitated. "Well, Daemon kissed me once."
"Well, there you—"
"When I was twelve."
Surreal bristled automatically at the thought of a grown man kissing a child, then took a moment to consider the man. There were kisses and there were kisses. And Daemon would know exactly how to kiss a young girl without crossing the line—especially when that girl had been Jaenelle. "He kissed you when you were twelve," she said carefully.
Jaenelle shrugged and looked uncomfortable. "It was at Winsol, just before... everything happened. He had given me a silver bracelet, and I thought a kiss was a more grownup way of saying thank you."
"Okay," Surreal said, nodding. "So you kissed him, and then he kissed you."
"Yes."
"And he didn't drool on you?"
Jaenelle's lips twitched. "No, he didn't drool."
"So why can't you kiss him now?"
"Because I'm not twelve anymore!" Jaenelle shouted.
"What's that got to do with it?" Surreal shouted back.
"I don't want him to laugh at me!"
"I doubt laughing would be his first response. As a matter of fact, I don't think it would even occur to him." Surreal paused. Hell's fire, this is as bad as talking to an adolescent girl.
She let that thought sink in and settle. If she put age aside and only considered experience, wasn't she talking to an adolescent girl? There had to be some key she could turn, some way to make it seem like Daemon desperately needed help. If he needed help, Jaenelle would...
"You know, sugar, Daemon is as nervous as you are."
"Why would Daemon be nervous?" Jaenelle asked warily. "He knows how to kiss, and he's—"
"A virgin."
Jaenelle's mouth fell open. "But... But he's—"
> "A virgin. Granted, he may know a bit about kissing, but there's a whole lot he only knows in theory."
"But... Surreal, he can't be."
"Trust me, he is."
"Oh."
"So you can see why he'd be nervous," Surreal said, feeling a little nervous herself. If Daemon ever found out about this little chat, she could end up the main ingredient in a carnivore's stew. "Frankly, sugar, if push comes to shove, all you have to do is lie there. But if he's nervous about his ability to perform well..." Cocking her elbow, Surreal stiffened her hand and fingers, then let them droop.
Jaenelle studied the drooping hand long enough for Surreal to start to sweat before saying, "Oh." Her eyes widened. "Oooh." Then she shook her head. "No, that wouldn't happen to Daemon."
That naive assurance of Daemon's ability was touching. Scary, but touching. And not something she was going to introduce to reality.
"Let's sit down," Surreal said, heading for a couch. "Thirty minutes ought to be enough, but we might as well be comfortable."
"Enough for what?" Jaenelle said, settling on the other end of the couch.
"I'm going to explain the basics of kissing." There was a slight edge to Surreal's smile. "You would agree that I know a few things about kissing?"
"All right," Jaenelle replied cautiously.
"And you never thought to ask me about it in the month that I've been in Kaeleer?" And that rankled.
"I thought about it," Jaenelle muttered. "It didn't seem polite."
Oh, Mother Night. Well, that would explain the glazed look she sometimes noticed in the High Lord's eyes. How many nights had he sat in his study totally flummoxed by dealing with a Queen this powerful who still worried about being polite?
"I thank you for your concern, but, since we're family, I wouldn't have been offended by a little girl talk."
There was speculation in Jaenelle's eyes. Surreal could almost see the questions piling up.
"For today, let's just stick to basic kissing."
"Should I take notes?" Jaenelle asked earnestly.
"No," Surreal replied slowly, "but I think you should try some hands-on practice as soon as possible."
Surreal quietly closed the door and hurried down the corridor. She wasn't sure that look of intense concentration that had been on Jaenelle's face boded well for the man on the receiving end of that attention, but she'd done her best. Any further instructions would have to come from Daemon—and good luck to him. For a woman who had grown up around some of the most sensual males Surreal had ever met, Jaenelle was appallingly dense about sex. Maybe it had taken Daemon's arrival to wake her up sexually, but you would think she would have picked up some clues.
How in the name of Hell did two inexperienced lovers ever figure out how to do anything? Surreal wondered. Which made her think about how many things could go wrong once Daemon and Jaenelle got past kissing.
Which made her think that, maybe, she should tell the High Lord about this little chat. Maybe she should. Just in case.
She turned a corner and almost ran into the very last person she wanted to see right now.
"What's wrong?" Daemon asked.
"Wrong?" Surreal said, taking a step back. "Why should anything be wrong?"
"You look pale."
Oh, shit."Um." Maybe she should tell him about that little chat, just to give him a little warning. Daemon, Jaenelle and I had a little talk about sex. I think you'll enjoy the results.
Maybe not.
"Surreal?" Daemon said, an edge coming into his voice.
Surreal took a deep breath. "Act nervous. It will help."
Then she was past him, running through the corridors. A few minutes later, breathless, she burst into Saetan's study.
Saetan froze, his pen poised above the papers on his desk. "Surreal," he said cautiously.
She sat down in the chair in front of his desk and smiled a bit desperately. "Hi. I thought I would keep you company for a while."
"Why?"
"Do I need a reason?"
Apparently that question meant something different to him because he carefully put the pen back in its holder, set his half-moon glasses on the desk, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the study door before fixing that stare on her.
"If you're intending to watch me do paperwork, would you like to move that chair behind the desk?" he asked mildly.
That would put him between her and any irate male— namely Daemon—who might come through the door. "What a marvelous idea," Surreal said. She picked up the chair and brought it around the desk.
Before she could sit down, Saetan picked the chair up again and moved it closer to the bookcases that filled the back of the alcove. "Sit down," he said as he walked his fingers over the titles on one shelf. Selecting a book, he handed it to her. "This is a history of the Dea al Mon. You should learn a bit more about your mother's people. And it will be a reasonable excuse for why you're sitting there should anyone come in and wonder about it." He paused. Waited. "Are you expecting anyone?"
"No, I'm not expecting anyone."
"I see. In that case, I'll do a bit more paperwork while you catch your breath. Then we'll have a little chat."
Surreal gave him a weak smile. "It seems to be my day for little chats."
Fortunately, his response to that was muttered softly enough that she could pretend she didn't hear it.
2 / Kaeleer
Daemon stared at the empty corridor, shook his head, then kept walking. He'd spent the day walking, first on the grounds of the estate and now along the corridors of the Hall.
In the month that he'd been in Kaeleer, he'd come to love the place. Loved the feel of it, the sprawling mass of it, the furnishings in it.
And he was going to have to leave it.
He'd come to that conclusion after another long, sleepless night. Oh, the boyos had tried to help with their stories about pursuing their Ladies, but it was becoming painfully clear that there was no hope for him. Maybe if he wasn't wearing the Consort's ring, wasn't reminded every minute of the relationship it implied, he could accept being just a friend or—may the Darkness help him—another older brother. Maybe he could get past desire that had become painful and just...
Just what? Watch Jaenelle accept another man one day? Pretend he could quench the fire raging inside him?
A month wasn't long, was no time at all in the courtship dance. But he had already waited so long for Witch to appear. Then, when she'd offered him the Consort's ring, he had hoped...
He would talk to Saetan, give back the ring, see if there was a remote court somewhere in the Realm where he could serve out the required time in order to remain in Kaeleer. He would...
A door opened. Jaenelle stepped into the corridor. Her face turned pale at the sight of him.
He stopped walking. He might have to give up everything else, but he wouldn't give up loving her.
"Um. Daemon," Jaenelle said in an odd voice. "Do you have a minute?"
"Of course." It cost him, but he gave her a warm, reassuring smile and followed her into the room.
Standing out of reach, she stared at the floor, looking uneasy and intense—as if she was trying to find the right way to break bad news.
She's going to ask me to return the Consort's ring. As soon as that thought formed, Daemon ruthlessly buried any ideas about noble sacrifices. He wasn't going to give up that easily. And he wasn't going to return the Consort's ring without a fight.
"How hard can it be?" Jaenelle muttered.
Daemon just waited.
Letting out a big sigh, Jaenelle walked up to him, braced her hands on his shoulders, rose up on her toes a little, mashed her lips against his, then scampered back out of reach and eyed him warily.
Daemon wasn't sure what to say about this unexpected move. As a kiss, it left a lot to be desired. As a kiss from Jaenelle...
It took effort not to lick his lips.
"Are you nervous?" Jaenelle asked, still eyeing him warily.
He was
going to have a little chat with Surreal about the uselessness of cryptic advice. But at least he had some idea what the right answer should be.
"Actually, I'm terrified that I may say or do something stupid and you won't want to kiss me again."
Maybe that was too much of the right answer. Now she looked worried. Then she threw up her hands in a gesture of exasperated helplessness.
"I don't know what I'm doing," she almost wailed. And then added under her breath, "Surreal should have let me take notes."
Daemon clamped his tongue between his teeth. Yes, he really needed to have a little chat with Surreal.
Jaenelle began pacing. "It always sounds so easy in love stories."
"Kissing isn't difficult," Daemon said carefully.
She glared at him as she paced past him. "Lucivar said the same thing about cooking," she growled. "The wolves didn't even wait for it to come out of the oven before they were digging the hole to bury it."
That sounded like an interesting story. He'd have a little chat with Lucivar, too.
"Kissing isn't difficult," Daemon said firmly. "You just kissed me."
"Not very well," she grumbled.
Knowing better than to answer that, Daemon studied her. Frustration. Embarrassment. And an emotion that knocked the wind out of him—longing. "Why did you ask Surreal about kissing?"
"She told you that?"
"No, I guessed." And between overhearing Jaenelle's remark about taking notes and receiving Surreal's succinct instructions, it wasn't difficult to reach the correct conclusion.
Jaenelle grumbled and snarled a few comments in a language he thankfully didn't understand. Then, "I wanted to impress you, and I didn't want you to laugh."
"Laughing isn't what comes to mind at the moment," Daemon said dryly. He raked his fingers through his hair. "Sweetheart, if it's any comfort, I want to impress you, too."
"You do?" She sounded astonished.
He started to wonder what had happened in the past thirteen years that would make her so stunned by that idea—but he already knew. She had told him the first time he'd ended up in the misty place, when he'd tried to bring Witch back to heal her wounded body. When it came to physical pleasure, the males wanted to indulge themselves in the body without having to deal with the one who lived inside it. And Jaenelle, with the horrors of Briarwood in her past, would never yield that way.
