by Anne Bishop
Hallevar shifted uneasily. "She'll take a strip out of the boy."
"Tell her it's an order from the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih," Lucivar said. "Then I want you to keep an eye open around here. If you see anything, hear anything, sense anything you don't like, you send one of the boys to the Keep and the other to the Hall for help. The wolf pack will also keep watch. If you see anyone who doesn't live right here, whether you knew them well in Terreille or not, treat them as an enemy. Understand?"
Nodding, Hallevar went off to attend his duties.
A short time later, Lucivar and five of his men were flying toward the Keep.
2 / Kaeleer
Lucivar set the metal bucket on the opposite end of the worktable and watched Saetan pour fresh blood into a bowl of simmering liquid. "I thought you would be at the Hall, waiting for the reports to come in."
"Draca sent for me," Saetan replied, lightly stirring the bowl's contents. "What brings you here?"
"Morton is dead."
Saetan's hand hesitated a moment, then resumed stirring. "I know."
Lucivar tensed, then said cautiously, "He's in the Dark Realm?"
"No, he's here. That's why Draca sent for me. He came to report."
Lucivar paced restlessly. "Good. I'll talk to him before—"
"No."
The implacable tone in Saetan's voice stopped him—for a moment. "I don't care if he's demon-dead now."
"He does." Saetan's voice gentled. "He doesn't want to see you, Lucivar. Not any of you."
"Why in the name of Hell not?" Lucivar shouted.
Saetan snarled. "Do you think it's easy making the transition? Do you think anything will be the same for him? He's dead, Lucivar. He's a young man who will never do a great many things now, who is no longer who and what he used to be. There are reasons why the dead remain, for the most part, among the dead."
Lucivar resumed his pacing. "It's not like the First Circle isn't used to being around the demon-dead."
"You didn't know them when they walked among the living," Saetan said softly. "There were no ties with them that needed to be cut. Yes, the ties do need to be cut," he said, overriding Lucivar's protest. "The living have to move on—and so do the dead. If you can't respect that, at least respect the fact that he needs time to adjust before he has to deal with the rest of you."
Lucivar swore softly. "How bad...?"
Saetan set the spoon down and moved to the other end of the table. "The wounds aren't visible when he's dressed. In fact, they wouldn't have been fatal if the arrows hadn't been poisoned."
"Poisoned," Lucivar said flatly as he stared down at the bucket.
"There's not much Morton could tell you, and without more information, even what he knows doesn't help us much."
Lucivar pointed at the bucket. "You may find your answers in there."
Saetan lifted the dark cloth, looked inside the bucket, then let the cloth drop.
"Kaelas," Lucivar said, answering the unspoken question.
"I see," Saetan said quietly. "You're returning to Ebon Rih?"
Lucivar shook his head. "I'm taking a few men to the Dark Altar in Glacia to look around, see if there are any answers there."
"Our Queen's order was quite direct," Saetan said mildly.
"I'll risk her anger."
Saetan nodded. "Then, as Steward of the Court, I formally request that you go to the Dark Altar in Glacia to determine what happened."
"I don't need to hide behind your title," Lucivar snapped.
Saetan smiled dryly. "I'm doing this as much for Jaenelle as for you. This way, she can gracefully back away from having to confront you about disobeying a direct order."
"Oh. In that case..."
"Get going, boyo. Report to me at the Hall. And Prince Yaslana," Saetan added when Lucivar reached the door, "remember Glacia isn't your territory. You're not the law there."
"Yes, sir, I'll remember. We just witness and report."
3 / Kaeleer
Seeing the guarded look in Marian's eyes and the way Luthvian managed to convey silently her disapproval of her son's choice of a wife, Surreal wondered how pissed off Lucivar would be if they took his mother into the garden and used her for target practice.
"How did you manage to bake anything this morning?" Nurian, the journeymaid Healer, asked as she accepted a nutcake from the plate Marian was passing around. "And how do you get anything else done after these morning workouts?"
"Oh," Marian said with a shy smile, "I'm used to it by now, and—"
"You're a Healer," Luthvian interrupted, giving Nurian a cool stare. "Your finding it difficult to practice a demanding Craft after these workouts is understandable. But they're hardly an excuse for neglecting one's duties when you're talking about hearth Craft. After all—"
"If you'll excuse us," Surreal said, hauling Luthvian to her feet. "There's something Lady Luthvian and I need to discuss."
"Let go of me," Luthvian snarled as Surreal dragged her out of the room. "You don't treat a Black Widow Healer like she was—"
"A hearth-witch?" Surreal said with venomous sweetness as she shoved Luthvian into the garden.
"Exactly," Luthvian replied darkly. "But I don't suppose a whore —"
"Shut up, bitch," Surreal said too quietly.
Luthvian sucked in air. "You forget your place!"
"No, sugar, that's exactly what I'm not forgetting. You may belong to a higher caste, but my Jewels outrank yours. I figure that evens things out—at least within the family. You don't like me, and that suits me just fine because I don't like you either."
"Crossing a Black Widow isn't wise," Luthvian said softly.
"Crossing an assassin isn't wise either." Surreal smiled when Luthvian's eyes widened. "So let's make this simple. If you make one more disparaging remark about Marian, I'm going to bang your face against the wall until some sense gets knocked into you."
"What do you think Lucivar would say about that?" Luthvian's voice sounded certain, but there was doubt in her eyes.
"Oh," Surreal replied, "I don't think Lucivar would say anything to me." Watching the verbal thrust hit the mark, she felt a brief moment of pity for Luthvian. The woman drove people away, and then seemed bewildered to find herself alone.
"He could have done better," Luthvian grumbled. "He didn't have to settle for a Purple Dusk hearth-witch."
Surreal studied Luthvian. "This doesn't have anything to do with Lucivar, does it? You're embarrassed because your son married a hearth-witch. Marian is just a gentle, caring woman who loves him and whose presence makes him happy. If he had married a Black Widow Healer and was miserable, well, that would have been all right because he had married a woman worthy of a Warlord Prince. Right?" Besides, she added silently, the High Lord approves of his son's choice. Which, she suspected, was the major reason Luthvian never would. "Remember what I said, Luthvian." She started to walk away.
"Just because the High Lord tolerates your using the SaDiablo name doesn't change what you were—and still are," Luthvian said nastily.
Surreal looked over her shoulder. "No," she said, "it doesn't. You would do well to remember that, too."
4 / Kaeleer
Lucivar felt the tingle of residual power the moment he stepped off the landing web. While the other Eyriens stared at the dead bodies and muttered uneasily, he kept his eyes on the pressed-down snow a few feet in front of him. He moved toward it, then skirted around it.
"What?" Falonar asked as he avoided the spot, too.
"Morton died there," Lucivar said quietly.
"He's not the only one who died," Rothvar said grimly, looking at the savaged Eyrien corpses.
"No, he's not the only one," Lucivar replied. But he's the one I watched grow from a decent youth into a fine man. "Rothvar, you and Endar—"
If he hadn't spent the past eight years living around kindred, he never would have picked up that particular psychic scent—and wouldn't have known the Arcerian cats were there until it was far too late
.
He scanned the village roofs with a seemingly casual eye while he quietly sank to the depth of his Ebon-gray Jewel and probed the area. Eight Arcerians. Two of them Warlord Princes. All of them wearing darker Jewels.
"Keep your hands away from your weapons," Lucivar said, keeping his voice low and even. "We've got company." Moving slowly, he unbelted the short wool cape and opened it to expose his chest and the Ebon-gray Jewel that hung from the chain around his neck. He held his arms out, away from his weapons. "I am Lucivar Yaslana," he said in a loud voice. "I belong to the Lady. And these males belong to me."
*I'm not sensing anything,* Falonar said on a Sapphire spear thread.
*Kindred don't usually announce their presence,* Lucivar said dryly. *Especially the Arcerians.*
*Mother Night!* Falonar looked at the savaged Eyrien bodies. *Those cats are still here? How many?*
*Eight of them. Let's hope they decide we're friends, or this is going to turn into a mess.*
Lucivar waited until his arms began to ache. Finally there was a wary psychic touch. *You are Kaelas's Brother,* said a growling voice.
*And he is my Brother,* Lucivar replied. He lowered his arms.
*Why are you here?* the cat demanded.
*To stand witness for the Lady.*
A long pause. *Kaelas told us to guard this place so that no more bad meat comes through the Gate.*
Lucivar hoped the cats watching him thought the shiver was due to the cold and not the reference to Eyriens being "bad meat." *Kaelas is wise.*
*You look and then go.* That wasn't a question.
Lucivar turned toward his men. He raised his voice to make sure the nearest Arcerian cat would hear the orders. "Raise basic shields."
Five men gave him blank looks followed by swift comprehension. Protective shields snapped up around them.
*Will these shields protect us?* Falonar asked Lucivar, using a Sapphire thread so that the other men couldn't hear him.
*No,* Lucivar replied shortly. "Weapons to hand." He called in his Eyrien war blade, then nodded when the others followed his example. "Kohlvar, you and Endar keep watch at the landing web. Rothvar and Zaranar, take the left side of the village. Falonar, with me." *And if one of the Arcerians actually shows himself, give him the same courtesy you would give any other warrior,* he added on a general spear thread.
They moved slowly, carefully, fully aware that the cats watched every movement, every gesture.
"How did those cats manage to kill this many Eyriens without anyone sounding an alarm?" Falonar asked quietly when they had checked half the houses on their side of the village. It was obvious that a number of the men hadn't suspected a thing before the attack.
"When an Arcerian is hunting, you don't usually know he's there until he kills you," Lucivar replied absently as he quickly checked through another house. There was evidence of at least minimal fighting in all the houses, but that had been Glacian against Eyrien. "That makes them very efficient."
When they reached the living quarters in the Sanctuary, they both stared at the young Priestess—or what was left of her.
"Hell's fire," Falonar said, disgust filling his voice as he backed away from the door. "Well, I guess gang rape is a kind of slow execution. But why keep just this one? And why beat her to death when they'd probably already done enough to kill her?"
"Because the other women fought, while this one expected a different kind of reward," Lucivar replied. When Falonar stared at him with horror-filled eyes, he laughed, a low, nasty sound. "You spent enough time in the Terreillean courts to know how to get dirty, Prince Falonar. Someone had to help that Green-Jeweled bastard go through the Gate to get back to Terreille—or at least keep the old Priestess from realizing the Gate was being used without her knowledge or consent. As for the beating ... I guess when the bastard realized he was trapped in here, he needed to take it out on someone."
"The cat didn't kill him slow enough," Falonar muttered, turning away from the room. "Not nearly slow enough."
I imagine the High Lord will know how to extract the final payment for the debt, Lucivar thought, but he didn't tell Falonar that.
As they left the Sanctuary, Zaranar made a "come here" gesture.
"Rothvar's at the back door," Zaranar said uneasily. "I think you should handle this. All we've done is keep an eye on the doors," he added quickly.
Before Lucivar could move, Kohlvar sent an urgent message. *Prince, there's a Glacian at the landing web who says he's Lady Karla's Master of the Guard. He's got forty guards with him.*
*Tell him to stay put,* Lucivar replied sharply as he and Falonar headed for the back of the house. *I'll talk to him in a few minutes.*
Before he reached the back door, he could hear the nervous snarls coming from inside the house. Rothvar stepped aside. Lucivar started to go in, then stopped abruptly.
The Arcerian Warlord was almost full-grown, so there wasn't much room in the small kitchen for a cat his size to pace. On the table was an odd assortment of food. On the floor was a goat, neatly killed.
When Lucivar took a step toward the goat, the cat pounced on it and snarled.
*Mine,* the cat said.
"All right," Lucivar replied mildly.
The cat seemed puzzled by his easy agreement. *Payment for work.*
Interesting, Lucivar thought. Was this a kindred testing of a human idea? "Since you're guarding this place instead of hunting, it's fair that you be paid with meat."
Relaxing a little, the cat looked at the table. So did Lucivar. There wasn't anything on it he thought a cat would want to eat. "Is that also payment for work?"
*Human food.* The cat made it sound more like a hopeful question.
"Yes, it is."
*A she-kitten would like this food?*
Lucivar rubbed his chin. "I don't know."
The cat growled, but the sound was filled with discouragement. *We burned some meat for her, but she would not eat.* He wrinkled his lips to indicate what he thought of ruining good meat by cooking it. *I promised to bring human food.*
A chill whispered down Lucivar's spine. "A child survived this place?"
*Yes. The she-kitten. KaeAskavi's friend.* The cat studied him, then asked hesitantly, *You will help?*
Lucivar blinked away tears that would only confuse the cat. "Yes, I will help."
5 / Kaeleer
"Did we do the right thing?" Daemon asked as he and Lucivar air walked above the deep snow toward the place that was designated as an official landing web. They weren't making that effort just to avoid floundering in waist-high snow; tracks might have shown an enemy where the Arcerian dens were located.
"What else could we do?" Lucivar replied wearily. "The girl has lost her mother, her village, everyone she knew. KaeAskavi's the only friend she has left. There are pockets of fighting going on throughout Glacia, so placing her in another village... There's no guarantee she would survive the next time a place is attacked. Marian and I would take her to live with us, but ..."
Daemon shook his head. "You were right about that. She wouldn't be able to handle being around Eyriens right now." Which was why Lucivar had insisted that Daemon come with him to Arceria in the first place.
"And we can't take her anywhere else," Lucivar added grimly. "Not until we know if this attack was part of Hobart's attempt to regain control of Glacia or if it's something more. You said the girl was physically all right."
"She sprained an ankle, but the Arcerian Healers have the Craft to take care of injured limbs. Other than that, she was... unharmed." He couldn't say the word "rape." He would never forget the fear that had jolted through him when he had crawled into that den and seen Delia—fair-haired, blue-eyed, ten-year-old Delia. She didn't look anything like Jaenelle, except in coloring, but that had been enough to cause the memories of what had happened in Chaillot thirteen years ago to come rushing back at him. His hands had trembled as he'd cautiously examined her for injuries, as he had used a delicate psychic probe to answer
that particular question. His hands had also trembled because she had been gripping a stuffed toy cat in one hand and a fistful of KaeAskavi's fur in the other—which meant the cat had been literally breathing down his neck. It was the way she had held on to KaeAskavi that had forced him to leave her there. She needed to feel safe in order to heal—and snuggling up to four hundred pounds of muscle and fur obviously made her feel very safe.
Lucivar rested a hand on Daemon's shoulder. "A few weeks among the Arcerians won't hurt her. At least this way she can be 'mothered' without feeling like she's letting someone take her mother's place."
Daemon nodded. "Are you going back to Ebon Rih?" He had been planning to go to the Keep since Jaenelle was on her way there with Karla and Morghann.
Lucivar shook his head. "The High Lord asked me to report to him at the Hall. This side trip has delayed that report for a couple of days, so I'd better get my ass there before he decides to take a piece out of it."
"Then I'll go with you."
When they reached the place where they could catch the Winds, Lucivar hesitated. "How is Karla? I didn't get to see her before they left for the Keep."
Daemon stared at the unbroken snow. "She'll live. Jaenelle thinks she can heal the legs enough for Karla to walk again."
"Jaenelle thinks she can?" Lucivar paled. "Mother Night, Daemon, if Jaenelle isn't sure, what was done—"
"Don't ask," Daemon said too sharply. He made an effort to soften his voice. "Don't ask. I... don't want to talk about it." But this was Lucivar who was asking, so he tried. "There's no antidote for witchblood. The poison had to be drawn into some part of the body in order to save the internal organs and then drawn out. It ... killed a lot of the muscle, and that muscle had to be..." His gorge rose as he thought of the withered limbs that had been healthy legs.
"Let it go," Lucivar said gently. "Let it go."
They both took a couple of unsteady breaths before Daemon said, "The sooner we make our reports, the sooner we can go home." For him, home wasn't a place, it was a person—and right then, he needed to know that Jaenelle was safe.
