Queen of the Darkness bj-3

by Anne Bishop

  "That's irrelevant. We're talking about you and this court. And I'm telling you, Yaslana, that you will not distress her with defiance or disobedience. If you do..." Daemon merely smiled.

  Lucivar shuddered.

  After Daemon glided out of the room, Saetan asked, "Is he bluffing?" He became uneasy when Lucivar just stared at the table. "Lucivar?"

  "The Sadist doesn't bluff," Lucivar said roughly. "He doesn't need to." He strode out of the room.

  "It would seem there's nothing more to discuss," Saetan said, rising from the table. A flick of a glance brought Andulvar, Prothvar, and Mephis to their feet.

  Letting the other men precede him, he had almost shut the door when he heard Aaron say, "What do we really know about Daemon Sadi?"

  He closed the door silently. When he turned toward the other men, he saw the same question in Andulvar's eyes— and he was no longer sure he had an answer.

  2 / Kaeleer

  "What do we really know about Daemon Sadi?" Aaron said.

  Karla let the murmurs of opinion and conversation become a wash of sound as she sank deeper into her own thoughts.

  What did they really know about Daemon Sadi?

  He was a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince and a natural Black Widow—an explosively dangerous, beautiful-looking man.

  He was the High Lord's mirror, but not a perfect reflection.

  He was a man who, for most of his life, had been chained in one way or another to Dorothea SaDiablo, Kaeleer's enemy.

  He was a man who understood women. Unable to stand the pity in the servants' eyes when they had helped her into the bath the first few days after the healing, she had insisted that she didn't need help. Using Craft, she was able to undress and get herself into the tub but wasn't able to wash herself well enough, especially because the reaction to the poisons was causing her skin to slough off at a grotesque rate. One evening, Daemon had shown up to assist her. She had snapped at him, had told him to go away. His answer, spoken in such a pleasant voice it had taken her a few seconds to comprehend the words, was so creatively obscene she was in the tub being gently, but thoroughly, washed before she could think again. His touch hadn't been impersonal, nor had it been sexual, but by the time he'd started massaging her scalp, she'd been awash in sensual pleasure like she'd never experienced before.

  So she understood why the others were worried. A woman could easily become addicted to that touch, would be willing to do a great many things in order to prevent it from being withdrawn. And Jaenelle had been acting strange since the first attack. But she didn't think it had anything to do with Daemon.

  There was one other thing she knew about Daemon Sadi, something she had seen in the tangled web that had warned her about her own death: he was the friend who would become an enemy in order to remain a friend.

  3 / Kaeleer

  "What is it about Daemon that scares the shit out of Lucivar?" Andulvar asked as soon as the four men entered a small sitting room in the Keep.

  "I don't know," Saetan replied, avoiding their stares by warming a glass of yarbarah over a tongue of witchfire.

  He didn't know. Lucivar had always evaded talking about the times he and Daemon had tangled when they'd come together in Terreillean courts. Lucivar had said once that if he had a choice of going up against the Sadist or the High Lord, he would choose the High Lord because he would have some chance of winning.

  What was it about that smile of Daemon's that could shake Lucivar so badly? What was it about the Sadist that could make a man as aggressive as Lucivar back down? And what might Daemon's presence in the Keep mean to the rest of them?

  "High Lord!" Prothvar jerked Saetan's hand away from the tongue of witchfire just before the yarbarah began to boil.

  Saetan put the glass down. The yarbarah wouldn't be drinkable.

  "SaDiablo," Andulvar said quietly, "should we be watching our backs?"

  It didn't occur to him to offer a reassuring lie. "I don't know."

  4 / Kaeleer

  Ladvarian wearily trotted toward Halaway, responding to a gentle but insistent summons. Every so often, he snarled to vent his frustration and growing anger.

  How could a place as big as the Hall not have what he needed? Oh, he'd found plenty of things that were almost right but nothing that was right. That accounted for his frustration. The anger...

  The kindred had waited so long for this living myth to come. This one. This special one. And now it was going to be spoiled by humans.

  No. It wouldn't be spoiled. The kindred were gathering.

  As soon as the Weaver of Dreams told them what to do, they would act.

  When he reached the neat cottage in Halaway, he went to the back door and barked once, politely.

  Tersa opened an upstairs window. "Come inside, little Brother."

  Using Craft, he floated upward to the window and went in. Most of the kindred referred to Tersa as "the Strange One." They meant no disrespect. They recognized that she was a Black Widow who wandered roads most of the Blood would never see. She was special. She had that in common with the Lady.

  Even knowing all that didn't prevent his hackles from rising when he stepped into the room.

  A low, narrow bed—exactly the kind he had searched for at the Hall. He approached it cautiously and opened his inner and outer senses. It had no smells. There should be human smells as well as a residual psychic scent from the humans who had made the bed, mattress, and bedcovers.

  "It has all been cleansed," Tersa said calmly. "There are no psychic scents to interfere with the weaving of dreams."

  *The weaving of dreams?* Ladvarian said cautiously.

  "That trunk will provide storage and can be used as a bedside table as well. Remember to bring clothing for warm weather as well as clothing for the spring. Favorite things. Clothes that will be strong with her scent, even if they've been cleaned."

  Ladvarian backed away. *Why should I bring clothing?*

  Tersa smiled and said gently, "Because Witch does not have fur." Her eyes looked into an inner distance, became unfocused and farseeing. "It is almost time for the debts to be paid. Those who survive will serve, but few will survive. The howling... Full of joy and pain, rage and celebration. She is coming." Her eyes focused on him again. "And the kindred will anchor the dream in flesh."

  *Yes, Lady,* Ladvarian said respectfully.

  Tersa picked up a cobalt-blue bowl from a nearby dresser. Using Craft, she rested the bowl on the air. "When you next see the Weaver of Dreams, tell her this is how to get the 'more' she needs."

  Ladvarian shifted his weight restlessly from one paw to the other. The Arachnian Queen had not mentioned Tersa. Why did Tersa know so much about the Arachnian Queen?

  Tersa dipped one finger into the bowl. As she raised her hand, a drop of water clung to her finger. Instead of falling, the drop began to expand, like a little bubble of blown glass, a pearl of water. Using her thumbnail, Tersa jabbed a finger on her other hand. A drop of blood welled up on the finger. "And the Blood shall sing to the Blood."

  Ladvarian felt the power flowing into that drop of blood.

  "Let blood be memory's river." Turning her hand, she brushed the drop of blood against the drop of water. The blood flowed through the water bubble until it was contained inside it.

  After placing a protective shield around it, Tersa tucked the water bubble into a small padded box and extended it toward Ladvarian. "Look."

  He opened his mind, sent out a tentative psychic probe.

  Images, memories flowed past him. Memories of a young girl leading an exhausted woman out of the Twisted Kingdom. Memories of Jaenelle, older, promising to find Daemon. Memories of conversations, laughter, delight in the world. Tersa's memories.

  "You will tell the Weaver?" Tersa asked.

  Ladvarian vanished the box. *I will tell her.*

  "One other thing, little Brother. Don't refuse Lorn's gift. The Weaver will need that, too."

  5 / Kaeleer

  Leaving the door open, Dae
mon walked into Jaenelle's workroom. She had been spending hours there every day since she'd brought Karla to the Keep to continue the healing, but he didn't think her distraction or the controlled frenzy of her activities had anything to do with Karla. In fact, he was certain he was the only one who had been allowed a glimpse of that frenzy. Something was eating at her, and after the little scene in the meeting room, he was determined to find out what.

  "Jaenelle, we need to talk."

  She glanced up from the mound of books that filled one table. "I don't have time to talk now, Daemon," she said dismissively.

  With a flick of a thought, he slammed the door so hard all the objects in the room jumped—including her.

  "Make time," he said too softly. When she started to protest, he cut her off. "I'll do anything for you. Anything. But before I put myself against the rest of the First Circle, I want to know why."

  "Kaeleer cannot go to war with Terreille." Her voice trembled.

  "Why?"

  Hot, angry tears filled her eyes. "Because if we go to war, every person who was in that room will die."

  "You don't know that," he snapped.

  The tears spilled over, slicing his heart. "Yes, I do."

  Daemon rocked back on his heels. She was a very strong, very gifted Black Widow. If she'd seen their deaths in a tangled web of dreams and visions, there was no room for doubt. That explained her resistance.

  He took a deep breath to steady himself. "Sweetheart... sometimes killing is necessary. Sometimes it's the only path to take in order to save what is good."

  "I know that." Jaenelle slammed a book on the table. "I've spent the past three weeks searching for an answer. No, I've spent longer than that, but time is running out. I can feel it."

  "Jaenelle," he said carefully, "you have the strength ..." The look in her eyes was almost hateful, but he pushed on. "A portion of your strength would eliminate a Terreillean army."

  "And while I was eliminating that one, six more would be killing the Kaeleer Blood in other Territories. Even if I do destroy them, one army at a time, it won't make any difference."

  "You wouldn't be the only one fighting," Daemon insisted, bracing one hand on the table to lean toward her. "Hell's fire, woman, look at the strength of the males in this Realm. Look at the Jewels. The Blacks. The Ebon-grays. The Grays. We have the dominant strength."

  "Kaeleer had the dominant strength in the last war, too," Jaenelle replied quietly. "And Kaeleer won—barely, but Kaeleer won. But all those males died. And it didn't make any difference. The taint that fed that war is still in the Blood, even stronger now."

  "Hekatah and Dorothea can be destroyed."

  Jaenelle moved around the table in order to pace. "It wouldn't do any good at this point. Even if they're destroyed, even if Kaeleer wins the initial war, the Shadow Realm won't win. The taint's too widespread now. Terreille will keep sending armies. Will keep sending them and sending them, and the fighting will go on and on, in Terreille as well as in Kaeleer, until the Blood can't remember who they are or that they were supposed to be the caretakers of the Realms."

  "We're at war, Jaenelle," Daemon said earnestly. "It doesn't matter if it's been formally declared or not. We are at war."

  "No."

  "You have the strength to make the difference. If you unleash—"

  "I can't."

  "You can."

  "I can't."

  "WHY NOT?"

  She turned on him. "BECAUSE, DAMN YOU, I'M TOO STRONG! If I unleash my strength, it will destroy the Blood. All the Blood. In Terreille. In Kaeleer. In Hell."

  Daemon's legs turned to water. Weakly, he pushed aside some books so that he could sit on the table. You had said she was six times stronger than our combined strength. Oh, Father, you were so wrong. Six times? Six hundred times? Six thousand times?

  Enough power to wipe the Blood out of existence.

  With her arms wrapped around herself, Jaenelle paced. "The Keep is the Sanctuary. It wouldn't be affected. But how many could it hold? A few thousand at most? Who chooses, Daemon? What if the wrong choices are made and the taint is still there, hidden because someone is so damn sure she's right?"

  She was thinking of Alexandra. Would anyone have considered Alexandra tainted? Misguided, certainly, but unless they were obviously twisted, the Queens would definitely be among the chosen. And what about someone like Vania? Not tainted the way Jaenelle was talking about, but the kind of woman who could sour the males around her and eventually ruin a land. Exactly the kind of woman Dorothea cultivated.

  "The Blood are the Blood," Jaenelle continued. "Two feet, four feet, it doesn't matter. The Blood are the Blood. The gift of Craft came from one source, and it binds all of us."

  So not even the kindred could be spared. No wonder this had been ripping her apart.

  "Does Kaeleer win?" Daemon asked quietly.

  A full minute passed before Jaenelle answered.

  "Yes. But the price for winning will be all the Kaeleer Queens and all the Warlord Princes."

  Daemon thought about the decent people he had met since he'd come to Kaeleer. He thought about the kindred. He thought about the children. Most of all, he thought about Daemonar, Lucivar's son. If, for some reason, they didn't destroy Dorothea and Hekatah, and those two got their hands on Daemonar... "Do it," he said. "Unleash your strength. Destroy the Blood." Jaenelle's mouth fell open. She stared at him. "Do it," he repeated. "If that's the only way to get rid of the taint Dorothea and Hekatah have spread in the Blood, then, by the Darkness, Jaenelle, show some mercy for those you love and do it."

  She began pacing again. "There has to be a way to separate Blood from Blood. There has to be."

  A memory teased him, but he couldn't catch hold of it while her frenzied movement seemed to put everything in motion. "Stand still," he snapped.

  She came to an abrupt halt and huffed. He raised a hand, commanding silence. The memory continued to tease, but he caught the tail of it. "I think there's a way."

  Her eyes widened but she obeyed the command for silence.

  "A few centuries ago, there was a Queen called the Gray Lady. When a village she was staying in was about to be attacked by Hayllian warriors, she found a way to separate the villagers from the Hayllians so that when she unleashed her strength, the villagers were spared."

  "How did she do it?" Jaenelle asked very quietly.

  "I don't know." He hesitated—and wondered why he hesitated. "A man I knew was with her at the time. A few years before his death, he sent a message to me that he had made a written account of the 'adventure' and had left it for me in a safe place. She was a good Queen, the last Queen to hold Dorothea at bay. He wanted her remembered."

  Jaenelle leaped at him, grabbed him. "Then you do know how she did it!"

  "No, I don't know. I never picked up the written account. I decided to leave it where it was, out of Dorothea's reach."

  "Do you think you could find it?" Jaenelle asked anxiously.

  "That shouldn't be difficult," Daemon replied dryly as he wrapped his arms around her, suddenly needing to touch her. "He left it with the Keep's librarian."

  "I retrieved it from the Terreillean Keep the first time you came to Ebon Askavi with Jaenelle," Geoffrey said as he handed Daemon a carefully wrapped parcel. "I wondered at the time why you didn't ask for it. What made you think of it now?"

  The question sounded innocently curious, but there wasn't anything innocent about it.

  Looking straight into Geoffrey's black eyes, Daemon smiled. "I just remembered it."

  He didn't unwrap it, didn't look at it. He probed it just enough to make sure there weren't any spells hidden in it that would be triggered if someone besides him handled it. Then he gave it to Jaenelle and spent the next several hours denying access to the Queen to just about every member of the First Circle. That had caused hard feelings but was easy enough. No one but the Steward, the Master of the Guard, and the Consort were permitted free access to the Queen's chambers. Lucivar had
taken one look at him and had retreated. Stalling Saetan and Andulvar had been much more difficult, and he sensed it wouldn't take many more polite confrontations to erode their trust in him. Considering Jaenelle's behavior lately, he could appreciate their concern. It still hurt.

  When he finally returned to her, he found her in her sitting room, her arms wrapped around herself, staring bleakly out the window.

  "It didn't help?" he asked softly, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder.

  "Actually, it did. I found the answer. I can't do the same thing they did, but I can use it as the foundation for what I need to do."

  She turned and kissed him with a desperation that frightened him, but he gave her what she needed. For hours, he gave her what she needed.

  When she was finally content just to lie wrapped in his arms, she said, "I love you." And fell asleep.

  Despite being physically and emotionally exhausted, Daemon lay awake a long time—and wondered why "I love you" sounded so much like "good-bye."

  6 / Kaeleer

  "The Lady changed her mind," Saetan said formally to the Territory Queens who made up the coven. "You and the males in the First Circle are to remain at the Keep, but the other Queens in your Territories may stay where they are."

  "Why are we required to stay?" Chaosti demanded. "Our people are dying. We should be home, preparing to fight."

  "Why did she change her mind?" Morghann asked. "What did she say when you asked her?"

  Saetan hesitated. "The instructions were relayed by the Consort."

  He felt their flickers of anger and their growing suspicion about Daemon. Worse, he had those same feelings.

  "The Queen commands," he said, knowing how inadequate that sounded when they were all receiving reports of fighting in their homelands.

  "That's fine, High Lord," Aaron said coolly. "The Queen commands. But, obviously, no one has informed the kindred of that fact. None of them who are members of the First Circle have to stay at the Keep."

  They all looked at each other as that realization sank in. But it was Karla who finally asked, "Where are the kindred?"

  Saetan watched the drops of rain trickle down the window.