by Anne Bishop
When Jaenelle had given the order for all the Queens to come to the Keep, he hadn't protested for one reason: Sylvia. He had wanted her in the Keep where she would be safe.
But now that Jaenelle had changed her mind—or had had it changed for her—he would issue his own orders as the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan and summon all the Dhemlan Queens to the Hall. It was a risk. The Hall didn't have the defenses the Keep had. No place had the defenses the Keep had. But it had been designed to withstand attack, and its defenses were better than anywhere else the Queens might be forced to retreat if the fighting escalated. And it was big enough that the Queens could bring their families with them, bring their children.
He wanted her safe. And her boys, too, Mikal and Beron.
Sassy, opinionated, lovely Sylvia. Mother Night, he loved her.
Even after he realized that the potency of Jaenelle's tonic after she had made the Offering to the Darkness had brought back the hunger of a man—and the ability to satisfy it—he might have resisted becoming Sylvia's lover, might have found the strength to remain just a friend if he hadn't sensed the hurt in her that her last Consort had inflicted. She had shut herself away from sexual pleasure, hadn't been intrigued enough by any man to try again— until she had become friends with him.
They weren't acknowledged lovers. At his insistence, they maintained the illusion in public of being just friends. Oh, his reasons had been very logical, very considerate. He knew Luthvian would be enraged if he openly became another woman's lover, and he hadn't wanted her to take her anger out on the rest of the family—or on Sylvia. And he hadn't wanted people backing away from her because she had chosen a Guardian for a lover.
At first, she had gone along with him, mostly because she was rediscovering the pleasures of the bed, and had been able to accept that he was a lover in the bedroom and a friend outside of it. But gradually, over the past year, she had become more and more unhappy with the secrecy, had wanted an acknowledged relationship.
He had expected her to leave him. Instead, one night during the Winsol celebrations a few months ago, she had asked him to marry her. And, may the Darkness help him, he had wanted to say yes. Had wanted to share a bed with her, a life with her.
But he didn't say yes. Not because of Luthvian or because he was a Guardian, but because of a vague uneasiness that had warned him to take care, to wait. So he had smiled and said, "Ask me next Winsol."
He had understood why, for a few weeks after that, there were no invitations to her bed. He had understood why she was always "busy" when he stopped at her home to spend a little time with the boys.
He had missed the friend far more than he'd missed the lover, but he had missed those hours in her bed.
Then, just a few days before the attack in Glacia, they had gone to Amdarh for a couple of days to spend time together away from everyone else, to try to rebuild their relationship. And they had made love, but he had known as soon as he touched her that, despite wanting him, she was trying to keep her distance from him emotionally, that she was trying to protect herself from being hurt again. Even when she was caught up in her climax, he had known.
Now, staring at the rain, he almost wished he had said "yes" at Winsol, almost wished he had asked her to stand with him before a Priestess when they had arrived in Amdarh. And he wished he could make love with her one more time to erase the unhappiness that had been in the bed with them that last time.
But the conviction had been growing in him for days now that there wouldn't be another chance.
There were things he should have said that night in Amdarh. He'd never really told her how much she meant to him, how much he loved her. He should have. Now he could give her nothing but words, but at least he could give her that much.
Turning away from the window, he sat at the desk and began to write.
Chapter Fourteen
1 / Kaeleer
need a favor," Jaenelle said as she moved stiffly to her worktable and picked up two small glass jars.
"You have only to ask," Titian replied. She's been channeling too much power without giving her body time to recover. What is she planning that demands so much?
"A discreet favor."
"Understood."
"I need blood from two people who have been tainted by Dorothea or Hekatah. Preferably one of each."
Titian thought for a very brief moment. "Lord Jorval lives in the capital of Little Terreille, does he not?"
Jaenelle swallowed. Even that seemed to take effort. "Yes, Jorval is in Goth. And so, at the moment, is Kartane SaDiablo."
"Ah." Looking at the exhausted woman, Titian remembered the child Jaenelle had been. And she remembered other things. "Will it matter if neither of them sees the next sunrise?"
A deadly cold filled Jaenelle's sapphire eyes. "No."
Titian smiled. "In that case, with your permission, I'll take Surreal with me. It's time to pay some debts."
2 / Kaeleer
In the enormous chamber where the Dark Throne resided, Ladvarian trembled as he looked at Lorn. It wasn't that he was afraid of Lorn—at least, not usually. It was just that Lorn was the Prince of the Dragons, the legendary race who had created the Blood. Lorn was very, very old, and very wise, and very big. Ladvarian was smaller than one of Lorn's midnight eyes. Just then, that made him feel very small.
And then there was Draca, the Keep's Seneschal, who had been Lorn's mate and the Dragon Queen before she had sacrificed her true form in order to give other creatures the Craft.
Sacrifices. No, he would not think about sacrifices. There was not going to be a sacrifice. The kindred would not allow it.
But being summoned here by Lorn and Draca when the Arachnian Queen was so close to finishing that special web of dreams ... It frightened him. If they forbade the kindred from doing this... The kindred would do it anyway, whatever the cost.
*Little Brother,* Lorn said in his deep, quiet, thundering voice.
*Prince Lorn.* Ladvarian was trembling enough for them to see it.
*I have a gift for you, little Brother. Give thiss to the Weaver of Dreamss.*
A flat, beautifully carved box appeared in the air before Ladvarian. When it opened, he saw a simply designed pendant made of white and yellow gold and an equally simple ring. But it was the Jewel in those pieces that made his hackles rise and his ears flatten tight to his head.
It had no color, and yet it wasn't colorless. Restless, it shimmered, hungry to complete its transformation. It tugged at him, seeking a bond with his mind.
He took a step back. As he looked up at Lorn, angry and confused enough to issue a challenge that would have been foolish as well as futile, he realized Lorn's scales had that same translucent shimmer. Knowledge crashed in on him. He took another step back and whined.
*Do not fear, little Brother. It iss a gift. The Weaver will need it for her web.*
Gathering his courage, Ladvarian approached the box. *I have never seen a Jewel like this.*
*And you never will again,* Lorn replied gently. *There will never be another one like it.*
Still cautious, Ladvarian said, *It has no rank. It does not know what it is.*
*It doess not yet know what it iss,* Lorn agreed. *But it doess have a name: Twilight'ss Dawn.*
When Ladvarian was on his way back to Arachna with the box, Draca and Lorn stared at each other.
"You rissk much giving him a Jewel like that," Draca said.
*There iss reasson to rissk much,* Lorn replied. *Witch hass almosst completed her web?*
"Yess." For the first time since she had met Jaenelle, she felt the weight of her years.
*We cannot heal the taint, Draca,* Lorn said softly. *Sshe can.*
"I know. When I gave the gift of magic, I gave it freely, knowing I could never alter what wass done with it." Draca hesitated. "If sshe doess thiss, sshe will be desstroyed."
*Sshe iss Kaeleer'ss Heart. Sshe musst not be desstroyed.* Lorn paused and added softly, *The kindred have alwayss been sstrong dr
eamerss.*
"Will they be sstrong enough?"
The question neither could answer hung between them.
3 / Kaeleer
A stealthy movement and the sudden glow of a small ball of witchlight woke Jorval from an uneasy sleep. "Priestess?"
A hand grabbed his hair, yanked his head up. "No," said the silver-haired woman as her knife cut his throat. "I am vengeance."
4 / Kaeleer
"Enough," Daemon said, leading Jaenelle into her sitting room. "You need to rest."
"The web's almost complete. I need to—"
"Rest. If you make an error because you're too exhausted to think clearly, this will all be for nothing." Making a weak attempt to snarl, she collapsed into a chair.
Daemon wanted to rage at her but knew it wouldn't do any good. She had dropped weight she couldn't afford to lose at a frightening speed. Putting obstacles in her path would only force her to waste energy she couldn't spare, so he took the other path.
"You told me a few minutes ago that you still needed a couple of things to complete the web."
"Those things will take time," she protested.
He bent down and kissed her softly, persuasively. When he felt her yield, he murmured against her lips, "We'll have a quiet dinner. Then we'll play a couple of hands of 'cradle.' I'll even let you win."
Her huff of laughter provoked another hunger. His kiss deepened as his hand caressed her breast.
"I think I am hungry," Jaenelle said breathlessly when he finally gave her a chance to speak.
After they had thoroughly satisfied one hunger, they finally sat down to dinner.
5 / Hell
Pain woke him.
Kartane opened his eyes. Two fading balls of witchlight provided enough light for him to clearly see that he was outside. Then he realized he was upside down. Someone had tied him upside down.
Something rustled the bushes nearby.
Turning his head a little, he stared at an odd pile of brown clothing, neatly folded.
Suddenly, his heart pounded. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.
The surrounding shadows shifted just enough for him to see that the odd pile wasn't clothing, it was brown skin.
As he drew in a breath to scream, glowing red eyes appeared in the darkness around him.
Even with her head under the water, Surreal heard Kartane scream.
She popped up out of the water, then immediately lowered herself to her neck. The pool, fed by a hot spring, was delightfully warm, but the air was cool enough to bite.
She heard snarls, a howl, a terrified shriek.
The air wasn't the only thing around there that had a bite.
"So this is Hell," she said, looking around. It was too dark to see much, but the area around the pool had a kind of stark beauty.
"This is Hell," Titian replied, a blissful smile on her face. She straightened up and gave Surreal a searching look. "Has the debt been paid to your satisfaction, Surreal?"
The snarls and shrieks stopped for a moment, then started again.
"Yes," Surreal said, leaning back with a sigh, "I'm satisfied."
6 / Kaeleer
"Sometimes the heart reveals more than panes of glass can."
Saetan turned away from the window, tensed, took a step forward, stopped. "Tersa, why are you at the Keep?"
Smiling, Tersa walked across the room and held out a thick envelope. "I came to give you this."
Even before he took the envelope, he knew who it was from. Sylvia always added a drop of lavender oil to her wax seal.
Laying one hand on his shoulder, Tersa kissed him on the lips—a lingering kiss that surprised him. Worried him.
She stepped back. "That was the other part of the message." She was almost at the door before he gathered his wits.
"Tersa, this can't be the only reason you traveled to the Keep."
"No?" she said, looking puzzled. Then, "No, it wasn't."
He waited. She said nothing.
"Darling," he prodded gently, "why are you here?"
Her eyes cleared, and he felt certain that, for the first time in all the centuries he had known her, he was seeing a glimpse of Tersa as she had been before she was broken. She was formidable—and a bit dazzling.
"I'm needed here," she said quietly, then walked out of the room.
He stood there for several minutes, staring at the envelope in his hands. "Show some balls, SaDiablo," he finally muttered as he carefully opened the envelope. "No matter what the letter says, it isn't the end of the world."
It was a long letter. He read it twice before he tucked it away.
He hadn't been able to give Sylvia more than words, but apparently, thankfully, that had been enough.
7 / Terreille
Dorothea prowled around the room. "Armies are gathering all over Terreille, the Territories in the Shadow Realm have been attacked for weeks now by the people we had hidden in Little Terreille, and Kaeleer still hasn't formally declared war."
"That's because Jaenelle Angelline doesn't have the backbone to go along with her power," Hekatah said as she carefully arranged her full-length cape. "She's just a mouse scurrying around in her hidey-hole while the cats gather for the feast."
"Even a mouse will bite," Dorothea snapped.
"This mouse won't bite," Hekatah replied calmly. "She's too emotionally squeamish to take the step that would begin a full-scale slaughter."
Dorothea wasn't as sure of that as Hekatah seemed to be, but Jaenelle's sparing Alexandra's life after the abduction failed certainly seemed to indicate a lack of the proper temperament. She certainly wouldn't have spared the bitch. That lack in Jaenelle was in their favor, but... "You seem to be forgetting that the High Lord has fangs and isn't the least bit squeamish about using them."
"I forget nothing where Saetan is concerned," Hekatah snarled. "His honor hobbles him, just as it always has, and his own emotional failings will muzzle him. With the right persuasion, he'll tuck his tail between his legs and submit to whatever we require of him."
She hoped that rotting sack of bones was right. They had to eliminate Saetan, Lucivar, and Daemon. When those three were gone, the Terreillean armies would be able to destroy the Kaeleer Queens and Warlord Princes. Entire armies would be slaughtered in the process, but they would win the war. And then she would rule the Realms—after she hurried the Dark Priestess to a well-deserved, and permanent, rest.
Pleased by that thought, Dorothea stopped prowling long enough to notice that Hekatah was preparing to go out. "Where are you going?"
Hekatah smiled malevolently. "To Kaeleer. It's time to collect the first part of the bait that will give us control of Jaenelle Angelline."
8 / Kaeleer
Finally admitted to Jaenelle's sitting room, Andulvar studied her and thought of several things he'd like to do to Daemon Sadi. Damn it, the man was her Consort and should have been taking care of her. She was far too thin, and the skin under her eyes was faintly bruised from exhaustion. And there was a queer, almost desperate glitter in her eyes.
"Prince Yaslana," Jaenelle said quietly.
So. It was going to be formal.
"Lady," Andulvar replied stiffly. "Since I'm obviously not here as your uncle, am I here as your Master of the Guard?" When she flinched, he regretted the harshness of his words. She didn't look like she could endure too many more emotional blows.
"I—There's something I need to tell you. And I need your help."
He did his best to soften his tone. "Because I'm your Master of the Guard?"
She shook her head. "Because you're the Demon Prince. After Saetan, you have the most authority in Hell. The demon-dead will listen to you—and follow you."
He went to her and hugged her gently, afraid that if he held on to her the way he wanted to she would shatter. "What is it, waif?"
She eased back just enough to look him in the eyes. "I've found a way to get rid of Dorothea and Hekatah and the taint they've left in the Blood. But the rest of the Blood wi
ll be at risk unless the demon-dead are willing to help me."
Thirty minutes later, Andulvar closed the sitting room door, took a couple of steps, then sagged against the wall.
Mother Night.
He didn't doubt the plan would work. Jaenelle wouldn't have said she could do it if she had any doubts. But... Mother Night.
He had fought in the last war between Terreille and Kaeleer. That war had devastated both Realms, and millions had died. And it had made no difference. They were standing on the edge of that same cliff, fighting against a greed and ambition that would simply go to ground again if it wasn't finally, completely eliminated.
Like Mephis and Prothvar, he had known it would be futile to fight another war in the same way. Like them, he had looked around the table when the First Circle argued for a formal declaration of war and had wondered how many would still be among the living when it was over.
Jaenelle hadn't wondered. She had known none of them would survive. Hell's fire, no wonder she had been doing anything she could to keep them in the one place where they would be safe.
And now she had a plan that... Mother Night.
Even after she had told him, there was something about it that hadn't felt quite right —as if she had glossed over something. Saetan would have known what it was, but Saetan...
She was right about that. The coven and the boyos would need Saetan's wisdom and experience to mend the wounds already inflicted on Kaeleer. So he couldn't tell his friend what Jaenelle intended to do, couldn't take the chance that Saetan might choose to throw his strength in with the rest of them instead of staying behind. He couldn't do that because, after everything was over, the High Lord would be needed by the living.
Ladvarian waited in the shadows until he was sure Andulvar was really gone. Then he slipped into Jaenelle's sitting room.
She was staring out the window. He wanted to tell her it would be all right, even though he wasn't sure it would be. Yes, he was. It would be all right. The kindred would not doubt. The kindred would be strong. But he couldn't tell her that because this was a time for fangs and claws. This was a time for killing. And they weren't sure she would be able to kill if they told her what was going to happen afterward.
