by Anne Bishop
This wasn’t the same, but the . . . swamp . . . of feelings made her a bit ill. She didn’t want to tell Yaslana about her reaction to whatever was going on with the adults, but maybe Manny would know a similar cleansing spell.
Until she could talk to Manny, cold fresh air would have to do.
Prince Sadi had treated her like an adult this morning. Like a woman instead of a girl. She understood the danger of thinking his actions were anything other than the courtesy he would offer any woman, but this morning, she’d seen him as a man. Beautiful, intelligent, powerful. Educated.
She’d been aware of him in a way that made her tingle. That, in itself, wasn’t dangerous as long as she kept thoughts and feelings to herself. He was married, and a married Warlord Prince didn’t welcome invitations from anyone who wasn’t his wife—would, in fact, defend his marriage vows with a savagery no other caste of male could match.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy his attention, couldn’t talk to him about books and other things that were of interest to her and of no interest to Eyrien males.
Why couldn’t she find someone like Prince Sadi? Maybe someday. Right now her education wasn’t sufficient to hold the interest of a man like him.
“Where is everyone?”
Jillian smiled at Lady Surreal as the Gray-Jeweled witch walked into the front room. Educated, sophisticated, beautiful. Knowledgeable about so many things, including how to use a knife. Just the sort of woman who could be the wife of a powerful Warlord Prince like Sadi.
“Daemonar is in the playroom with Titian. Tersa is sitting with Lady Marian, and Manny is feeding baby Andulvar. Prince Yaslana and Prince Sadi went to the Keep to find out about the healing spell that Daemonar found. Well, he found the container for the spell, but it sounds like Marian will be all right once the spell is completed.”
Looking at the tight way the other witch held herself, Jillian wondered if Surreal had quarreled with Prince Sadi. She hadn’t been around for breakfast. Maybe her moontime was approaching and she wasn’t feeling well?
“Would you like me to make some fresh coffee? Or some tea?” Jillian asked. “There is plenty of food. I can heat something for you.”
Surreal hesitated, then said, “Thank you. Would you like to join me?”
Before Jillian could reply, the front door opened and Yaslana and Sadi walked in.
“Did you find out anything?” Surreal asked.
“Healing spell,” Sadi replied, removing his winter coat and hanging it on the coat-tree near the door. “A powerful one. Marian will wake once the spell has completed its work.”
“But you don’t know what it’s doing or who made it?”
“We don’t know what it’s doing,” Lucivar said. Using Craft, he removed his heavy wool cape, handed it to Daemon, then fanned his dark, membranous wings to clear the snow off them.
Jillian bit her tongue to keep the scold behind her teeth.
Lucivar looked at her. “I’ll wipe up the floor in a minute.”
“I didn’t say anything,” she replied.
He huffed out a laugh. “You didn’t have to, witchling. You learned that look from Marian.”
She studied the men. Relaxed now. Conserving their strength while they waited for the next battle, whatever it might be.
“Coffee?” she asked.
Sadi smiled at her. “That would be welcome.”
“I could heat up some food.” Jillian was painfully aware of Yaslana’s sudden stillness, so she was also aware of the moment he let go of some weight he’d been carrying since Marian fell into this mysterious healing.
“Yeah,” Lucivar said quietly. “Yeah, I could do with some food now.”
Feeling like she’d suddenly flown into stormy air over jagged rocks, Jillian hurried to the kitchen, leaving the adults to sort things out for themselves.
* * *
* * *
Surreal waited until Lucivar went into the kitchen to choose a meal from the mounds of food that had been delivered since the news of Marian’s illness reached the Blood in Riada. Then she turned to Daemon. “You know who did that to Marian.”
Something cold and lethal flickered in the back of his gold eyes before he hid it. “That is a powerful healing spell, something no Healer now in the Realms could duplicate. The Queen’s last gift to Marian, to be used when it was needed.”
The Queen. Jaenelle Angelline. That explained why Lucivar had relaxed, and it explained Daemon’s cold response to what he had heard as criticism. But it was her job to push—not as Daemon’s wife but as his second-in-command. “You’re sure it came from her?”
“Two Black Widows recognized the use of a clear Jewel as a container for such a spell, and one of those Black Widows is also a Queen as well as a Healer. Or she was a Healer when she walked among the living.”
Surreal blinked. “Karla? You talked to Karla?”
Daemon nodded. “She’s now in residence at the Keep.”
“That’s good news, then.”
“Yes.” He took a step toward her, then asked softly, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“Of course.” He waited a beat, then added casually, “Once Marian wakes, I’ll return to the Hall. There’s always a lot of work to be done after Winsol.”
“I’ll see what needs to be done here. Maybe stay an extra day or two.”
“Whatever you think is best.”
He walked into the kitchen, and Surreal wondered if the disappointment she heard in his voice was real or something she imagined because she needed it to be real.
* * *
* * *
The black water ran clear. No silt running off her scalp or her fingers or between her legs.
Marian climbed out of the pool and spread her wings, fanning them until they were dry.
The path that had led to the pool was overgrown now. Gone. But there was another path, barely discernible. There were no familiar landmarks, nothing to tell her if the path would lead anywhere. Except the song, that voice in the Darkness.
As Marian followed the voice and the path, she noticed the land changing. She walked and walked, and with each step, what had been fading and failing regained color and vitality. Then she walked around a curve in the path and stepped into her own garden in the full bloom of summer . . .
. . . and opened her eyes.
“Marian.” Lucivar’s voice. Soft. Strained. “Marian.”
She turned her head and looked at him, wondering why tears filled his eyes.
“Welcome back, sweetheart.” He kissed her lips, and she felt him tremble. “Welcome back.”
FIFTEEN
The following day, Marian was bathed, fed, and moved to the family room to spend an hour with her children before being tucked into the bedroom she shared with her husband. Lucivar retreated to his study to give the children that time with their mother. He listened to Rothvar’s report and gave his second-in-command orders for the next few days so that he could keep a sharp eye on Marian’s recovery.
When Surreal saw Rothvar escort Nurian out of the eyrie, she judged it was time to have a chat with the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih. The study door was open, so she walked in and found Lucivar staring at a basket overflowing with letters as if it were his fiercest enemy.
“Problem?” she asked, knowing perfectly well why he was scowling at the basket.
Lucivar could read, and did when it was required, but it was a struggle for him. Marian usually sorted the mail, winnowing down the stack to the pieces the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih had to see. If Marian wasn’t available and Lucivar needed help with a document, he requested assistance from the other person he trusted above all others.
She approached the desk but stayed out of reach. Which didn’t mean anything when dealing with Lucivar, but it made her feel easier. “Couldn’t Sadi help you
with that?”
“He left at first light.”
And hadn’t said anything to her before leaving.
“I saw the two of you yesterday.” She had decided not to mention it, but the words tumbled out anyway.
“I saw you too.”
“You and Sadi . . .” Did she really want to know?
“Wasn’t the first time. Won’t be the last.” Lucivar shook his head and growled. “Look, witchling, if I’d needed to spend the night walking around the mountain, he would have gotten dressed and gone with me. If I’d needed to scream until my throat bled, he would have put aural shields around a room and listened. If I’d needed to feel flesh and bone under my fists, he would have said whatever would spark my temper, and we would have beaten the shit out of each other. Because that’s what we have always done. Even when we hated each other, that’s what we’ve done. Last night, I needed to sleep, so I went to my brother for help.”
Lucivar walked around the desk, stood so close she wanted to take a step back, except she couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
“Sugar, if you don’t want a knife between your ribs, you’ll step back now.”
There was some anger in his smile, but he stepped back. “Now, that’s the Surreal I know. So tell me, little Sister, why are you and Sadi at odds?”
“We’re not.”
His smile took on a knife-edge. “Liar.”
She couldn’t deny it.
“At the Birthright Ceremony you were worried that Daemon would back out of the marriage once he had legal rights to his daughter. But he didn’t back out. Never occurred to him. And it seemed like the two of you had come to a . . . richer . . . understanding, at least for a little while.” Lucivar studied her. “He loves you. You love him. Or you did.”
“Still do,” she snapped. “And even if we were at odds, it’s none of your business.”
“For now. When it does become my business, you’ll know.”
Warning? Threat? “I thought we were friends.”
“We’re more than friends. You’re my brother’s wife, which makes you my sister. Even before that, you were family, and I would do almost anything for you.”
“As long as it’s not against him.”
“Yeah. As long as it’s not against him.”
He’d drawn the line. He wouldn’t bend it.
“Surreal?” Lucivar’s voice softened. “Until that moment, I will do everything I can to help you. You just need to tell me what’s wrong.”
He’d slept in the same bed with Sadi. If he couldn’t feel what was wrong, how could she explain it? And damn it, now that Sadi wasn’t here, now that the sexual heat that poured out of him wasn’t creating a need in her that was also a misery, she missed him. Wanted him.
“There is nothing wrong.” She pointed at the basket. “You want me to sort those for you?”
“Sure. Thanks.” As she reached for the basket, Lucivar said, “Has he told you about the headaches?”
Surreal frowned. “Headaches? Sadi?”
“For months now. Bad ones. Nurian makes a blend of herbs for a healing brew that reduces the pain and helps him sleep, but it’s not as effective as it was in the beginning, and she says it’s not safe to make the brew any stronger.”
Surreal put the basket back on the desk. “Why is Nurian making this healing mixture?”
“Because the Healer in Halaway was more interested in having Daemon come back to her for help than actually helping him.”
Now she understood why he’d insisted that she and Jaenelle Saetien be seen by the Healer in Amdarh who served in Lady Zhara’s court. Did Sadi believe the Healer in the village would be so foolish as to do something to his wife or daughter in order to insert herself into his life? Could the headaches be the reason for his cruelty in bed?
“He didn’t tell me.”
“And I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”
“Why not?”
“You’d have to ask him.”
For months now. Months. “Does Nurian know what’s causing the headaches?”
Lucivar shook his head. “She can’t find any physical reason. But I know this: Daemon can endure a lot of pain. If this gets bad enough to break something inside him, nothing and no one will be safe.”
Surreal swallowed hard. She’d married him because she was pregnant and he wouldn’t let her walk away with his child. She’d married him because she’d loved him for a long time. And she’d married him because he needed to stay connected to the living, and she’d felt strong enough to do that. Had been strong enough until sex with him had become a demoralizing addiction.
“If Manny and Tersa aren’t ready to leave . . .”
“I can get them back to Halaway.” Lucivar stepped close, rested his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her forehead. “Sometimes you can’t fix things once they’re broken.”
“Are we broken? Sadi and me?” she whispered. Was he talking about her marriage or the man she’d married?
“I hope not. If you need help, I’m here.”
Manny and Tersa wanted to stay another day, so Surreal left the small Coach for whomever Lucivar assigned to take the older women home. Catching the Gray Winds, she rode toward Dhemlan and home.
At the last minute she altered direction and went to Amdarh instead of going all the way to SaDiablo Hall. She needed an evening alone to think. She needed a day at the family’s town house, away from Sadi and Yaslana.
Sadi had been in pain for months and had hidden it from her. Until the headaches were under control, she would have to endure the sexual addiction he’d created in her.
* * *
* * *
Daemon stepped off the landing web in front of SaDiablo Hall and found himself surrounded by snow-covered children and Scelties.
“Papa!” Jaenelle Saetien flung her arms around him in welcome, transferring a fair amount of snow from her coat to his.
“Hello, witch-child.” He hugged her, grateful for the welcome. “Mikal.”
“Sir.”
٭Daemon!٭ Morghann, wild with excitement, scratched at his legs for attention.
Khary, his gray and white fur blending with the snow and shadows, just wagged his tail and leaped into another snowbank, disappearing until Mikal lifted him out of the snow.
“Aren’t you cold?” Daemon asked. “I’m cold. Let’s go inside and you can tell me what you’ve been up to.”
“Lots of things!” Jaenelle Saetien sounded gleeful.
Ah, Hell’s fire. Since a quick scan of the Hall didn’t reveal any broken walls or windows or holes in the roof, the children couldn’t have caused too much trouble. He hoped.
When they walked in, they were met by Beale and a dozen maids and footmen armed with towels for drying off Scelties and children, and baskets to carry the snow-encrusted clothes to the laundry rooms, where they would be dried.
Divested of his own coat and promising to meet the children in the family room to hear all the news, he waited until he was alone with Beale and Holt, who had come out of the study when he’d heard the commotion.
“Marian was wrapped in a powerful healing spell,” Daemon said quietly. “She rose out of it yesterday evening and will recover.”
“That’s good news,” Holt said.
Daemon nodded. “For all of us.” He looked at Beale and raised an eyebrow in question.
“There were a few . . . spats . . . but differences of opinion were resolved,” Beale said. Then he added blandly, “Some teeth were involved.”
Whose teeth? Noting the steely look in his butler’s eyes, Daemon said, “Was a Healer required?”
“No, Prince.”
“Then I don’t need to know.”
“That would be for the best.”
Sweet Darkness. Daemon turned to Holt, who said, “I have nothing that can’t wait for a
n hour or two.”
“In that case, I’ll be up in the family room.”
It had once been a private sitting room used by adults and visiting children. Now, as the family room and Jaenelle Saetien’s playroom, it still had a lived-in shabbiness seen nowhere else in the Hall. Overstuffed bookshelves held children’s books and stories for the Scelties. Cupboards held games and toys. A hodgepodge of comfortable, worn furniture that was no longer suitable for the public rooms ended up here, where rough use by children and Scelties didn’t matter.
“We’re helping Morghann and Khary learn how to count,” Jaenelle Saetien said as soon as she and Mikal and the Scelties piled onto a sofa with him.
“They’re as smart as some of the boys at school,” Mikal said. “Smarter.”
٭One, two, three, four, five,٭ Morghann said.
“Yes, there are five of us on the sofa,” Daemon agreed.
“Lord Marcus helped us,” Jaenelle Saetien added.
He smiled at the thought of his man of business teaching the Scelties how to count. “Well, Lord Marcus does know his numbers.”
No one mentioned any spats. In fact, Jaenelle Saetien and Mikal seemed to have reached a new understanding and a renewal of the friendship they’d had before she acquired her Birthright Jewel.
After Daemon assured Mikal that Marian would get well—a subject that worried the boy, since he’d lost his own mother when he was very young—boy and Scelties left, giving Sadi time alone with his daughter. He ran a fingertip over the outer edge of her delicately pointed ear and thought she looked more like her mother every day, a fact that, today, caused him pain and joy in equal measure.
“Your mother is staying at Lucivar’s eyrie a little longer to help out, but she’ll be home in a day or two.” He wondered if that was true.
