The Queen's Bargain

by Anne Bishop

  “A group of actors and aristos went out to dinner together, so we didn’t have more than a minute or two to talk,” Dillon said.

  Surreal nodded. Now she turned to Jillian and smiled. “We know how those dinners go, don’t we? There’s barely time to congratulate the boy before he’s swept off to be hugged by someone else.”

  “That’s because he’s brilliant,” Jillian said. Her eyes shone as she focused on Dillon. “One of the reasons Beron is so graceful and can do those athletic moves on the stage is because Prince Rainier taught him how to dance. Rainier served in the Queen of Ebon Askavi’s court.”

  “He was also Lady Angelline’s dance instructor when she was an adolescent,” Surreal added. Then she laughed. “When Jaenelle and Rainier danced together, you could watch them all night. They didn’t just dance; they soared.” A bittersweet memory, one she hadn’t meant to share.

  Dillon abruptly changed the subject.

  Surreal listened to the boasting, the bragging, and the subtle sneering at anyone who wasn’t a member of the aristo class—no, more than that, who wasn’t a member of Dillon’s exalted clique, which now, curiously, seemed to exclude Beron. She wanted to gag, but Jillian soaked up every word, as if her life had been nothing but a dull and boring gray, and Dillon had presented her with a palette of colors that dazzled the eyes.

  Jillian was right about Dillon. The boy was pretty to look at, as long as you didn’t look beyond the surface. Then again, the boasting, bragging, and sneering hadn’t started until he’d made the mistake of claiming to be one of Beron’s friends and been called on it. Maybe those things were an attempt to hide his insecurity and regain some ground.

  Lucivar was right about the cakes. They were awful and could be part of the reason she wanted to gag.

  Four cakes were left on the platter and Surreal was more than ready to leave. Then Jillian reached for another piece and Dillon blocked her hand, pushing the platter away from the girl—or as far away as he could, considering it was a small table.

  He smiled and shook his finger playfully. Jillian blushed and looked unhappy.

  “Thank you for the cakes, Lord Dillon,” Surreal said, pushing her chair back as a signal that the outing was over. “It has been an interesting afternoon.”

  “I hope I was able to entertain you in some small measure,” Dillon replied. He turned to Jillian. “And I hope we can do this again.”

  “Are you sure I can’t settle the bill?” Surreal asked. “This place was my choice, after all.”

  He waved her offer away. “No, it’s my pleasure. You two go along, and I’ll take care of things.”

  “In that case, good day, Warlord.”

  “Lady SaDiablo. Jillian.”

  Surreal walked out of the shop and took the first side street, moving swiftly until they reached open land and were far enough from the buildings in Riada that nothing that was said would be overheard.

  “Lady Surreal?” Jillian sounded worried. “Aren’t we going back to the eyries?”

  “I need to walk for a bit. And we need to talk.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Jillian waited, but Surreal continued to walk and remained silent. Finally, she couldn’t stand waiting.

  “What did you think of Dillon? Isn’t he lovely? He’s so smart, and he went to all these fine schools, so he knows everything. Well, not everything. He doesn’t know about weapons or fighting or things like that, but Dillon says those skills aren’t as important as they used to be.”

  Surreal just kept walking.

  “What did he say to you?” Surreal asked suddenly.

  “What?”

  “When he stopped you from taking that cake. What did he say to you?”

  “It was nothing.”

  “You were having an enjoyable afternoon until that moment, so it wasn’t nothing.”

  “It was just a tease, but sometimes I get self-conscious and too sensitive.”

  Silence. Surreal walked. Jillian followed half a step behind, wondering how things had gone wrong.

  “If you want me to tangle with Lucivar to give you opportunities to spend time with this boy, you will tell me what he said.” Surreal sounded cool, distant, not the indulgent chaperon she had been at the cake shop.

  Marian and Nurian would do whatever Lucivar said. Surreal was the only one who might stand up to him. If she lost Surreal’s support, she would never see Dillon again.

  “He said if I ate another cake, I would be too plump to fly.”

  “I see,” Surreal said.

  “Haven’t you ever felt this way?” Jillian cried. “Haven’t you ever thought your heart would burst out of your chest because it was beating so hard when you caught sight of a special boy, or would break if he didn’t send you a note when he promised?”

  Surreal walked. She appeared to be heading for the old cabin on the outskirts of the village.

  Before Jillian could point out that the cabin was out of bounds to everyone, Surreal stopped walking, as if she could sense the boundary that shouldn’t be crossed.

  “My mother was murdered when I was twelve,” Surreal said. “I came home from lessons one day and found her on the floor with her throat slit. She was a Queen and a Black Widow who had been broken by a man who had lusted for a girl who looked exotic. Being Dea al Mon in the Realm of Terreille certainly made her exotic.

  “I ran because that was what she wanted me to do—get away, hide from her killer. I was raped a few days later. I wore Birthright Green, and sometimes raw power makes up for the lack of experience or training. That man violated my body, but he couldn’t break me, couldn’t break my Green Jewel.

  “I let men use me in order to have enough coins to buy food, to keep going another day. And then a man used me and refused to pay. I rammed a knife into him and began my second profession. Even at that age, I was good with a knife. I whored on the streets for a few years until Sadi found me and arranged for me to train in a high-level Red Moon house.”

  “Why didn’t he help you get out of being a whore?” Jillian asked softly.

  “I wouldn’t let him, and he knew that. So he made sure I received the best education available for the skills I wanted to acquire. I was the most sought-after, and expensive, whore in Terreille, but I was even better as an assassin.” Surreal looked at Jillian. “I never felt that rush, that tingle of anticipation, that heightened level of nerves because every knock on the door might be that special boy. Because of that, I will help you have opportunities to spend time with Dillon and get to know more about him—and give him a chance to know you. But my rules aren’t negotiable, Jillian. If you break them, even once, you had better hope that Lucivar gets to that boy before I do. Are we clear on that? If you can’t, or won’t, follow my rules, you should write a note to Dillon telling him you can’t see him again—and warn him not to try to see you.”

  Jillian hesitated but couldn’t see another choice. “What are your rules?”

  Surreal nodded, as if Jillian had asked the right question. “Dillon can visit you at your sister’s eyrie or at Lucivar’s eyrie, as long as one adult is present. When you go into the village, you go with a chaperon.”

  “I’ve been allowed to go into Riada on my own since I was a child!”

  “And you were safe,” Surreal agreed. “But that kiss and grope in the alleyway changed things.”

  If Dillon had given her just the kiss instead of doing more, they wouldn’t have been caught and Prince Yaslana wouldn’t be angry and she wouldn’t have these restrictions on where she could go and whom she could see.

  “There will be opportunities for kissing, but there won’t be time for him to take the play and petting beyond what is acceptable to me—and what I can persuade Lucivar to agree to.”

  “But I love Dillon!”

  “I don’t doubt it. But he’s reached the age o
f majority, and you have decades ahead of you before you reach yours. So a chaperon is required when you go down to the village. An adult has to be home if Dillon comes to visit—and if you’re not within sight of that adult, you have to be visible to anyone who might fly past the eyrie. That way, if Dillon’s hands, or anything else, end up where they’re not supposed to be, no one will wonder why an Eyrien war blade sliced through his wrists.”

  The wind changed direction. Surreal finger combed her hair away from her face and used Craft to twist it into a casual knot at the back of her head.

  “You want time to think about it?” Surreal asked.

  “I’ll follow your rules.” She wasn’t sure how Dillon was going to react when he heard what was required in order for them to see each other, but she would deal with that later.

  “Then it’s time we got back to the eyrie.”

  The thought was there and the words were out before Jillian had time to consider. “I think you did have a crush on a boy once, before the bad things happened. I think you did feel that tingle of anticipation, of waiting for him to visit and notice you.”

  Surreal gave her the queerest look. “Maybe. And maybe I also know what an impulsive, imprudent action can cost a girl and don’t want you to carry that same kind of regret.”

  Sobering words. But Dillon would never ask her to do something she would regret.

  When they reached the open ground outside her home, Jillian thanked Surreal for the outing and hurried into the eyrie. As she set the table for dinner and cleaned the vegetables, she wished she had thought to ask the waitress to box up the remaining cakes so that she could bring them home and share them with Nurian.

  * * *

  * * *

  Not looking at Surreal because it would piss him off if he looked at her right now, Lucivar picked up one of the chunks of wood on his desk and blasted it with power and temper, then watched the sawdust drift into a pile on his desk like sifted flour.

  “You want me to back off, let him court her.”

  Surreal nodded. “Yes, I do. Allowing men the opportunities and space to court young women is part of being Blood, regardless of race.”

  He picked up the next chunk of wood and blasted it, watched it dribble onto the desk. “That’s true for Warlord Princes, not the Blood in general.”

  “No, Warlord Princes are given a clear field once they express interest in a woman to avoid having their potential rivals splattered all over the walls. But all social gatherings allow people to meet and get to know one another—and see if the attraction one person feels for another is friendship or romance.”

  “You think I overreacted, that my instincts about that little prick-ass are wrong.”

  “Oh, no,” Surreal said with a tight smile. “There is nothing wrong with your instincts. If we were still in Terreille, I would have been tempted to gut Lord Dillon in a way that would have had his intestines spilling into the street when he walked out of the cake shop this afternoon. But we’re not in Terreille, so while our instincts about Dillon aren’t wrong, they might not be quite right either. He’s . . . Hell’s fire, Lucivar, if you take away Dillon’s veneer of polish, Daemonar has better social skills than that Rihlander Warlord.”

  He’d been reaching for the third chunk of wood. Now he stopped and looked at her—and was glad the desk was between them and her hands were in sight and empty.

  “There’s something off about him.”

  “Yes, but I can’t decide if he really is an arrogant prick who deserves a knife in the guts or if his social maturity is stunted for some reason. He wants to be fawned over and admired. Not just wants it. Needs it. I suspect that’s what he finds so appealing about Jillian. She’s young enough not to see his flaws—or recognize his subtle cruelty,” she added softly.

  Wondering if she was still talking about Dillon, Lucivar picked up the chunk of wood, came around the desk, and held it out to her. Her right hand slipped off her lap, then came up fast. Lucivar saw the glint of a blade and released the wood, jerking his hand out of the way at the same time he created an Ebon-gray shield around himself.

  The big hunting knife she’d commissioned from Kohlvar several years ago flashed up, then left to right.

  Four smaller pieces of wood hit the floor.

  “Impressive speed,” he murmured. She had always been good with a knife, and he knew better than to be careless around her.

  “He’s new and exciting,” Surreal said. “He’s pretty on the outside, and he talks a good game. He’s every aristo thing you despise, but if you stop this now, all she’ll remember is that you stopped her from spending time with the boy she loves.”

  “Loves?” Lucivar bared his teeth. “Loves? How can she love that piece of walking carrion?”

  “She doesn’t know him.” Surreal slid the hunting knife into its leather sheath and vanished it. “Let her discover who he is while she’s standing safely in your shadow.”

  He blew out a breath. “She’ll get hurt.”

  “Better a skinned knee than a broken wing.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension. “We still have a wolf pack on the mountain. I can ask them to keep a discreet lookout at my eyrie and Nurian’s. They won’t be seen, but they’ll sound a warning if the prick-ass crosses a line.”

  “Discreet watchers are good,” Surreal agreed. “But you don’t want to be that subtle. Not this time. So I was thinking of chaperons who will be overlooked by the inexperienced but will be louder, faster, and more insistent about announcing any wrongdoing than a whole pack of younger siblings.”

  Lucivar paled. “Oh, Hell’s fire, no.”

  “They’ll just come for a visit. Then they’ll go home.”

  “Swear to me on your Jewels that they will go home.”

  Surreal blinked. Then she laughed so hard she gasped for breath. “I swear, Lucivar. I swear I will never tell anyone that you’re afraid of Scelties.”

  Since he wasn’t going to admit it, he hauled her out of the chair—and hoped the dogs let her keep her promise.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Someone kept pounding on his front door. Swearing, Lucivar secured the loin wrap around his hips as he hurried through the eyrie to stop the damn noise before it woke up the children.

  He yanked the door open. A rock from the decorative rock garden Marian and Daemonar had made last summer dropped in the space between his bare feet and six little furry front paws.

  He looked at his brother, who carried his sleepy niece. ٭I hate you.٭

  Daemon’s smile held a brittleness that spoke of more than one kind of pain. ٭As Karla likes to say, kiss kiss.٭

  Lucivar looked at the three Scelties. He recognized Morghann, the brown and white witch who now wore a Purple Dusk Birthright Jewel, and Khary, an Opal-Jeweled Warlord who was dark gray with white legs, chest, and tail tip. The third Sceltie, a black and white Warlord with tan patches on his face, must be the puppy Daemonar had met when the boy had visited his uncle a few weeks ago.

  Bright eyes looked back at him. Tails wagged. Tiny movements brought those front paws just a wee bit closer to the threshold of his home. Before they had a chance to start offering opinions about everything, he offered an opinion of his own. “If you leave the rock there, Marian will be unhappy with you.”

  The rock instantly rose two fingers off the ground and scooted toward the empty space in the rock garden. It did one roll and would have settled dirt side up if Daemon hadn’t added mildly, “The bottom of the rock already has dirt on it and should go back in that way. It will matter to Lady Marian.”

  Morghann gave Daemon an anxious look before focusing on her task. Using Craft, the Sceltie turned the rock right side up, then let it settle back into the dirt. But that wasn’t enough, because she continued to make small adjustments until the rock exactly matched its previous position.

  “Perfect
,” Daemon said quietly.

  The joy that blasted out of the little bitch made Lucivar glad he didn’t have to deal with her on a daily basis. He looked at the last member of this party and smiled when Daemon set her on her feet. “Morning, witchling. Have you got something for me?”

  “We brought Scelties!” Jaenelle Saetien said, now awake and as bright-eyed as the damn dogs.

  “Anything else?”

  “I brought Papa!”

  Daemon kissed the top of her head. “I think Uncle Lucivar is looking for a hug.”

  She took a step, avoided putting a foot on any Sceltie tails, and launched herself at him.

  Not enough height and too much distance.

  Lucivar stepped forward, caught her under the arms, and lifted her so that she could wrap her arms around his neck and give him a hug—and tried to not to wince when her leg gave him a light whack where a man didn’t want to be hit.

  “Aahhhh, that’s better.” He returned her hug before he put her down.

  “Is Titian awake?”

  “Not yet. Why don’t you go wake her?”

  Jaenelle Saetien rushed past him into the eyrie.

  The Scelties looked at him.

  Giving in, Lucivar stepped back. “Come in.”

  Khary raced after Jaenelle. Morghann waited for Daemon’s nod before running to catch up. The third one immediately began exploring the front room.

  ٭You know Morghann and Khary. This one is Lord Tagg.٭ Daemon stepped into the eyrie. “Is there any coffee?”

  “Not yet,” Lucivar replied. He closed the door and headed for the kitchen. So much for getting another hour of sleep. “I’m not even going to ask what time you got up in order to get here this early.”

  Daemon removed his black jacket and laid it over the back of a kitchen chair. Moving around the kitchen, he took eggs, bacon, and butter out of the cold box. “Would you like an omelet?”

  Lucivar measured out coffee and put the pot on the stove. “That’s good for me. The children will want scrambled eggs when they wake up.”