The Queen's Bargain

by Anne Bishop

  “She’s an eccentric Queen from a little village with a weird name, so people forget that she wears a Red Jewel and can wipe the floor with most of them.” Daemon called in a pen and a thin leather binder that held a sheaf of paper. “Want to bet the gossip about this place is that there have been other Queens over the generations since Lady Perzha ruled here, but a condition of a First Circle forming an official court around the new Queen is that she take the name Perzha, at least for her public identity, and use an illusion spell to look like the late beloved Queen?”

  “No bet. It sounds like something the people here would do.”

  “Since they would want sufficient warning if someone figured out the deception, I would also wager that some of her court are very good at ferreting out information about anyone of interest anywhere in Askavi.”

  If they were that good, they should have remembered that I knew Perzha was demon-dead, Lucivar thought. They should have known that Daemon wouldn’t force her to go to Hell. Our family, more than anyone, understands the difference between refusing to let go and still being needed.

  Then he felt a chill when he realized Daemon was making notes about this visit. “What are you doing?”

  “That yarbarah Perzha was drinking is the equivalent of rough whiskey made in a still. Worse, the stuff was putrid. If she’s going to stay in Little Weeble, she should be drinking something better to sustain the flesh and her power. So I’m giving Holt instructions to have regular deliveries made from the SaDiablo vineyards.” Daemon looked at Lucivar. “Do you have any objections?”

  He shook his head. “If I’d known she was sustaining herself by drinking swill, I would have supplied her with yarbarah myself. Hell’s fire, if it mattered so much for her to stay, why did her court give her shit to drink?”

  Daemon finished making notes and vanished the pen and leather binder. “They probably never tasted it and didn’t know how disgustingly bad the stuff was—and Perzha didn’t tell them because they were afraid of losing her. The First Circle who had been serving her when she died knew that Saetan knew about her. He would have insisted she consume properly blended yarbarah. But that would have been what? Two, three Rihlander generations ago? The oldest men serving her now would have been boys, if they’d been born yet.”

  “So after Father returned to the Darkness, they didn’t continue whatever arrangement was made.” Lucivar swore softly. “Even if she didn’t want to approach you, she could have said something to me.”

  “Maybe this is a very recent decline in the quality of what they are purchasing—or in the quality of what they are now receiving—but they still believe they’re providing her with a decent vintage.”

  They looked at each other.

  Daemon called in the binder and pen and made another note.

  It wasn’t for show. Holt would be given part of the assignment to gather information about any vineyard making yarbarah. But the High Lord of Hell had other sources of information, and if someone had been substituting a bad vintage for a good one, Lucivar would kill the bastard’s body—and Daemon would take care of the rest.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Jillian walked into the Yaslana eyrie as Titian and Jaenelle Saetien dashed out of the kitchen. Titian looked equal parts curious and alarmed, but Jaenelle Saetien said in a singsong voice, “Daemonar’s in trouble.”

  “Sounds like it,” Jillian agreed. Must be a morning for high drama, judging by the sounds coming from the kitchen.

  The girls dashed down the corridor toward the playroom.

  “I didn’t know Mother was saving it for something special,” Daemonar said, trying to sound like he had done something perfectly reasonable and not coming close. “And they were hungry.”

  ٭We’re very hungry,٭ a young-sounding male voice said.

  ٭And we didn’t want eggs and toast,٭ another male said.

  ٭And we already ate the oatmeal the girl pups didn’t want.٭ That voice was female.

  “Which doesn’t excuse going into the cold box and taking a roast,” Daemon said sternly.

  ٭We didn’t take the roast,٭ the second male voice said. ٭Daemonar took the roast.٭

  ٭But he took it because we are very hungry,٭ the other male said.

  “At home we have rules about taking things out of the cold box without asking,” Daemon said. “Not being home doesn’t mean you can forget the rules.”

  ٭We did a wrong thing?٭ The female sounded alarmed.

  “No, you didn’t do a wrong thing. Daemonar made a mistake,” Daemon said.

  Jillian tiptoed toward the kitchen. Not that she needed to get closer to hear everything. But she was curious about whom the voices belonged to. Young-sounding didn’t always mean young.

  She peeked around one side of the archway that opened onto the kitchen.

  Prince Sadi and Prince Yaslana were staring at Daemonar and three small dogs who were bunched around the boy’s feet.

  Scelties. The ones who were vessels for the power that flowed in the blood were called kindred, and they wore Jewels and learned Craft just like the rest of the Blood.

  She’d seen Scelties before, but that was years ago, and although she’d observed how the dogs had herded Mikal and Daemonar to keep the boys out of mischief, she’d never interacted with the Scelties herself.

  “We’ll put it back.” Daemonar sounded sulky. “I was just trying to be a good host.”

  A beat of silence. Then Yaslana blew out a breath, a sound full of annoyance. “You can’t put it back. Your mother isn’t going to want to cook it now.”

  ٭We’re sorry we are hungry?٭ That was the larger male, a gray and white dog with black markings on his face . . . who wore a dark Opal Jewel?

  Jillian blinked, but that didn’t change the rank of the Jewel mostly hidden in the white chest fur. Mother Night.

  “No, you’re all sorry for taking the meat without asking, and you should apologize to Marian, since this is her kitchen in the same way the kitchen at the Hall is Mrs. Beale’s territory,” Daemon said.

  ٭Mrs. Beale said she would make puppy pies out of us if we took anything from her kitchen without asking,٭ the smaller male said, pressing closer to Daemonar’s legs.

  ٭Mrs. Beale is scary,٭ the female said. ٭Marian isn’t scary.٭

  “Mother can be scary when she’s really mad,” Daemonar said in a loud whisper. “But it takes a lot to get her that mad.” He eyed his father and uncle. “We’ll go without supper.”

  ٭No food?٭ ٭We don’t get food?٭ ٭But we weren’t bad.٭

  Jillian put a hand over her mouth to hold back the laugh. Yaslana looked over his shoulder at her. Either he’d sensed the movement or, more likely, he’d known she was there all along.

  “You feel up to doing some shopping at the market?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.” She hadn’t been down to Riada since the outing to the cake shop, so she hadn’t had a chance to talk to Dillon and tell him about being able to see him. Sort of. “Is it all right if I go to the library too? I have some books to return.”

  Yaslana stared at her a moment too long. “All right.” Still looking at her, he crooked a finger at Daemonar. “Bane of my existence, come here.” When Daemonar came up beside him, Yaslana wrapped a hand around the back of the boy’s neck. “You are standing escort for Jillian while she does the shopping and runs her errands. That means you don’t go wandering off to talk to friends. You keep each other in sight. Got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She could convince Daemonar to give her a few minutes to talk to Dillon. Not out of sight or anything, because Dillon would be in trouble if they did that, but with Daemonar far enough away for them to have a private conversation.

  “And you three are chaperons for both of them,” Lucivar finished, turning his head to stare at the Scelties.

  Well, that wouldn’t be so bad. The dog
s would obey her. Wouldn’t they?

  “Lady Marian is feeding the baby,” Yaslana said, looking at her again. “Lady Surreal is with her. Go ask if there is anything they need while you’re at the market.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jillian said.

  Yaslana gave Daemonar an easy push. “You go clean your teeth and wash your hands.”

  As Jillian walked past the kitchen, she saw Prince Sadi crouch and the Scelties gather around him.

  * * *

  * * *

  “You think they’ll be all right?” Lucivar asked when Jillian and Daemonar flew down to Riada while Morghann, Khary, and Tagg caught the Winds down to the village. They would meet up in front of the butcher’s shop.

  “They’ll be fine.” Daemon looked at the roast that had three chunks torn out of it and shook his head as he set it on a cutting board. “This was a fine piece of meat.” Taking a large kitchen knife from the block on the counter, he cut up the rest into small chunks.

  Opening one of the lower cupboards, Lucivar selected a container with a tight lid. “A couple of weeks ago, I wouldn’t have worried about the children going to the village on their own. But that damn Warlord sniffing around Jillian changes everything.”

  Daemon scooped up the chunks of meat and put them in the container. While Lucivar closed the lid, he washed his hands. Then he took the pencil and one of the squares of paper Marian used in order to pin information on the family message board and wrote Sceltie food. He used Craft to fix the paper to the lid, then put the container in the cold box.

  “There was going to be a boy sooner or later,” Daemon said, returning the pencil.

  “I expected any boy interested in Jillian to know better than to piss on my boots.”

  “I would have expected the aristo family who is hosting him to know better. After your initial reaction and his accepting Surreal’s invitation to join her and Jillian at the cake shop, they have to know he’s expressed interest in the girl. Why haven’t they told him to come up to the eyrie and introduce himself? If that’s too intimidating or if they’re concerned that might indicate more interest than is felt, especially considering the difference in Jillian’s and Lord Dillon’s ages, there are ways to make a casual introduction.”

  “The Eyriens who settled in Ebon Rih didn’t come from aristo families.”

  “You do,” Daemon said quietly. “I know it doesn’t mean much to you. That sort of thing never did. But sometimes, brother, reminding someone of just how aristo your bloodlines are can be a very sharp whip.”

  Lucivar smiled and shook his head. “Perzha wearing all her clattering jewelry. Me wearing the leathers that are suited for a working Eyrien warrior instead of looking like the ruler of this valley—of the whole damn Territory, even if I haven’t officially claimed it. A truth about who we are, but also a disguise.”

  “I know a bit about using one kind of power to conceal another.”

  Yes, he would. There still weren’t many among the living who knew Daemon Sadi was more than the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan—was, in fact, the High Lord of Hell.

  * * *

  * * *

  It took Jillian less than a minute after landing in front of the butcher’s shop to learn that Scelties were bundles of information—especially when it came to themselves.

  The female Sceltie was Morghann, a Purple Dusk–Jeweled witch. Khary was a Warlord who wore an Opal in the deeper range of that Jewel, and Tagg, a black and white youngster with tan markings, was also a Warlord, but he was too young to have gone through the Birthright Ceremony, so he didn’t have a Jewel. Normally he wouldn’t have been brought along for a visit in another Territory, except a visit to Scelt, but Daemon had decided that Tagg should come with the other two because it would be educational and the Scelties would be with members of the SaDiablo family.

  Jillian interpreted that explanation to mean that the three dogs had put up such a fuss about Tagg being left behind that Prince Sadi hadn’t wanted to return home to deal with whatever trouble one unhappy Sceltie could cause at the Hall. So he brought the trouble with him.

  It wasn’t the day for the full open market, but the grocer had carts of fruits and vegetables set up outside. Before she could walk into the butcher shop and buy a replacement roast, Tagg dashed toward a cart full of vegetables and leaped—a move that would have landed him in the middle of the produce. Daemonar caught him in midair, swinging the Sceltie out of reach a moment before Tagg grabbed a crown of broccoli.

  “What’s going on?” The grocer dashed outside, holding a broom in a fighting stance.

  “Sorry, sir,” Daemonar said, struggling to hold the excited dog. “This is Lord Tagg. He likes broccoli.”

  ٭Greens are good!٭ Tagg whapped Daemonar’s leg with his tail.

  ٭Hello,٭ Morghann said. ٭We are Scelties. We live at the Hall with Prince Sadi and Lady Surreal, but we are visiting Prince Yaslana and Lady Marian.٭

  The grocer blinked. Then he pursed his lips as Jillian and Khary rushed up to join the kerfuffle.

  Honestly, it was like dealing with fast-talking, four-legged toddlers who dashed off to look at, sniff, and taste whatever caught their interest.

  Well, she’d been helping Marian deal with children since Daemonar was a baby, so she could, and would, deal with this too.

  “Yes, we do need some greens for tonight’s dinner, but I’m going to select them, and there will be no tasting until we get home and Lady Marian decides what she wants to use.”

  ٭Morghann and I can help choose the fruits,٭ Khary said. ٭We’re good at sniffing out the ripest fruit.٭

  “That’s all—,” Jillian began. Then she—and everyone else—stared as the two Scelties rose until they were standing on air level with the cart bed. They walked above the mounded fruit, their paws never touching anything as they sniffed the offerings. Their selections rose above the cart to float on air.

  ٭I can help!٭ Tagg struggled to get out of Daemonar’s arms. ٭I want to help.٭

  ٭Move away from the carts,٭ Jillian told Daemonar on a psychic thread.

  ٭I’m supposed to stay with you.٭

  ٭If he manages to get away from you, he’ll land right on top of all the vegetables in the cart. Do you want to explain that to your father?٭

  ٭I’m not moving out of sight.٭

  ٭Just out of range of getting us both into trouble.٭

  Daemonar grinned and walked to the next shop, which had brooms in a barrel just outside the door. Nothing much there to tempt a Sceltie—she hoped.

  They were drawing a crowd. She heard a woman asking, “What about the melons? Can you pick out the ripest melon for me?”

  Jillian gave the grocer an apologetic smile. “They’re just visiting.”

  “What about this one?” Another woman held up a different melon.

  Morghann sniffed it. ٭Not ripe for eating today, but soon.٭

  “That’s good. I wanted it for a couple of days from now.” She went past the grocer and entered the shop with the chosen melon and the rest of the produce in her basket.

  “So those are Scelties,” the grocer said quietly, talking more to himself than to Jillian. “You hear stories about them, even here in the valley. Didn’t expect to see one.”

  Jillian scanned the list Marian had provided. She swiftly chose the fruits she was supposed to buy, taking her selections from the fruit floating above the cart. “I have all the fruit we need. You should—”

  “Oh, couldn’t they help a little more while you finish your shopping?” That was another woman. With a little shiver of dread and fascination, Jillian realized they had drawn a big crowd, and the grocer was looking a bit bemused by the entertainment value being provided by his fruit and vegetable carts.

  ٭You should finish up before the grocer offers one of them a job,٭ Daemonar said.

  She hoped he was teasing, but just i
n case he wasn’t, she selected the vegetables using touch and her own nose.

  ٭Broccoli!٭ Tagg said. ٭Is Jillian buying broccoli for us?٭

  “The last time I visited the Hall, Uncle Daemon said you weren’t allowed to have broccoli, because it makes you fart,” Daemonar said.

  Tagg whined and gave the grocer a pleading look.

  “I might risk Prince Yaslana’s displeasure,” the grocer said, “but I’m not going to do anything that could stink up Lady Marian’s home.”

  Reminding herself that boys thought farts were an acceptable topic of conversation no matter where they were, Jillian ignored the chuckles from the men and tsks from the women as she took her basket inside and had the purchases added to the Yaslana household account.

  “Come on, everyone,” she called as she headed back to the butcher shop. “We don’t have all day.”

  ٭We have to go now,٭ Morghann said, trotting between the shoulders of two customers. ٭We are chaperons today.٭

  Approving nods from the women, along with a few “Come back and visit again” remarks.

  Jillian vanished her basket. Without the broccoli being right in front of him, Tagg settled enough that Daemonar could put him down.

  When they reached the butcher shop, she saw a flash of movement in the alleyway, there and gone.

  ٭Jillian.٭ The whisper of her name was so unexpected, she almost gasped. Dillon didn’t like using psychic communication. He said it didn’t convey half of what could be heard in a real voice—the difference between corresponding with a person and meeting face-to-face.

  She looked at Daemonar. “Do you know what to purchase?”

  “Jillian.” Daemonar’s voice held a warning.

  A Warlord Prince was the most amenable he would ever be in his entire life during those years just before he began the change from boy to man—unless that boy had almost lost his mother and would no longer back down from a fight. “Five minutes. Right next to the shop in plain sight. I just need to tell Dillon about the arrangement I made with Lady Surreal.” When he didn’t respond, she added, “Please?”