by Anne Bishop
Was that the plant whispering to her? But wasn’t that . . . ?
As she watched, buds the size of her fist opened. Each flower had her face. Each flower whispered in her voice.
If you loved me, you would tell them about everyone you hurt.
If you loved me . . .
Dreaming. Yes. But such a delicious dream with her face blooming all around her.
“What?” she whispered. “If you loved me . . . what?”
Everything has a price, the blooms whispered in reply.
As she watched, the lips turned black and curled away from mouths filled with serrated teeth.
Tell them everything, the blooms whispered. We feast every night until you tell them everything and the debt is paid.
For a moment, all the flowers hung over her as if waiting for her to speak. Then the mouths opened, the teeth bit . . . and she screamed and screamed while the flowers with her face tore out chunks of her flesh.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Chaosti lifted the lid off a ravenglass goblet before he handed it to Karla and said, “It’s fresh and still warm.”
She swallowed a mouthful of undiluted blood. “It’s also a little bitter.”
“Fear leaves that taste,” he replied. “The blood was part of the payment for a debt owed. Drink. My men and I have had our fill. And I brought some back for Draca and Geoffrey.”
She wasn’t going to ask how many bodies had made up that payment. She just drank the blood and watched Chaosti watching her. “Yes?”
“Curious thing. A witch was detained in the town where we were hunting. Apparently she tried to use a spell to compel a Warlord to kill the woman he loved.”
“That was naughty of her.”
“In the middle of the night, she began screaming that the flowers with her face were biting her and she had to tell the Queen every bad thing she had done using the ‘if you loved me’ spell, because each bad thing was a bloom, and until she said it all, the flowers would come back every night and feast.”
Karla shuddered. Couldn’t help it. “Was there any physical confirmation of her nightmare?”
“Nothing.” Chaosti considered. “Although that may change if the blooms return on another night.” He continued to watch her. “I heard the teeth were quite impressive. It occurred to me creating something like that would take a great deal of skill.”
“I didn’t weave that tangled web, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“You didn’t help with any details?”
Then she realized what he’d been looking to confirm. Oh, she still had the skill to create a tangled web as a form of punishment, but she wouldn’t have thought to be that exquisitely cruel, and Chaosti knew that. That was when she understood what he was really asking. Who else would help the Sadist refine the details of a punishment that would not only pay a debt but be a warning to everyone who thought to play with another person’s heart?
And that made her curious. “Just how impressive were those teeth?”
* * *
* * *
While Manny, Tersa, Jaenelle Saetien, and Tagg made their way to the landing web located below the eyrie and took their seats in the Coach for the journey home, Surreal and Marian searched for Morghann, who had disappeared sometime before dawn.
٭Morghann,٭ Surreal called. ٭Come on, Morghann. It’s time to go home.٭
No answer.
“Maybe she went to Nurian’s eyrie to stay with Khary,” Marian said.
“Khary says she isn’t there.”
“Then she’s here. Somewhere.” Marian put her hands on her hips. “Daemonar and Titian swore they haven’t seen her this morning. Well, you go on. She’ll turn up when she gets hungry.”
Surreal raked her fingers through her hair. “I brought three Scelties. I’m going back with one. Lucivar is going to bounce off the ceiling.”
Marian didn’t disagree but said, “You requested the Scelties as chaperons, but Daemon actually brought them to Ebon Rih.”
“So this is his fault.” Much better.
“I wouldn’t have put it that way, but you’re not wrong.”
They were alone in this part of the eyrie. When would she get another chance to ask the question? “I was told Daemon’s sexual heat is going to stay this potent for the centuries while he’s in his prime. The same thing must be happening with Lucivar. How do you endure it?”
Marian looked uncomfortable. “If this final stage has already happened, it must have been more gradual than what Daemon experienced. And Lucivar’s work takes him out of the eyrie for a good part of each day, while Daemon works at the Hall, so his sexual heat might . . . accumulate . . . despite the size of the place. A couple times each month, Lucivar stays away for a day or two, camping out on the mountain. There’s a hunting eyrie not far from here. Might have been a guard post long ago. It’s small, just big enough for a couple of men. His ‘weather bones’ don’t respond well to sleeping outside in the winter, so he’s fixed it up and keeps a good supply of wood for the fire. It’s close enough that he can be home in a few minutes if I need him, but it’s far enough away that . . .” She hesitated.
“That you don’t feel the heat,” Surreal finished.
“He’s my husband. I’ve gotten used to living with his heat, but the days when he’s away from home, it’s like breathing in crisp air after being inside a house that’s too warm. We’ve never talked about it, but I enjoy him more as a lover because of those absences.” Marian huffed out a breath. “And if we’re being honest, if Daemon is going to be spending a few days each month at the Keep in order to give you the same kind of breathing room, I hope Lucivar joins him at least part of the time.”
“Why?”
“Because things are about to change for him. He’s going to shoulder all the weight that Andulvar carried. I hope that won’t change things for him here in the valley. I hope it won’t change things for either of us here, because Ebon Rih is our home. But it’s going to change who he is to the rest of the people in Askavi—to the rest of Kaeleer.”
Surreal felt a shiver of alarm. “Marian? What are you talking about? What’s going to change? Is this more than Lucivar becoming the Warlord Prince of Askavi?”
“He told you?”
“He said enough that I heard what wasn’t said.”
“I had more time to get to know Andulvar and Saetan than you did,” Marian said. “I had more time to see why they needed each other. You wear the Gray, and there aren’t many who do, but there are some. There are some who know what it feels like to stand where you do in the abyss. But wearing the Ebon-gray and Black, Andulvar and Saetan were alone, vessels of power so dark and deep they had no one but each other. Just like Lucivar and Daemon.” She looked around. “Well. You have people waiting for you. We’ll get Morghann to the Hall when we find her.”
Nothing more to say right now and only one thing to do. Surreal hurried out of the eyrie and down to the landing web, where the Coach waited to take them home.
* * *
* * *
Daemon met Lucivar in one of the Keep’s parlors.
“Is that your first or second breakfast?” Daemon asked as he watched Lucivar shovel in a mouthful of oatmeal.
“I wasn’t expected, so I think this is part of yours.” Lucivar filled the spoon with another mound of oatmeal and held it out. “Open up.”
Taking the spoon, Daemon ate the oatmeal, then handed back the spoon. “Now I can say I ate my oatmeal and won’t get scolded. You can have the rest and I’ll have . . .” He lifted the covers off the serving dishes. “Steak, eggs, and mushrooms.”
“If Daemonar picks up that ‘one spoonful is sufficient’ piss-ass excuse from you, you and I will have words.”
“Don’t be silly, Prick. A growing boy needs his oatmeal.” Daemon filled his plate. “Besides, the last time Daemonar visited the H
all, I caught him sharing his bowl of oatmeal with Khary.” He waited a beat. “Sharing the bowl and sharing the spoon.”
Lucivar sighed. “His mother doesn’t need to know that.”
“Well, I’m not going to tell her. I wouldn’t take any bets on your boy, though.”
With a grunt that might have been suppressed laughter, Lucivar finished the oatmeal, then poured mugs of coffee for both of them.
“You sure about this?” Daemon asked. There were shadows in Lucivar’s gold eyes that hadn’t been there a few days ago.
“I’m sure it needs to be done.”
“Tonight?”
Lucivar nodded. “I brought the papers. They just need to be witnessed.”
“Then I guess we should take care of the other business today.”
“Yeah, I guess we should.”
* * *
* * *
Confined to the room in the communal eyrie, Dillon had plenty of time to think about the girls who had used him and the girls he, in turn, had used. He had plenty of time to consider the choices he’d made—and he wasn’t proud of most of them.
He should have stopped pursuing Jillian after Yaslana choked him for nothing more than a kiss and a feel—which he shouldn’t have done in the first place. At least, not in a public place, where the actions showed a lack of respect for the girl. He should have backed away from her once he realized she was too young despite being centuries old.
He should have stayed away from Blyte when she said, “If you loved me,” and then broke his heart and ruined his reputation.
He should have done—and not done—a lot of things.
They clearly disliked him for using the spell on Jillian, but the Eyriens had not been unkind. Whichever one was on guard escorted him to the showers in the morning and to the toilet a few times each day. They fed him, not that he had much of an appetite, and provided him with books to read as a way to pass the time. But no one would talk to him or tell him what was going to happen to him. He was confined and awaiting judgment.
As the days dragged on, he wondered if the waiting was part of the punishment.
The door opened. Dillon turned away from the window, expecting to finally face Yaslana. But it wasn’t Yaslana who walked into the room and closed the door; it was Daemon Sadi.
“Lord Dillon.”
Sadi’s deep voice curled around him. Tightened around him as the man glided across the room. Dillon took a step back, then another until his back was pressed against the wall and there was nowhere to go.
Sadi merely raised one eyebrow and waited a beat. “A decision has been made, Warlord,” the Prince said.
Dillon pushed away from the wall and approached the small table, which was nothing more than a token barrier between them.
“There is something I’d like to say first.”
“Go ahead.”
Dillon let out a shaky breath. “I’ve made bad choices. Other people’s actions may have spurred those choices, but I’m the one who made them. I’ve used some girls in order to get money from their families, and I let myself become just like the girls who had used me, and that’s my fault and my shame. This isn’t who I wanted to be.”
“You wanted to be an escort and serve in a Queen’s court. You wanted to be a husband someday and live an honorable life,” Sadi said quietly.
“Yes. That’s what I wanted.” Dillon huffed out a bitter laugh. “No chance of having any of that now, is there?”
“There is a chance.” Sadi called in sheets of paper and laid them on the table. “Here are the names of six District Queens—two in Dharo, two in Nharkhava, and two in Scelt. As a favor to Yaslana, and to me, these Queens are willing to give you a place in their courts—most likely as a Third Circle escort, since you haven’t completed your formal training. You’ll receive that training in any court listed there. You’ll find information about the courts and the Territories where they’re located. Think carefully about what you want before you choose.”
“I can serve in a court?” District Queens meant small territories, a handful of villages at the most, in Territories far away from Askavi—places Rihlander aristo families wouldn’t know. Places that, and people who, wouldn’t know his past except for the Queen, her Steward, and her Master of the Guard. A fresh start. A real second chance.
“The Queen you choose will send me a report every quarter. If I’m satisfied that you are behaving honorably and being diligent in your training, I will supply you with a stipend to help with your expenses. I also want something in return—that you repay whatever unkindness you visited on the girls here in Askavi by being kind to girls who might be overlooked, whether it’s as small as giving someone a compliment that brightens her day or asking a girl for a dance because you noticed no one else has asked her.”
“Why are you doing this? Why isn’t Prince Yaslana here to grind my bones into the floor?”
“You helped a woman and her daughter. I think that choice was a reflection of who you had been before you met Lady Blyte—and, maybe, who you still are.” Then Sadi smiled. “Besides, Jillian settled things between you to everyone’s satisfaction—except, perhaps, yours. As much as Yaslana dislikes you right now, your arrival in Ebon Rih made him aware of a problem that can’t be allowed to continue, so he left your fate with me. As to why I’m doing this?” The smile faded. “I know how much a life can change when a man is given a second chance.”
Sadi walked to the door and stopped. “You’ll be escorted back to your cousin’s house in Riada. When you decide which Queen you would like to serve, inform Lord Rothvar. He’ll arrange for a Coach and driver to take you there.”
“Thank you, Prince.”
He couldn’t interpret the look in Sadi’s eyes when the Prince said, “Don’t give us a reason to regret this decision.”
Then Sadi was gone.
While he waited for the Eyrien who would escort him to his cousin’s house, Dillon read over the information about the six courts. For the first time in a long time, he felt hopeful about his future.
* * *
* * *
Jillian wasn’t sure what Prince Yaslana wanted her to say. She wasn’t sure if he knew what he wanted her to say.
“You want to send me away?”
The muscles in his jaw worked, and he didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Want to? No. But it has been suggested that you would benefit from experience outside of Ebon Rih.”
What did that mean? “Like a visit to Dhemlan?”
Yaslana winced. “That’s a bit far.”
Far? She accompanied Marian and the children whenever the hearth witch wanted to visit Amdarh to shop or see a play. The SaDiablo family had a town house there, and they all usually stayed in the side of the town house kept for guests.
“This would be more than a visit,” Yaslana said. “This would be a kind of apprenticeship in a court. Sadi made the inquiries and received consent. He can tell you more about it. If you’re interested. Not that you have to be interested. You’re young. But . . . something different for a while.”
Something different. Yes. Would Dillon have seemed so attractive if she hadn’t been looking for something different? But going away to somewhere that wasn’t home? Living among people she didn’t know? Exciting but . . .
“Could I bring a friend?” she asked.
Yaslana finally looked at her, and she had the feeling he was bracing himself because he knew what she was about to say.
“Who did you have in mind?”
When she told him, he swore softly, vigorously. Finally, he said, “It could take a few days, but I’ll see if it can be arranged.”
She watched him fly away and still wasn’t sure what he’d wanted her to say. She’d have to talk to Marian about finding someone to help with the children, and talk to Nurian, of course. But Yaslana wouldn’t have mentioned it at all if he did
n’t believe she was ready to fly on her own. She was sure of that much.
THIRTY-NINE
Lucivar called in the double-buckle fighting belt that Eyriens wore in battle, then sheathed a fighting knife that was bigger, heavier, and a lot meaner than the hunting knife worn as standard dress. A palm-sized knife went into the sheath between the belt buckles. Two more knives were sheathed in the boots.
Chain mail settled over the light leather vest. Metal-studded leather gauntlets closed over wrists and forearms.
Last, he created two Ebon-gray shields—one skintight, the other barely a breath above his skin.
He looked at the other man in the room and nodded. “I’m ready.”
He wasn’t getting ready to attend some fancy aristo dance.
Lucivar Yaslana was getting ready for war.
* * *
* * *
Lucivar scanned the crowded room filled with bright dresses and too-bright voices. Finding the enemy, he called in his war blade and moved forward a couple of steps, then braced as the unleashed sexual heat that flowed in behind him washed over the crowd of aristo Blood, making them gasp, making them want, making them think that the heat promised hot pleasure when what it really promised was frigid pain.
He had come for war. The Sadist had come to play.
It amounted to the same thing.
He took a few more steps toward his quarry. The Blood moved aside, giving him a clear path.
“Before she left the living Realms, the Queen of Ebon Askavi signed a document that put all of Askavi under my hand,” Lucivar said, using Craft to make his voice thunder through the building. “She told me I wasn’t required to become the Warlord Prince of Askavi, that I could allow the District Queens and the Province Queens above them independent rule, unless the time came when they permitted Terreillean practices to encroach on the Blood here. Looking the other way when reputations are ruined and honor soiled because some bitch thinks it’s fun to damage other people’s lives as long as she suffers no consequences? That’s how the destruction of the Blood begins. Some of your ancestors fled from Terreille in order to escape those kinds of games, and those games are what I pledged to fight against when I came to Kaeleer. They are what I will always fight against, even if that means turning every Rihland city into a killing field and slaughtering every Rihland aristo in Askavi.”
