Dreams Made Flesh bj-5 Page 10

  "You were Andulvar Yaslana's friend. Almost like brothers."

  "We still are."

  Still are. Oh, Mother Night. "So, Luci— Prince Yaslana's uncle is… ?"

  "Andulvar Yaslana. The Demon Prince. Prothvar Yaslana is Andulvar's grandson."

  "How?"

  "I'm a Guardian. Andulvar, Prothvar… and my oldest son, Mephis… are demon-dead."

  "But… Lucivar talks as if he sees them all the time."

  "He does."

  Marian stared at him. She was looking at a legend. Oh, not one of her people's legends, but a legend nonetheless. And one who had known… still knew…the greatest Eyrien Warlord Prince who had ever lived.

  Dazzled, she studied him as if she hadn't spent the morning around him. He was wearing the Red, which must be his Birthright Jewel. A courteous man who had made her feel welcome. A widely read man, based on the books he and Jaenelle had talked about on the journey. He had a dry sense of humor she didn't always understand. He obviously loved his children.

  And he was the Prince of the Darkness, the High Lord of Hell…and Andulvar Yaslana's friend.

  "This is more exciting than learning that some wolves can talk," she said.

  He stared at her a moment, then laughed. When he held out his hand, she didn't hesitate to accept it.

  "Come along," he said. "If you're feeling up to it, we'd better rescue the poor males who have been trying to deal with Jaenelle."

  They were going back to the hotel for the afternoon. Marian could have hugged the High Lord for saying the morning had tired him and he needed to rest. Days spent doing heavy cleaning were less exhausting than a shopping trip with Jaenelle Angelline, and she welcomed the chance to get off her feet. They would have their midday meal at the hotel, and then…

  "This evening I'll take you two ladies to dinner," the High Lord said as they waited patiently for a horse-drawn cab that would take them back to the hotel.

  Marian's heart sank. They'd made it easy for her to forget she was a servant, that the social status between them was as wide a difference as her Purple Dusk Jewels were to the Black. But those differences would become painfully apparent even before they left the hotel, and she didn't want him to feel ashamed of being seen with her.

  "You don't have to include me," Marian said. "I'm sure you and Lady Angelline…"

  "You don't want to join us?" His words were gently spoken, but there was an undercurrent she didn't understand. "Why?"

  She had an odd feeling that it wasn't their acceptance of her but her acceptance of them that was really being questioned. So she told the truth and hoped he was one of those males who understood female vanity. "I don't have anything suitable to wear." Which was true. She was wearing the skirt and tunic Jaenelle had given her, and they were the best clothes she owned…far nicer than the things Luthvian had handed down to her…but they weren't appropriate for dining out.

  The High Lord froze, and Jaenelle, who had been watching the street for a cab, slowly pivoted to face her. The chilly anger in the High Lord's eyes made her nervous, but it was the cold fury in the Queen's eyes that scared her.

  The next thing she knew, a cab pulled up, she was bundled into it, and the High Lord was giving instructions to take them to the clothing shops.

  Not sure what she'd done to upset both of them, she hunched in her seat, her wings curved around her body since that was the only way she could sit in a cab that wasn't designed for winged passengers. She didn't dare mention that the High Lord had wanted to rest or that she didn't think she could afford a dress from any shop he would choose to patronize. She stayed quiet to avoid having that chilling anger focused on her.

  Besides, even though he'd initiated this extra shopping trip, the High Lord was a man, and based on her observations of men who had escorted their ladies to her mother's shop, his interest wouldn't last long and they'd be heading back to the hotel in no time, with or without a suitable dress.

  * * *

  Marian stretched out on the bed, trying not to whimper. Who would have thought any man would have that much knowledge or interest in women's clothing? And when that man was the High Lord of Hell…

  They'd walked into a shop that catered to Blood from aristo families. Within minutes, merchants from the neighboring shops came running, and she was tossed into the middle of a storm that made the furniture shopping seem calm in comparison. The High Lord found a green dress that complemented her light-brown skin. While she was in the dressing room being carefully measured to have wing slits made in the dress, the cobbler displayed his selection of shoes, other merchants brought selections of skirts, trousers, shawls…anything that complemented the Eyrien coloring of brown skin, black hair, and gold eyes was presented to the High Lord for inspection. He selected, Jaenelle bullied her into trying things on, and two hours later, when even Jaenelle's energy began to flag and the merchants were looking dazed and exhausted, she had a wardrobe of the finest clothes she'd ever owned.

  The door opened and Jaenelle walked into the room they were sharing. "Papa just wants to sleep for a while, but I'm going down to the dining room to get something to eat. What about you?"

  What about her? She couldn't raise her head off the pillow. "I'm not hungry."

  Jaenelle smiled. "All right. You get some rest."

  "Why were you so angry about the clothes?"

  Jaenelle came over to the bed and crouched down so Marian wouldn't have to look up at her. "When you were staying with Luthvian, did she take you to any of the shops in Doun?"

  There was something under that question, but she was too tired to be cautious. "For some underwear. She gave me some clothes that didn't suit her anymore." And had implied that even those were too good for a lowly housekeeper.

  Jaenelle nodded, a mix of sadness and anger in her eyes. "I asked Luthvian to take you to the shops so that you could buy new clothes, and since I know her well enough to know she'd complain about spending any of her income on anyone but herself, I gave her enough gold marks to purchase those clothes. The fact that she chose to do otherwise…" She sighed. "Everything has a price. She made her choice, and the rest of the family will make theirs."

  "I don't want to cause trouble."

  "You didn't." Jaenelle gave Marian's arm a sisterly pat. "Get some rest. We'll have a lovely dinner tonight, and tomorrow we'll go to Dharo."

  Jaenelle was at the door before Marian managed to prop herself up on her elbows. "Dharo?"

  Jaenelle grinned. "We still have to buy carpets, and there's no one in Kaeleer who makes finer carpets than the weavers of Dharo."

  Marian stared at the door long after Jaenelle was gone. Dharo. Carpets. Another day of shopping.

  She pressed her face into her pillow… and whimpered.

  ELEVEN

  Snarling softly, Lucivar paced the flagstone courtyard in front of his eyrie. Where in the name of Hell was she? He'd told Jaenelle he needed two days. Two days. All right, fine. He understood…eventually… why Marian hadn't come back last night. Maybe they'd finished their… whatever…he couldn't remember what he'd suggested Jaenelle do as a way to keep Marian out of Ebon Rih…too late to come back last night. And he wouldn't expect them at sunrise, since Jaenelle wasn't someone you dared talk to until she'd had her first cup of coffee. But it was almost midday now, and his sister still hadn't returned his hearth witch.

  He missed her. He hadn't noticed her absence too much while the men were working all around him, but at the end of the day, when he went into the eyrie alone…

  She warmed the place, just by being there. When he stepped inside, he could feel the comfort of her presence. There were days when he thought she was really getting used to him, and they were two people who were interested in each other and moving toward living together instead of living in the same place. And there were other days when she withdrew from him for no reason, when the way she held herself made it clear that he was the Prince and she was the housekeeper.

  He'd been careful. He kept a choke hold
on his body's response to her so that he wouldn't touch her in a way that made her think he required sex from her. But he wanted an invitation to her bed, wanted to take her into his bed, just… wanted. Not knowing what he did that made her turn away from him put a dangerous edge of frustration on an already well-honed temper.

  She needed time. He would give her time. She would be skittish until she really trusted that he wouldn't hurt her. So he would be patient.

  He. Would. Be. Patient.

  He glanced at the empty stairs leading down to the landing place and snarled.

  Where was she?

  A few moments later, he felt her presence at the landing place, along with Jaenelle and…

  He glanced up at the sky. What was Saetan doing here at this time of day?

  His anticipation of having her home again suddenly tangled with an attack of nerves. What if she hated what he'd done here in the past two days? What if she was disappointed?

  Then he saw her coming up the last few steps. She looked tired. She looked wonderful. He wanted to sweep her up into his arms and hold on, just to be close to her. Because he couldn't do that, he stood waiting, motionless.

  Marian smiled at him when she reached the flagstones, with Jaenelle right behind her. Since his nerves were fraying, he directed a searing look…and his temper…at his sister. "You're late."

  "Marian and I had been talking about books, and since we stopped at the town house in Amdarh overnight, we waited until the book shops opened this morning," Jaenelle replied coolly.

  Marian hurried toward him, stopping just out of reach. "It's my fault. There were so many books to choose from, and I hadn't realized you'd expected me back at a… particular…" Her voice trailed off as she noticed the new stone wall and the wooden gate that opened off the courtyard. Silent, she went over to the gate, opened it, and followed the flagstone path Tarl had laid out around the beds that were bordered by stone or wood. She looked around, saying nothing.

  "I don't know what's got you in such a snit this morning," Jaenelle said as she came up beside him, "but whatever it is…" She stopped. Looked. "Oh. Oh, Lucivar."

  He watched her follow the same path, watched her touch Marian's shoulder. And he felt a sharp stab in the gut when Marian turned and he saw tears in her eyes.

  "You did well, Prince," Saetan said quietly.

  Lucivar turned his back on the two women now holding each other. "Yeah. I did so well, I made her cry."

  "Underneath her quiet nature, she is a woman of strong emotions. You gave her a gift that means something. Did you expect her to respond with a polite 'thank you'?"

  "I didn't expect her to cry," Lucivar muttered. Since he didn't want to deal with weepy females, he studied the man. The pride, and approval, in Saetan's eyes went a long way toward easing his nerves.

  As Saetan walked to the other side of the courtyard to look at the walled yard and borders Tarl and the other men had planted, Lucivar noticed the slight limp that marred his father's normally smooth stride. Which meant Saetan's bad leg was bothering him…something it only did when he worked it too hard.

  "Why are you here?" Lucivar asked.

  "To complete my escort duties," Saetan replied.

  Lucivar frowned. "Why were you doing escort duties?"

  Turning back to look at him, Saetan said dryly, "Because I'm your father." He gestured toward the eyrie's open front door. "Why don't we give the ladies a few more minutes while we take care of the rest?"

  The rest? Lucivar wondered as he followed his father into the eyrie. "The rest of what?"

  "The furniture."

  "What furniture?"

  Saetan just looked at him, his expression equal parts pity and amused irritation. "What, exactly, did you ask your sister to do?"

  Lucivar resisted the urge to squirm. "Get Marian out of Ebon Rih for two days."

  "And Jaenelle was to accomplish this by… ?"

  He didn't know where this was leading, but he was certain he wasn't going to like it. He shrugged, trying to find the arrogance that came naturally to an Eyrien male. That he couldn't quite find it while his father stared at him worried him. A lot. But he finally remembered what he'd told Jaenelle when she'd asked him what excuse she should use for commanding Marian's time for two days. "I told her to buy a carpet or a piece of furniture, something that would interest a hearth witch."

  "A carpet," Saetan said slowly. "A piece of furniture. I see." He sighed and raised his hand.

  The room was suddenly filled with furniture, with barely enough room between the pieces for someone to squeeze by.

  Lucivar stared. "What is this?"

  "The furniture your sister purchased on your behalf. At your request."

  "But…"

  "I'll put the dining table and chairs in the dining room," Saetan said, walking down the narrow corridor he'd left open.

  "Table? Chairs?" Lucivar hurried after his father. By the time he reached the room, a table and eight chairs were tucked against one wall.

  Saetan frowned. "Probably best to leave the carpets in here, too."

  "Carpets?"

  A stack of rolled carpets appeared, filling half the room.

  The prick of disappointment surprised him. While he'd had no real desire to endure the miserable task of looking at furniture, he'd wanted to buy his own so that the eyrie would feel like a home that reflected who he was instead of living in a place someone else had created. Not that he actually knew how to achieve that, but still…

  "You did want to choose for yourself, didn't you?" Saetan asked with too much understanding.

  Lucivar shrugged. Jaenelle had spent the past two days doing this for him…and had dragged Saetan into it as well…so he would never say anything that would dim her pleasure.

  "If it helps at all," Saetan said, "Marian selected most of it, and what she didn't select herself wasn't purchased without her approval. With one exception."

  The prick of disappointment changed into a hum of interest as Lucivar returned to the front room and studied the furniture more carefully.

  Marian had chosen these things. Which meant she'd be comfortable living with them. If she was pleased, that was enough to satisfy him. Then he remembered the last thing Saetan had said. "What's the exception?"

  "Ah," Saetan said. "You're going to have to dig in your heels about this one."

  They retreated to an empty room. When Saetan called in the last piece of furniture, Lucivar just studied it, trying to figure out why this was different from the rest.

  "What is it?" he finally asked.

  Saetan lifted a finger. Doors and drawers opened. "It's a sewing cabinet. To store supplies. Marian enjoys weaving in her free time, and she's used to sewing most of her own clothes. She wanted this but couldn't afford it—"

  "She can buy anything she damn well wants to," Lucivar growled. Saetan nodded. "You know that, I know that, and Jaenelle knows that. Marian hasn't figured it out yet, and I think her status as a lowly housekeeper is being reinforced on a regular basis."

  His growl deepened, and he turned on his father. "She isn't a lowly anything. She's a warm, caring woman with her own talents and her own skills and just because she earns a wage for using those skills—"

  The chilling anger in Saetan's eyes stopped him. Something had pricked the High Lord's temper in the last two days. It simmered below the surface, tightly leashed, but it was going to explode. Soon.

  His mind raced, thinking of the way Marian retreated from him some days, using the position of housekeeper as a wall between them. Saetan must have brushed against that same wall, but the High Lord, who had a far keener understanding of women than his son did, had realized what reinforced that wall. Since she lived in Ebon Rih, who would keep telling Marian she was nothing but a lowly…

  His eyes locked with Saetan's, and seeing the answer, he swore softly, viciously, while his temper soared.

  "I'll take care of it," Saetan said too softly. "You shouldn't tangle with your mother over this."

>   "Why not?" Lucivar snapped. "She loves me because I'm her son and hates me because I'm an Eyrien warrior, so we're not exactly cordial with each other." And that love, he remembered bitterly, had been skewed enough that she'd given him away and he'd grown up believing he was a half-breed bastard, fighting, always fighting, for a place within Eyrien society.

  "I will deal with this, Lucivar."

  A father's command. Besides, Lucivar knew with chilling certainty how he'd respond if Luthvian used her particular kind of Craft to harm Marian in any way, and knowing she had already tried to poison with words what he was trying to build… It was better if he stayed away from his mother for a while.

  When they walked out the side door of the eyrie into the garden, Jaenelle gave them a slashing look.

  *I shielded her,* Jaenelle told them. *Having your tempers wash over her would have spoiled her pleasure, so if it's not already settled, pick another time and place for it.*

  *It's settled,* Saetan replied.

  Lucivar nodded.

  Turning back to Marian, Jaenelle smiled. "Papa and I have to go now. I'll send over those cuttings in a day or two. You've got enough to plant right now."

  "Oh," Marian said. "I'm sorry. I didn't even think. Would you like something to eat before you go?"

  "No, thank you," Saetan replied, giving Marian a warm smile.

  Not sure how annoyed Jaenelle was with him for letting his temper slip, Lucivar breathed a sigh of relief when she kissed him before accepting Saetan's arm and walking back to the landing place where the Coach waited for them.

  Which left him alone with Marian, who gave him a shy smile. He would have taken a kiss from her, too, but suggesting it, even teasingly, would upset her, so he settled for the smile.

  "Thank you," she said. "It's wonderful. Better than I imagined it could be."

  "You're pleased with it, then?"

  "Oh, yes."

  He nodded. "It'll look even better when you've got everything in place."

  He'd meant it as a compliment, so he didn't know what to think when her eyes widened and she began to look distressed.