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  “What kind of cat is Kaelas?” Ranon asked.

  “Arcerian,” Daemon replied. “In fact, he’s the Warlord Prince of Arceria. All eight hundred pounds of him.”

  “Mother Night.”

  He liked these men, and while he wanted them to be careful during their stay at the Hall, he saw no reason to frighten them. So unless it became necessary, he wouldn’t tell them what a Red-Jeweled Warlord Prince of Kaelas’s size, speed, and strength could do to a human body when he got pissed off.

  “Let’s take a look at the village,” Daemon said.

  It was a small, healthy village, prosperous enough to take care of itself and the people within its boundaries.

  Daemon noted the way that the males who were simply going about their business went on alert at the sight of strangers—and relaxed when they realized the strangers were with him. He noted how the village guards came trotting past to get a look at the strangers despite Gray and Ranon being with him.

  “Does this village often see trouble?” Ranon asked when Gray stopped at a bookshop window and stared at the display, damn near vibrating with excitement.

  “No,” Daemon replied. “Considering its proximity to the Hall, if trouble starts here and the Queen’s court can’t handle it, I will.”

  “But all the males are ready to defend.”

  “It is our nature, Ranon.”

  The shop door opened and Sylvia walked out. She wore a sleeveless shirt tucked into a pair of knee-length trousers and sandals. Her short black hair looked deliberately mussed enough to be called sassy, and there wasn’t a single thing besides her psychic scent that would give anyone a clue that she was the Queen of Halaway.

  Daemon moved to join Gray, who had turned away from the window and given Sylvia a quick, assessing look before smiling brightly.

  “Good afternoon, Lady,” Gray said.

  Sylvia narrowed her gold eyes. “You look familiar, but not.”

  “May I introduce Prince Jared Blaed Grayhaven and Prince Ranon,” Daemon said. “They’re here visiting from Dena Nehele. Gentlemen, this is Lady Sylvia.”

  Gray frowned at him. “You didn’t introduce her as a Queen.”

  Proof enough that Gray was far more perceptive than his cousin when it came to recognizing caste.

  He glanced at Sylvia, who gave him a tiny nod. “You’re right. I didn’t. Lady Sylvia rules Halaway and prefers to be informal in her home village unless formality is required.”

  Gray beamed at Sylvia. “That’s the way Cassie wants things to be in Eyota. The Shaladorans are pretty comfortable with that because they’re used to their Queens living among them, so I think she’s happier living where we do now than she was when we were in Grayhaven.”

  Hell’s fire, Daemon thought as he looked at Sylvia’s slightly stunned expression and swallowed the urge to laugh. The earnest young Warlord Prince who had asked him for a loan had changed into a two-legged puppy.

  “I met someone else named Grayhaven recently,” Sylvia said.

  “Jared Blaed and Theran are cousins,” Daemon said.

  Sylvia’s smile had sharp edges. “And how is Theran getting along with Vae?”

  “Oh, Vae lives with Cassie and me now,” Gray said. “So does Khollie, but that’s because Ranon and Shira live in the Queen’s Residence with us.”

  “Well, that must make story time easier for all of you, since the humans can take turns.”

  “Story time?”

  Ah, no, Sylvia, Daemon thought. But he wasn’t going to stop her.

  “You don’t know about story time?” Sylvia asked, widening her eyes. When Gray shook his head, she opened the bookshop door and called to someone inside. “Do you have any copies of Unicorn to the Rescue or Sceltie Saves the Day?” She turned back to Gray. “How many Scelties live with you?”

  “There are thirteen in our village,” Gray said, looking back at Daemon.

  Finally figured out something is going on, haven’t you, boyo? Of course, it was much too late to do anything about it, but it was always good for a man to recognize when he was in trouble.

  “What?” Sylvia leaned into the shop, then back out. “Oh, good. They also have a couple of copies of Dragon and the Dangerous Deed.”

  “I don’t think . . .” Ranon began.

  “A gift,” Sylvia said. “Enjoy your visit, gentlemen. Prince Sadi.”

  Daemon watched her hurry away and duck into a shop a couple of doors down from the bookshop. He huffed out a breath. “While we’re in the shop, there are a few other books you might find entertaining.” The Tracker and Shadow books were adventures or mysteries for most readers, but anyone who dealt with a Sceltie also found them instructional.

  “She was laughing when she went into that other shop,” Gray said as Daemon led the two men into the bookshop. “Why was she laughing?”

  “Once you show those books to any Sceltie, you’ll understand,” Daemon replied dryly. And may the Darkness have mercy on you.

  He let them look around while he selected a few books that he thought Cassidy would enjoy since Jaenelle or Marian had liked them. Ranon showed polite interest, but Gray loved books and stories, and kept delaying so that he could see “just one more thing.” Daemon ended up selecting a few more books for them to take back to Eyota and then hauled Gray out of the shop so they could see more of the village.

  Gray showed a boyish enthusiasm for everything he saw except, oddly, the bakery, which he glanced at and then bolted past. Ranon’s emotions were more contained and more intense—especially when Daemon showed the Shaladoran the music shop. The place sold sheet music and instruments that spanned the Territories in Kaeleer, as well as the music crystals that had audio spells.

  He didn’t tell them Jaenelle owned this shop, which was the reason it had such an eclectic variety of music—and why it had an attached room with a small stage for performances. Twice a month, she joined the musicians and sang there—and on those nights, there was never an empty chair.

  He mentioned the performances and pointed out the nearby tavern and coffee shop. Ranon appreciated the potential businesses. Gray was more dazzled by the small courtyards that were shady gathering places accented with flower beds.

  By the time they settled at a table in one of those courtyards with glasses of ale and a plate of sandwiches, Daemon had a very good idea what kind of businesses would do well in Eyota.

  “All right, gentlemen . . .” he began.

  “It’s the boy.”

  Daemon rose at the sound of that female voice and was pleased that Gray and Ranon responded just as quickly.

  “Tersa,” he said warmly as he kissed her cheek. Her long black hair was always as tangled as her mind, but it gave him comfort to know she could wander around this village and be safe. “Would you join us?”

  “You are trying to feed me,” she accused.

  Of course he was. Even having a journeymaid Black Widow living with her, Tersa still didn’t remember to eat when her mind traveled its own strange paths.

  “Only a little,” he said, giving her a boyish smile.

  She gave his arm a light, dismissive smack as she glanced at Ranon. Then she looked at Gray, and Daemon felt the change in her—and saw Gray go absolutely still.

  “This is the one,” Tersa said softly. She called in a glass globe supported by a carved wooden base and set it in front of Gray. Then she touched the small amethyst in the base. “Watch.”

  Smoke filled the globe as the spell engaged.

  Changes, Daemon thought. Metamorphosis. He watched as a dagger was cocooned, then emerged as a small boy who had no limbs. That image cocooned and emerged as a dead tree, which cocooned and emerged as a living tree that bore daggers as its fruit. That image cocooned and emerged as a dragon breathing fire—a powerful warrior.

  All the color had drained out of Gray’s face when he saw the first two images—and something Daemon couldn’t name filled those green eyes when Gray saw the last image.

  The sequence star
ted again. When the image of the dagger tree cocooned, the sequence stopped.

  “This is where you are,” Tersa said.

  “How do I get to the last stage?” Gray asked, his eyes fixed on the shrouded image.

  “When the time comes, accept the fire that lives within you.”

  *Tersa?* Daemon asked.

  *Trust your wife—and trust your own heart.*

  She kissed him and walked away.

  Shaken, he sat down and drained the glass of ale. Gray and Ranon did the same, so he flicked a thought at the tavern owner, who hurried out a minute later with a cold pitcher of ale.

  “Who is she?” Ranon asked after the second glass of ale.

  “My mother,” Daemon replied.

  “She’s . . . different,” Gray said, clearly not wanting to offend, but just as clearly wanting an answer.

  “She’s a broken Black Widow,” Daemon said. “She’s been walking the roads of the Twisted Kingdom for a long time, but her mind completely shattered a few centuries ago when she made the choice to forfeit sanity in order to regain her Craft. In the past few years, she’s been living closer to the border of sanity, which lets her have a life in the village.”

  “If she can’t wear a Jewel, how does she . . . ?” Ranon asked.

  “I don’t know. Even my father doesn’t know. But sane or not, Jewels or not, she has always been a formidable witch.”

  “Does Jaenelle know how Tersa regained power through madness?” Gray asked.

  “Probably, since my Lady has walked roads even darker than the ones Tersa has traveled.” But this was not something he wanted to think about right now, so he said, “Gentlemen. Let’s talk about doing business.”

  TERREILLE

  Thank the Darkness neither of us have to drive this Coach, Ranon thought as he and Gray huddled in the comfortable back compartment of the SaDiablo Coach provided by Daemon. They’d had a delicious dinner. At least, he assumed it was delicious. He couldn’t remember a single bite of it. Afterward, Sadi had opened the Gate next to the Hall and instructed one of the drivers who worked for the SaDiablo family to take his guests back to Dena Nehele. So they were heading home directly from the Hall, riding the Opal Winds.

  “Mother Night, Gray,” Ranon said, keeping his voice low even though they couldn’t be heard through the closed door separating their compartment from the driver’s. “Five million gold marks. Do you have any idea how much that is?”

  Gray shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a gold mark. I got a ten silver mark once for my birthday, and I thought it was a fortune. Do you really think we could spend that many gold marks?”

  Ranon took a deep breath and felt his body tremble as he breathed out. “Wouldn’t be hard to do. We’ve had so little for so long, it wouldn’t be hard to do. Paying it back is a different thing altogether.”

  “Shops and supplies,” Gray said. “Forage for the animals if the harvest falls short this year.”

  “Food for us if the crops fall short this year,” Ranon said. Although with so many Blood dead in the past two years, having people starve was less likely. Having the crops rot in the fields because there weren’t enough hands to harvest them was a possibility, even if the Blood used Craft and drained their power every day to get the harvest in.

  “We’ll have to find the right kinds of buildings for the shops Daemon wants.”

  “We’ll find them.”

  Ranon closed his eyes. A music shop like the one he’d seen in Halaway. A room where the Tradition Keepers like his grandfather could teach openly what had been forbidden for so many years. And Sadi’s gift . . .

  “It’s not the same,” Daemon had said, “but the music of Scelt has a complex simplicity that I think is similar to Shalador’s music. At least as I remember it. You might enjoy it.”

  The music crystals and the brass stand. Such a simple thing, really, and not so simple. Like Sadi casually pointing out some folk music from Dharo that could be played on a flute.

  Sharing customs. Sharing hopes.

  Kind of funny, actually. Now that the Shaladorans could honor their own traditions, it didn’t sting to look beyond his own people and consider what other traditions might have to offer.

  KAELEER

  A quick scan of the messages that had arrived that afternoon confirmed that nothing required his immediate attention, so Daemon went up to Jaenelle’s sitting room. When she marked her place in her book and set it aside, he took that as an invitation. He picked her up, then sat down in the stuffed chair with her on his lap.

  “Our guests are on their way home?” She ran her fingers through his hair, a soothing caress.

  “They are.” He called in Jared’s journal and held it up for her to see.

  “They didn’t want it?” Disappointment filled her voice and eyes.

  “They want to preserve the original and also be able to share the contents. Cassidy sent a note with the journal asking if the Queen’s gift could be extended to having a couple of copies made so that people could read Jared’s account of his journey with Lia.”

  She studied him. “That doesn’t sound like an extravagant request.”

  “It’s not. It’s also not a practical request.”

  “Ah. And what would my darling Prince consider a practical request?”

  He shrugged. “A thousand copies would be a good start.”

  She laughed. “What are you going to do with a thousand copies?”

  “For one thing, sell them in the merchant’s shop I’m opening in Eyota. They can buy the book there, then go over to the coffee shop I’m also opening and read while enjoying a cup or two of their favorite beverage.”

  She hooted. “How many shops did Gray and Ranon talk you into opening?”

  He laughed with her. “Four. Plus a loan the court can use to help the people start rebuilding their lives and villages.”

  Then his laughter faded. He cuddled Jaenelle, needing that comfort.

  “What’s troubling you?” she asked.

  “Did I do the right thing?”

  “How big a loan did you give them?” she asked.

  “Five million gold marks.”

  She laughed softly. “That explains why they both looked like they couldn’t remember how to breathe when you brought them back from the village and couldn’t string words together in a coherent sentence all through dinner.”

  “Jaenelle, did I do the right thing?”

  “Why would you ask that?

  “Because Dena Nehele is going to fall.”

  She rested a hand over his heart. “Daemon, pretend you never heard that. Act as if you’d never heard that. That’s what I’m going to do.”

  “In that case, I’m going to talk to Lord Burle about doing a bit of work on my new properties in Eyota.”

  “You could also offer those properties as training ground if there were any youngsters in that village who wanted to learn the carpenter’s trade and Lord Burle was willing to teach them.”

  “I could, could I?”

  She gave him a kiss that was warm and sweet. Then she grinned. “Yes, my darling Prince, you could.”

  CHAPTER 18

  TERREILLE

  “Theran has hired the cook from the best dining house in Grayhaven to make the meal for this dinner party,” Kermilla said as she, Correne, and her escorts, Lords Bardoc and Kenjim, drove to the place where they were meeting up with her two adorable Warlords, Garth and Brok. “Considering what a copper-pincher Theran is, these guests must be very important.”

  Correne rolled her eyes. “But not interesting. Warlord Princes?” She shuddered dramatically. “Why waste a good meal on them? It’s not like they’ll know the difference since they’re always fighting or living in the rogue camps.”

  Glancing back at the unamused expressions of her men, Kermilla whispered. “Stop that. It’s disrespectful.”

  “But it’s true.”

  Hard to argue with that. Theran plowed through food she could barely swa
llow, and didn’t care if a dish was bland or the potatoes were lumpy. In fact, as long as it didn’t have dirt on it and was cooked enough that it wasn’t still running, he didn’t complain. Since he would be taking care of her residence when she became Queen, she was going to have to improve his palate. Then they would have the kind of dinner parties that would impress the aristos here in Dena Nehele.

  “True or not, you don’t say things like that when other men are around. If it gets back to the Warlord Princes, it will cause trouble.”

  Correne looked over her shoulder at Bardoc and Kenjim, then looked at Kermilla. “They belong to you, so they won’t go telling tales about you. And I heard in the stables that this carriage driver had his tongue cut out so he couldn’t tell tales.”

  Kermilla winced. No, her men wouldn’t tell tales on her, but they didn’t feel the same loyalty to Correne, which was something the girl couldn’t get through her head. She acted like the men wouldn’t dare say anything.

  It might be useful to find out why the Queens here felt that way.

  Then they were at the meeting place. Brok and Garth clambered into the seats behind the driver, all smiles and young-man juice.

  “We’re having a special dinner at the house tomorrow, so Correne and I need to do some shopping.”

  “Invite us to this dinner,” Brok said. “We’ll show you how to make it special.”

  It was tempting to have someone besides Correne to talk to, but Theran had emphasized several times that these Warlord Princes were coming to meether, talk toher, so she couldn’t have her own little party at one end of the table.

  “Can’t.” Kermilla gave them a pretty pout. “But we’ll do something fun together soon. Driver, take us to the marketplace in the landen part of town.”

  “No!” Garth sounded alarmed.

  “Why ever not?” Kermilla asked. “Driver, move on.”

  “We can’t,” Brok said, his voice full of bitter hatred. “Queen’s orders. If we cross into their part of town, we’ll be exiled from Dena Nehele.”

  Kermilla stared at them, too shocked to speak. “Why would Cassidy do that?”