Heir to the Shadows dj-2 Read online

The island slowly sank into the sea of blood. He curled up in the center of the pulpy ground while the word sharks circled, waiting for him.

  * Daemon.*

  Hadn't they all been waiting for the end of this torment? Hadn't they all been waiting for the debt to be paid in full? Now she was calling him, calling for his complete surrender.

  *Move your ass, Sadi!*

  He rolled to his hands and knees and stared at the golden-manned, sapphire-eyed woman who stood on a blood-drenched shore that hadn't existed a minute ago. A tiny spiral horn rose from the center of her forehead. Her long gown looked as if it were made from black cobwebs and didn't quite hide her delicate hooves.

  The pleasure of seeing her made him giddy. Her mood made him cautious. He carefully sat back on his heels. * You're annoyed with me.*

  *Let me put it this way,* Jaenelle replied sweetly. *If you go under and I have to pull you out, I'm going to be pissed.*

  Daemon shook his head slowly and tsked. *Such language.*

  With precise enunciation, she spoke a phrase in the Old Tongue.

  His jaw dropped. He choked on a laugh.

  *That, Prince Sadi, is language.*

  You are my instrument.

  Words lie. Blood doesn't.

  Butchering whore.

  He swayed, steadied himself, rose carefully to his feet. *Have you come to call in the debt, Lady?*

  He didn't understand the sorrow in her eyes.

  *Fm here because of a debt,* she said, her voice filled with pain. She slowly raised her hands.

  Between the shore and the sinking island, the sea churned, churned, churned. Waves lifted and froze into waist-high walls. Between them, the sea solidified, becoming a bridge made of blood.

  *Come, Daemon.*

  His hands lightly brushed the crests of the red, frozen waves. He stepped onto the bridge.

  The word sharks circled, tore off chunks of the island, tried to slice away the bridge beneath his feet.

  You are my instrument.

  Jaenelle called in a bow, nocked an arrow, and took aim. The arrow sang through the air. The word shark thrashed as it withered and sank.

  Words lie. Blood doesn't.

  Another arrow sang a death song.

  Butchering who-

  The island and the last word shark sank together.

  Jaenelle vanished the bow, turned away from the sea, and walked into the twisted, shattered-crystal landscape.

  Her voice reached him, faint and fading. *Come, Daemon.*

  Daemon rushed across the bridge, hit the shore running, and then swore in frustration as he searched for some sign of where she'd gone.

  He caught her psychic scent before he noticed the glittering trail. It was like a ribbon of star-sprinkled night sky that led him through the twisted landscape to where she perched on a rock far above him.

  She looked down,at him, smiling with exasperated amusement. *Stubborn, snarly male.*

  *Stubbornness is a much-maligned quality,* he panted as he climbed toward her.

  Her silvery, velvet-coated laugh filled the land.

  Then he finally got a good look at her. He sank to his knees. *I owe you a debt, Lady.*

  She shook her head. *The debt is mine, not yours.*

  *I failed you,* he said bitterly, looking at her wasted body.

  *No, Daemon,* Jaenelle replied softly. *I failed you. You asked me to heal the crystal chalice and return to the living world. And I did. But I don't think I ever forgave my body for being the instrument that was used to try to destroy me, and I became its cruelest torturer. For that I'm sorry because you treasured that part of me.*

  *No, I treasured all of you. I love you, Witch. I always will. You're everything I'd dreamed you would be.*

  She smiled at him. *And I-* She shuddered, pressed her hand against her chest. *Come. There's little time left.*

  She fled through the rocks, out of sight before he could move.

  He hurried after her, following the glittering trail, gasping as he felt a crushing weight descend on him.

  *Daemon.* Her voice came back to him, faint and pain-filled. *If the body is going to survive, I can't stay any longer.*

  He fought against the weight. * Jaenelle!*

  *You have to take this in slow stages. Rest there now. Rest, Daemon. I'll mark the trail for you. Please follow it. I'll be waiting for you at the end.*

  *jaenelle!*

  A wordless whisper. His name spoken like a caress. Then silence.

  Time meant nothing as he lay there, curled in a ball, fighting to hang on to the glittering trail that led upward while everything beneath him pulled at him, trying to drag him back down.

  He held on fiercely to the memory of her voice, to her promise that she would be waiting.

  Later – much later – the pulling eased, the crushing weight lessened.

  The glittering trail, the star-sprinkled ribbon still led upward.

  Daemon climbed.

  Surreal watched the sky lighten and listened to the guards shouting and cursing as the maze sizzled from the

  explosions of power against power. Throughout the long night, the guards had pounded their way toward the center of the maze as Jaenelle's shields broke piece by piece. If the screams were any indication, it had cost the guards dearly to break as much of her shields as they had.

  There was some satisfaction in that, but Surreal also knew what the surviving guards would do to whomever they found in the maze.

  "Surreal? What's happening?"

  For a moment, Surreal couldn't say anything. Jaenelle's eyes looked dead-dull, the inner fire burned to ash. Her Black Jewels looked as if she'd drained most of the reserve power in them.

  Surreal knelt beside Daemon. Except for the rise and fall of his chest, he hadn't stirred since he collapsed. "The guards are breaking through the shield," she said, trying to sound calm. "I don't think we have much time left."

  Jaenelle nodded. "Then you and Daemon have to leave. The Green Wind runs over the edge of the garden. Can you reach it?"

  Surreal hesitated. "With all the power that's been unleashed in this area, I'm not sure."

  "Let me see your Gray ring."

  She held out her right hand.

  Jaenelle brushed her Black ring against Surreal's Gray.

  Surreal felt a psychic thread shoot out of the rings as they made contact, felt the Green Web pull at her.

  "There," Jaenelle gasped. "As soon as you launch yourself, the thread will reel you into the Green Web. Take the beacon web with you. Destroy it completely as soon as you can."

  Daemon stirred, moaned softly.

  "What about you?" Surreal asked.

  Jaenelle shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I won't be coming back. I'll hold the guards long enough to give you a head start."

  Jaenelle opened Daemon's tattered shirt. Taking Surreal's right hand, she pricked the middle finger and pressed it against Daemon's chest while she murmured words in a language Surreal didn't know.

  "This binding spell will keep him with you until he's out of the Twisted Kingdom." Jaenelle faded, came back. "One last thing."

  Surreal took the gold coin that hovered in the air. On one side was an elaborate S. On the other side were the words "Dhemlan Kaeleer."

  "That's a mark of safe passage," Jaenelle said, straining to get the words out. "If you ever come to Kaeleer, show it to whomever you first meet and tell them you're expected at the Hall in Dhemlan. It guarantees you a safe escort."

  Surreal vanished the coin and the small beacon web.

  Daemon rolled onto his side and opened his eyes.

  Jaenelle floated backward until she faded into the hedge. *Go quickly, Surreal. May the Darkness embrace you.*

  Swearing quietly, Surreal tugged Daemon to his feet. He stared at her with simpleminded bewilderment. She pulled his left arm over her shoulders and winced as she tightened her right arm around his waist.

  Taking a deep breath, she let the psychic thread reel them through the Darkness un
til she caught the Green Wind and headed north.

  The hiding place was ready and waiting.

  Before the night when she'd drunkenly broken the warm friendship that had existed between them, Daemon had told her about two people: Lord Marcus, the man of business who took care of Daemon's very discreet investments, and Manny.

  Shortly after Jaenelle had contacted her, she'd gone to see Lord Marcus about finding a hiding place and had discovered that one already existed – a small island that was owned by "a reclusive invalid Warlord" who lived with a handful of servants.

  Daemon owned the island. Everyone who lived there had been physically or emotionally maimed by Dorothea SaDiablo. It was a sheltered place where they could rebuild some semblance of a life.

  She hadn't dared go to the island while she was still hunting for Daemon because she'd been afraid of leading Kartane SaDiablo there. Now she and Daemon could both drop out of sight, and the fictitious invalid Warlord and his newly acquired companion would become a reality.

  But first there was one fast stop to make, one question to ask. She hoped beyond words that Manny would say "yes."

  *Surreal. .*

  Surreal tried to strengthen the distaff thread. * Jaenelle?*

  *Surreal… g… Keep. . o. .*

  Surreal tightened the leash on her emotions as the distaff thread snapped. She'd do her best to keep Daemon safe.

  Because she owed him. Because what was left of Jaenelle cared.

  Not allowing herself to think about what was happening in the center of the maze, Surreal flew on.

  3 / Kaeleer

  Ladvarian's frantic barking and Lucivar's shouted "Father!" snapped Saetan out of his worried brooding. Propelling himself out of a chair in Jaenelle's sitting room at the Keep, he rushed to the door leading into her bedroom, then clung to the frame, paralyzed for a moment by the sight of the ravaged body Lucivar held in his arms.

  "Mother Night," he muttered as he grabbed Kaelas by the scruff of the neck and pulled the snarling young cat off the bed. Throwing back the bedcovers, he placed a warming spell on the sheets. "Put her down."

  Lucivar hesitated.

  "Put her down," he snapped, unnerved by the tears in Lucivar's eyes. As soon as Lucivar gently laid Jaenelle on the bed, Saetan knelt beside her. Laying one hand lightly against her chest, he used a delicate psychic tendril to sense and catalog the injuries.

  Lungs collapsing, arteries and veins collapsing, heart erratic and weak. The rest of the inner organs on the verge of failing. Bones as fragile as eggshells.

  *Jaenelle,* Saetan called. Sweet Darkness, had she severed the link between body and spirit? *Witch-child!*

  *Saetan?* Jaenelle's voice sounded faint and far away. *I made a mess of it, didn't I?*

  He fought to remain calm. She had the knowledge and the Craft to perform the healing. If he could keep her connected with her body, they might have a chance to save her. *You could say that.*

  *Did Ladvarian bring the healing web from the Keep in Terreille?*

  "Ladvarian!" He instantly regretted shouting because the Sceltie just cowered and whined, too upset to remember how to speak to him. Stay calm, SaDiablo. Temper is destructive in any healing room, but it could be fatal in this one. "The Lady is asking about the healing web," he said quietly. "Did you bring it?"

  Kaelas planted his front paws on either side of the small dog's body and gave his friend an encouraging lick.

  After another nudge from Kaelas, Ladvarian said, *Web?* He stood up, still safely sheltered by the cat's body. *Web. I brought the web.*

  A small wooden frame appeared between Ladvarian and the bed.

  To Saetan's eye, the healing web attached to the frame looked too simple to help a body as damaged as Jaenelle's. Then he noticed the single thread of spidersilk that went from the web to the Black-Jeweled ring attached to the frame's base.

  *Three drops of blood on the ring will waken the healing web,* Jaenelle said.

  Saetan looked at Lucivar, who stood near the bed as if waiting for a fatal blow. He hesitated – and swore silently because he still felt the sting of old accusations even though he wasn't asking for himself. "She needs three drops of blood on the ring. I don't dare give her mine. I'm not sure what a Guardian's blood will do to her."

  Rage flashed in Lucivar's eyes, and Saetan knew his son had understood why he'd hesitated to ask.

  "Damn you to the bowels of Hell," Lucivar said as he pulled a small knife out of the sheath in his boot. "You didn't take my blood when I was a child, so stop apologizing for something you didn't do." He jabbed a finger and let three drops of blood fall on the Black-Jeweled ring. Saetan held his breath until the web started glowing.

  Lucivar sheathed the knife. "I'm going to fetch Luthvian."

  Saetan nodded. Not that Lucivar had waited for his agreement before stepping through the glass door that led to Jaenelle's private garden and launching himself skyward.

  Jaenelle's body twitched. Through the psychic tendril, Saetan could feel the Craft in the web washing through her, stabilizing her. He glanced at the web and tried to block out any feelings of despair. One-third of the threads were already darkened, used up.

  *I didn't expect it to be this bad,* Jaenelle said apologetically.

  *Luthvian will be here soon.*

  *Good. With her help, I can transfer the power my body can't hold now into the web to use for the healing.*

  He felt her fade. *Jaenelle!*

  *I found him, Saetan. I marked a trail for him to follow. And I… I told Surreal to take him to the Keep, but I'm not sure she heard me.*

  *Don't think about it now, witch-child. Concentrate on healing.*

  She drifted into a light sleep.

  By the time Luthvian arrived at the Keep, two-thirds of Jaenelle's simple healing web was used up, and he wondered if there would be enough time to create another one before the last thread darkened.

  He couldn't stay and watch. As soon as Luthvian regained enough of her composure to begin, he retreated to the sitting room, taking Ladvarian and Kaelas with him. He didn't ask where Lucivar was. He simply felt grateful that they wouldn't rub against each other's fraying tempers for a little while.

  He paced until his leg ached. He embraced the physical discomfort like a sweet lover. Far better to focus on that than the heart-bruises that might be waiting for him.

  Because he wasn't sure if he could stand another bedside vigil.

  Because he didn't know if she'd succeeded enough to make her suffering worth it.

  4 / The Twisted Kingdom

  He learned as he climbed.

  She had left small resting places next to the glittering trail: violets nestled against a boulder; sweet, clean water trickling down stone to a quiet pool that soothed the spirit; a patch of thick, green grass large enough to stretch out on; a plump, brown bunny watching him while it stuffed its face with clover; a cheerful fire that melted the first layer of ice around his heart.

  At first, he'd tried to ignore the resting places. He learned he could pass one, maybe two, while he fought against the weight that made each step more difficult. If he tried to pass a third, he found the trail blocked. Instinct always warned him that if he stepped off the glittering trail to go around the obstruction, he might never find his way back. So he'd backtrack and rest until he absorbed the weight and found it comfortable to go on.

  He slowly realized the weight had a name: body. This confused him for a while. Didn't he already have a body? He walked, he breathed, he heard, he saw. He felt tired. He felt pain. This other body felt different, heavy, solid. He wasn't sure he liked absorbing its essence into himself- or, perhaps, having it absorb him.

  But the body was part of the same delicate web as the violets, the water, the sky, and the fire – reminders of a place beyond the shattered landscape – so he resigned himself to becoming reacquainted with it.

  After a while, each resting place held an intangible gift, too: a Craft puzzle piece, one small aspect of a spell. Gradually
the pieces began to make a whole and he learned the basics of the Black Widows' Craft, learned how to build simple webs, learned how to be what he was.

  So he rested and treasured her little gifts and puzzles.

  And he climbed to where she had promised to be waiting.

  PART V

  chapter fifteen

  1 / Kaeleer

  C6rT"'he first part of our plan is coming along nicely,".L Hekatah said. "Little Terreille is, at last, justly represented in the Dark Council."

  Lord Jorval smiled tightly. Since slightly more than half of the Council members now came from Little Terreille, he could agree that the Territory that had always felt wary of the rest of the Shadow Realm was, at last, "justly" represented. "With all the injuries and illnesses that have caused members to resign in the past two years, the Blood in Little Terreille were the only ones willing to accept such a heavy responsibility for the good of the Realm." He sighed, but his eyes glittered with malicious approval. "We've been accused of favoritism because so many voices come from the same Territory, but when the other men and women who were judged worthy of the task refused to accept, what were we to do? The Council seats must be filled."

  "So they must," Hekatah agreed. "And since so many of those new members, who owe their current rise in status to your supporting their appointment to the Council, wouldn't want to find themselves distressed because they didn't heed your wisdom when it came time to vote, it's time to implement the second part of our plan."

  "And that is?" Jorval wished she would take off that deep-hooded cloak. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen her before. And why had she chosen to meet in a seedy little inn in Goth's slums?

  "To broaden Little Terreille's influence in the Shadow Realm. You're going to have to convince the Council to be I more lenient in their immigration requirements. There are | plenty of Blood aristos here already. You need to let in the lesser Blood – workers, craftsmen, farmers, hearth-witches, servants, lighter-Jeweled warriors. Stop deciding who can come in by whether or not they can pay the bribes."

  "If the Terreillean Queens and the aristo males want servants, let them use the landens," Jorval said in a sulky voice. The bribes, as she well knew, had become an important source of income for a number of Blood aristos in Goth, Little Terreille's capital.