The Shadow Queen bj-7 Page 8

  And there was something under all those other scents that he recognized, that he—and Daemon—would have to deal with.

  But not yet. Not until his boy was feeling steady again.

  He turned his back on the room and gave Helene the frame that held the cleansing web, and explained what it would do.

  “Please give my thanks to the Ladies,” Helene said. “This will help to clean the room.” She looked at Beale and Jazen. “The fewer women in the room right now, the better.”

  “I’ll help with the cleaning,” Jazen said. “And I’ll make sure the clothes don’t need to be aired.”

  “I’ll send up Holt to assist,” Beale said.

  Helene turned to Saetan. “We’ll have the room done in a few hours.”

  “Good,” Saetan replied. “Jazen, leave a complete change of clothes in my sitting room for the Prince.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Beale? Is there something else that needs my attention?”

  “Prince Aaron is down in the breakfast room, waiting for Lady Angelline,” Beale said. “The Prince’s guest is pacing in the formal receiving room, muttering to himself.”

  “Inform Prince Theran that someone will be available in an hour if he wants to discuss anything.”

  “Very good, High Lord.”

  There was a look in Beale’s eyes that told him plainly enough that the butler wasn’t going to inform Theran about who would be available for that discussion.

  What was it about the Dena Nehele Warlord Prince that raised the hackles of Kaeleer males?

  Still wondering about that, he walked back into his bedroom and found Daemon tucked in his bed. The body belonged to a full-grown man, but the eyes that watched him, so full of despair, belonged to a boy.

  He sat on the side of the bed. “She’s all right,” he said softly. “In better shape than you are, actually.”

  “There were bruises,” Daemon whispered. “On her wrists. I saw them.”

  Saetan nodded. “Yes, there are. And there are a few love bites, which I didn’t see. And her leg muscles are sore, but you and Nighthawk are being given equal blame for those.”

  “Oh.”

  The smallest twitch of lips; a hint of amusement in the golden eyes; the tight muscles in the shoulders beginning to relax one breath at a time.

  He knew the signs, had watched this son struggle to repair himself once before when he’d believed Jaenelle had been lost forever.

  “Now,” he said, “you and Nighthawk may be equally to blame for the sore muscles, but you’re the only one with hands, so I suggest that you be the one who offers to give Jaenelle a back rub this evening.”

  An unspoken question hung in the air. He waited.

  Finally Daemon gave him the tiniest nod. The Steward of the Dark Court wouldn’t tell the Consort to take care of the Queen if there was any doubt about the Consort’s welcome.

  Having done as much as could be done for the moment, Saetan called in a book, opened it to the table of contents, and pointed to the titles of two stories. “Which one would you like to hear?”

  “Both?”

  The answer made his heart ache—and also gave him hope that Jaenelle was right and Daemon was emotionally battered right now but not truly broken.

  Daemon didn’t remember giving the same answer so many times as a boy that it had become a ritual between them. But he did. And because he remembered, he called in his half-moon glasses, took his time settling them on his nose just so, and completed the ritual with the same words he’d always said. “Yes, I think we can read both this time.”

  CHAPTER 6

  KAELEER

  Agitated and feeling reckless, Theran rapped on the study door and walked in before he was invited.

  “Hell’s fire, Sadi. Are you serious about these conditions you’ve set?”

  The man sitting behind the blackwood desk wasn’t Daemon Sadi. It was the pissy old cock from the Keep. The assistant historian /librarian—who no longer looked like a somewhat benign clerk whose Red Jewels and caste could, mostly, be ignored.

  Now he saw the resemblance between Sadi and the Hayllian Warlord Prince, who set a piece of paper on the desk and removed the half-moon glasses, whose gold eyes never left Theran’s face.

  Fear shuddered through Theran when he noticed the Warlord Prince’s right hand, with its long, black-tinted nails and the Black-Jeweled ring.

  “You managed to hone my temper before I walked into that sitting room at the Keep, so we never did finish the introductions. I’m Saetan Daemon SaDiablo, the former Warlord Prince of Dhemlan—and still the High Lord of Hell.”

  Theran’s legs buckled. He hit the edge of the chair in front of the desk and grabbed the arms to push himself back in the seat.

  “I—” What was he supposed to say to the High Lord? Apologize for not being more courteous when he’d been at the Keep?

  “I’m assuming by the way you entered the room that you want to discuss the terms Prince Sadi set for having a Kaeleer Queen rule Dena Nehele.”

  “Sadi . . .”

  “Is indisposed this morning. You may discuss this with me.”

  May the Darkness have mercy. All he wanted right now was to get out of this room.

  Jared wouldn’t have run. Blaed wouldn’t have run.

  “The terms are . . .” Sadi had accepted the position of Warlord Prince of Dhemlan a few months after his father resigned. Theran remembered hearing that last night at dinner. How was he supposed to voice his objections to the terms without sounding like he was criticizing the son? Because this was one father he did not want to offend.

  “Unreasonable? Insulting? Barbed?” Saetan offered with a hint of a sharp smile. “Everything has a price, Prince Grayhaven. The man who wrote up these terms has a good understanding of Terreille. A better understanding than you do, since yours, I suspect, is confined to your own Territory. Prince Sadi also has a fine understanding of how the males in Kaeleer, especially the Warlord Princes, respond to any threat to a female, let alone a Queen. You may feel hobbled by these terms, but they were thought through carefully and are designed to protect your people as well as the Queen who comes to rule.”

  Realizing he’d dropped the paper when he’d grabbed for the chair, Theran retrieved it and stared at the list of conditions.

  “A year? She only stays a year?”

  “A year is enough time for both of you to know if your people can accept an outsider ruling over them—and if your people really want to go back to following the Old Ways of the Blood.”

  “If we didn’t want to go back to living the way we did when the Gray Lady ruled, we would have settled for . . .” For one of the Queens we have—who would destroy what’s left of us as surely as one of Dorothea’s pet Queens would have done.

  Theran slumped in the chair, his hands dangling between his knees. “Grayhaven is my family’s home—and my inheritance. What’s left of it. She can have the use of it. As for a tithe . . . Hell’s fire. We’re just trying to get enough food planted and harvested so that everyone has enough to eat this winter. The Queens who ruled bled the land and the people dry. I told Sadi that last night.”

  “That doesn’t change what is needed for a Queen’s court,” Saetan said quietly. “She deserves something for her effort, and the court needs some way to pay for its expenses.”

  “Couldn’t the tithe be paid in goods and services?” Theran asked.

  “If the Queen and the First Circle are agreeable to that condition, yes, a high percentage of the tithe could be done that way.”

  Hopeful that there might be more flexibility to these terms than he’d first thought, Theran looked at the sheet of paper again. “Inspections?”

  “And weekly reports from the Queen.”

  “Why does she have to answer to anyone? And why should my people be treated like children who get surprise tests to see if we’ve learned our manners?”

  Saetan leaned back, steepled his fingers, and rested his forefingers against hi
s chin. “Because you don’t have any manners. That’s one of the reasons you’re here. You want something you don’t remember, something your people don’t remember. The inspections aren’t to test you; they’re to appease the Warlord Princes from the Queen’s home. Since you belong to that caste, you shouldn’t be so dismissive of the power and temper that could land on your doorstep with the intention to kill. As for the Queen’s weekly reports, those, too, are to offer reassurance and are in place of having armed escorts living with her in Dena Nehele.” He paused. “I should say armed escorts from her home Territory. Providing sufficient escorts for her protection is your responsibility. Gathering the men and women who will form the First Circle is your responsibility. And assuring the Queen’s physical and emotional well-being is also your responsibility.”

  Theran felt the blood drain from his face. He’d escaped all that. By living with Talon, by hiding in the mountains so the pet Queens couldn’t control the last male in the Grayhaven bloodline, he’d escaped that kind of service.

  “Assess your skills, Prince,” Saetan said. “You will be one of the male triangle that serves the Queen most intimately.”

  “Consort?” Theran choked on the word. “You expect me to service—”

  Saetan laughed, and the undercurrent of violence in the sound made Theran shiver.

  “You’re being presumptuous, puppy. No Kaeleer male is going to tolerate an assumption that any male in Terreille has a right to the Queen’s bed.”

  “Then what . . . ?”

  “First Escort,” Saetan said. “Same duties for the most part, up until you reach the bedroom door. As First Escort, you don’t cross the threshold. You don’t serve in bed. However, if being First Escort isn’t a service you can perform, you can stand as Master of the Guard or Steward—providing the other males in the First Circle will accept you in one of those positions.”

  Relief shuddered through him.

  “But if a Queen does agree to go back with you and rule your people, you will be held responsible for her care, Theran. Make no mistake about that. And if that care is found wanting, you will answer to Kaeleer. Make no mistake about that either. The Warlord Princes here may sympathize with what you want to do for your Territory. They may even be willing to help. But if they think you’re mistreating or endangering a Queen who comes from the Shadow Realm, they won’t hesitate to destroy you and your people. They will wipe you out of existence more thoroughly than Dorothea ever could. Do we understand one another?”

  He had to swallow to get his heart out of his throat. “Yes, High Lord. We understand one another.”

  “I’m delighted. Lady Angelline has gone to talk to a Queen who may be interested in helping your people. She’ll be back for dinner. Since you have the time, I suggest—” Saetan frowned at the door.

  Theran turned his head to catch the sound. Yes, there it was again. Something scratching at the door.

  Saetan raised one hand. The study door swung open, and a small brown and white dog trotted into the room and stopped near Theran’s chair.

  He’d never had a dog. Always liked them, liked petting them when he was in a village, but the rogue camps in the mountains were hidden places, and while a dog might have alerted them to a stranger’s presence, its barking could also have revealed the location of the camp to an enemy.

  The dog didn’t come quite close enough for a casual pat, but it did seem interested in him.

  “Vae,” Saetan said.

  Wondering why the High Lord sounded cautious, Theran looked at the dog more carefully. A glint of something in the ruff. A gold chain and . . .

  His heart gave one hard bump before he recognized his mistake. For a moment, he thought someone had put a Purple Dusk Jewel on the dog, but it was just an amethyst, just someone thinking he was being clever by making it look like the dog wore a Jewel.

  “Why don’t you and Lady Vae walk down to the village?” Saetan said. “Since the people in Halaway live by the Old Ways, spending a few hours there would give you a good idea of what would be expected from your people.”

  *Walkies? I like walkies!*

  The voice sounded like a young girl’s, but he didn’t actually hear it. It rang inside his head, just outside his inner barriers, as if someone had communicated on a psychic thread. But the only other being in the room besides him and the High Lord was . . .

  *He does not talk? He is not trained?*

  “His training has just started.” Saetan’s mouth curved in a maliciously amused smile. “Lady Vae is a kindred Sceltie. A Purple Dusk witch.”

  Theran felt the blood draining out of his head. “Kindred? Witch?” That Jewel he’d seen was real? This dog was the same rank as his Birthright Jewel?

  “Yes,” Saetan crooned. “I think Vae will be the perfect escort for you.”

  *He is male and foolish. I will protect him.*

  “You do that.” A pause. “Is there anything else you wanted to discuss right now, Prince Theran?”

  He knew a dismissal when he heard one, but his legs felt like overstretched taffy and it took him a couple of tries to get out of the chair. He vanished the paper with the conditions his people would have to agree to, and as he walked toward the door, he realized the dog was waiting for him.

  *I can pass through doors,* Vae said. *I know my Craft. But you are in training, so I will wait for you to open the door.*

  As he stepped into the great hall and the study door closed behind him, he heard the High Lord of Hell laugh.

  Cassidy stared at Jaenelle Angelline, then looked at her cousin Aaron, who was pacing the length of the sitting room in her parents’ house.

  “You’re both teasing,” Cassidy said. “This is a joke.”

  “I wish it were,” Aaron growled. “But she’s serious.”

  “You can’t be serious!”

  “Why not?” Jaenelle asked.

  “I’m a minor Queen. I wear a Rose Jewel. I’ve never ruled anything larger than a small village.” Which no one else had wanted until a new, young Queen needed a place to rule to gain credentials for something better. “Aaron, tell her!”

  “I did,” Aaron replied. “All the way here.”

  “My entire First Circle resigned and broke the court.”

  “They were idiots,” Aaron growled.

  “And because they were idiots, you’re now available to help a people who need you,” Jaenelle said calmly.

  “They need a strong Queen,” Cassidy argued.

  “You are a strong Queen.”

  “They need a . . . a polished Queen.”

  “They need a Queen who knows the Old Ways, who lives by the Old Ways, who knows Protocol, and who knows how to rule fairly,” Jaenelle said. “They need someone like you, Cassidy.” She placed one hand over Cassidy’s. “Look at me.”

  She didn’t want to look into those sapphire eyes. They saw too much. Understood too much. But she obeyed because it didn’t matter if Jaenelle officially ruled or not. She was still the Queen. And no one disobeyed Witch.

  “They aren’t going to understand you,” Jaenelle said. “Most of them aren’t going to see who you really are. They’ll be disappointed by the surface.”

  Cassidy winced—and winced again when Aaron snarled his opinion of her former court.

  “Most, Cassidy. But some will see who you are as a woman, and in time the others will appreciate who you are as a Queen. You can do this. I wouldn’t be here if I had any doubts about that.” Jaenelle patted her hand and sat back. “You’ll have a few days to think about it.”

  Living in a strange Territory. In a different Realm. In Terreille. People didn’t go to Terreille. They ran from Terreille.

  But she could make a difference to these people. She could help them remember who they were, help them rebuild.

  “How long would I be gone?” Cassidy asked. Would she ever see her family again? Could she go home to visit, to reassure her parents that she was all right?

  “There would have to be terms, conditions,�
� Aaron said as he continued to pace. “We are not letting her go to that damn Realm without some assurances.”

  “Who is ‘we’?” Cassidy asked, bristling. “No one makes decisions about my life except me.”

  “Think again,” Aaron snapped.

  Cassidy blinked. “You’re a distant cousin!”

  *Don’t yank that leash,* Jaenelle warned on a distaff thread.

  *When it comes to family, Warlord Princes are only as distant as they choose to be. He’s already angry about your former court and didn’t trust himself to come here on his own.*

  Cassidy glanced at Aaron, then fixed her eyes on the carpet between her feet. She’d been curious when she’d received Aaron’s note, requesting a visit at a specific day and time, but she’d thought he was going to give her a pat on the shoulder and a little sympathy about losing the court. Then, when Jaenelle showed up with him and began telling her about Dena Nehele, she hadn’t been sure what to think about the visit. But it hadn’t occurred to her that Aaron, who really was a distant cousin, would be angry enough to come to Dharo with the intention of going after the males from her former First Circle.

  *You weren’t aware that Aaron has already had a “discussion” with Sabrina about your court breaking for the reasons it did?* Jaenelle asked.

  *No.* Thank the Darkness. *What kind of discussion?*

  *The kind that ended with them yelling at each other.*

  Aaron had yelled at the Queen of Dharo—who was a member of Jaenelle’s coven and a longtime friend of his—because of her? Mother Night.

  “I believe Daemon has already drafted a list of terms,” Jaenelle said. “And the High Lord is reviewing it.”

  Aaron finally stopped pacing. “Daemon wrote the terms? The males will have to answer to him?”

  Jaenelle nodded. “Or the High Lord. Or both.”

  Aaron sat in a chair, all his tension and temper gone. Cassidy, however, felt a lot more nervous. Knowing two Black-Jeweled Warlord Princes—the two most powerful males in the entire history of the Blood—were taking an interest in her life wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

  She looked up in time to see Jaenelle’s lips twitch in a knowing smile.