Heir to the Shadows (61 page)

He lifted his mouth and brushed a finger over the wound,

using healing Craft to seal it and stop the flow of blood. *It needs to be healed properly.*

*Soon.* She withdrew her hand and returned to the Dark Throne.

No, he decided as he got to his feet and heard everyone else rising, this wasn't a good time for a display of male stubbornness. Besides, the ceremony would be over shortly.

*Notice anything odd about this court?* Lucivar asked him as tension filled the chamber again.

Surprised by the question, Saetan looked at all the solemn, determined faces. *Odd? No. They're the same ... *

It finally struck him. He'd thought of it, discussed it, and then had been so hurt when Jaenelle passed over him that he had failed to see it. The coven had joined the First Circle, and they shouldn't have because they were Territory Queens . . .

Karla stepped forward. "My Queen. May I speak?"

"You may speak, my Sister," Jaenelle replied solemnly.

. . . and Territory Queens served no one.

Contained fire lit Karla's ice-blue eyes as she said triumphantly, "Glacia yields to Ebon Askavi!"

Saetan choked on his heart. Mother Night! Karla was making Jaenelle the ruling power of the Territory
she
was supposed to rule.

Gabrielle stepped forward. "Dea al Mon yields to Ebon Askavi!"

"Scelt yields to Ebon Askavi!" Morghann shouted.

"Nharkhava!" "Dharo!" "Tigrelan!" "Centauran!"

*Sceval!* *Arceria!* *The Fyreborn Islands!*

Someone nudged his back, breaking his stunned silence. "Dhemlan yields to Ebon Askavi!"

He jumped when Andulvar roared, "Askavi yields to Ebon Askavi!"

The shouted names of the Territories that now stood in the shadow of Ebon Askavi finally stopped echoing through the chamber. Then a small voice drifted into their minds.

*Arachna yields to the Lady of the Black Mountain.*

"Mother Night," Saetan whispered, and wondered if the Weavers of Dreams were spinning their tangled webs across the chamber's ceiling.

"I accept," Jaenelle said quietly.

Lucivar briefly squeezed Saetan's shoulder in amused sympathy. "Should I wish the Steward of this court my congratulations or condolences?" he said quietly.

"Mother Night." Saetan staggered back a step. Hands grabbed his arms, keeping him upright.

Lucivar laughed softly as he slipped around Saetan. He climbed the steps to the Throne and extended his right hand. Jaenelle rose and placed her left hand over his right. A wide aisle opened up as the new court stepped aside to allow the First Escort to lead his Queen from the chamber.

Starting to follow, Saetan felt something hold him back. Waving Andulvar and the others on, he felt his throat tighten as the kindred shyly blended in with the humans, once more offering their trust.

The chamber emptied, Draca and Geoffrey being the last to leave.

No longer having an excuse, Saetan turned toward Lorn. As they stared at one another, he felt gentle sadness pressing down on him, a sadness all the more terrible because it was cloaked in understanding.

He knew then why Lorn had remained apart. He had experienced that kind of sadness, too, when petitioners had stood before him, terrified of the Prince of the Darkness, the High Lord of Hell. He knew how it felt to crave affection and companionship and have it denied because of what he was.

Fingering his Black Jewel, he said, "Thank you."

*You have made good usse of my gift. You have sserved well.*

Saetan thought of all he'd done in his life. All the mistakes, the regrets. All the blood spilled. "Have I?" he asked quietly, more to himself than Lorn.

*You have honored the Darknesss. You have resspected the wayss of the Blood. You have alwayss undersstood what the Blood were meant to be—caretakerss and guardianss. You have ussed teeth and clawss when teeth and clawss were needed. You have protected your young. The Darknesss hass ssung to you, and you have followed roadss few but the Dragonss have walked. You have undersstood the Blood'ss heart, the Blood'ss ssoul. You have sserved

well.*

Saetan took a deep breath. His throat felt too tight to make an answer. "Thank you," he said hoarsely.

There was a long pause. *Ass sshe iss the daughter of your ssoul, you are the sson of mine.*

Saetan clutched the Jewel around his neck. Did Lorn have any idea what those words meant to him?

It didn't matter. What mattered was it formed a bond between them, a bridge he could cross. He would finally be able to talk to the keeper of all the Blood's Craft knowledge. Maybe he'd even find out how Jae—

"If I'm the daughter of Saetan's soul and he's the son of yours, does that make you my grandfather?"

Jaenelle asked, joining them.

*No,* Lorn replied promptly.

"Why not?"

Hot, dusty-dry air hit them with enough force to push

them back a couple of steps.

"I suppose that's an answer," Jaenelle grumped. She shook her arms to untangle all the cobwebby strands. "Although I don't see why you're getting all snorty about one little granddaughter."

"And the wide assortment of grandnieces and nephews that come with her," Saetan muttered under his breath.

Jaenelle gave him a sharp look and her wrists a last shake. "Well, at least you've finally met. You should've invited him sooner," she added, giving Lorn an I-told-you-so look.

*He wass not ready. He wass too young.*

Saetan would have protested but Jaenelle beat him to it.

"I was much younger when you invited me," Jaenelle

said.

Saetan pressed an arm against his stomach and tried very hard to keep his expression neutral. But the emotional flavor of baffled male he was picking up from Lorn was making it very difficult.

*I did not invite you, Jaenelle,* Lorn said slowly.

"Yes, you did. Sort of. Well, not as blatantly as Saetan did—"

Saetan clamped his teeth together and made a funny, fizzy noise.

"—but I heard you, so I answered." She smiled at both of them.

Being smiled at like that was a good reason for a man to panic.

Before he had time to, Jaenelle rapidly headed for the stairs, muttering something about having to be there for the toast, and Lucivar had a very strong hand clamped on his shoulder.

"If great-grandpapa is finished with you," Lucivar said with a feral smile, "I'd like you to come upstairs and lean hard on Karla because, Queen of Glacia or not, if she makes one more of those smart-ass remarks about wing-spans, I'm going to drop her into a deep mountain lake."

"Lucivar, this is a dignified occasion," Saetan said at the same time Lorn said, *I am not your great-grandpapa.*

"No, you're not," Lucivar agreed. "But since no one was quite sure how many generations separate them from you— and it's different for each race or species—it was decided to condense all the generations into one 'great.' As for this being a dignified occasion, it was. As for the party that's waiting for Saetan to make the opening toast, I suspect it's going to be a lot of things and none of them are going to be remotely close to dignified." Lucivar looked at them and let out a pitying sigh. "You're both old enough to know better. And you've both known Jaenelle long enough to know better."

Saetan found himself being steered toward the doors at the other end of the chamber.

"Come on, be a good papa and let great-grandpapa dragon get some rest before all the little dragons pile on top of him."

Reaching the stairs, Saetan thought that the inner doors to the chamber closed just a little too quickly.

*We will talk,* Lorn said softly. *There iss much to talk about.*

Yes, there was, Saetan thought as he entered the upper chamber, accepted a glass of yarbarah, and looked at the animated, laughing faces that now ruled Kaeleer.

He wondered what Lorn thought about the many-strand web Jaenelle had woven over Kaeleer, the web that had called so many races out of the mist they'd hidden in for thousands of years.

And he wondered what the Dark Council was going to

think.

4 / Kaeleer

Lord Magstrom rubbed his forehead and wished, violently, that this session of the Dark Council would end soon. Lord Jorval, the First Tribune, had been making soothing noises and deftly evading making firm promises since the first petitioner had stepped into the circle. They all wanted the same thing: assurance that the males sent into the kindred lands that had been granted as human territories wouldn't be slaughtered by these "Hell-spawned animals."

The Council couldn't give such assurances.

The stories told by the few survivors who returned from those first attempts to secure the land had roused a great anger in the people of Little Terreille and demands for retaliation. The piles of mutilated corpses—some partially eaten—that clogged the main street of Goth a few days later when all the males who had gone into kindred lands were mysteriously returned had chilled that anger into furious impotence.

Everyone wanted something done to make these unclaimed lands safe for human occupation. No one wanted to face what was already living in those "unclaimed" lands.

"I assure you, Lady," Lord Jorval said to the strident petitioner, "we're doing everything possible to rectify the situation."

"When I came here, I was promised land to rule and males who knew how to serve properly," the Terreillean Queen replied angrily.

Lord Magstrom wondered if anyone else had noticed that the majority of Kaeleer-born males, even with the enticement of serving in the First or Second Circle of a Terreillean Queen's court, resigned with bitter animosity after a

few weeks of service. Terreillean males pleaded to serve Kaeleer-born Queens, willing to serve in the Thirteenth Circle as a menial servant if that's all that was available. Over the past three years, he'd had a few tearfully beg him to approach minor Queens outside of Little Terreille and see if there was any way they could serve in a Territory like Dharo or Nharkhava. They would do anything, they'd told him.

Anything.

For some of the younger ones he thought might be acceptable to those Territory Queens, he'd written respectful letters pointing out the men's skills and their pledged willingness to adapt to the ways of the Shadow Realm. Some had been accepted into service. At each turn of the season, he received brief letters from each of those young men, and all of them expressed their relief and delight in their new life.

But the pleas were getting more desperate as more and more Terreilleans flooded into Little Terreille.

And with every plea, with every story he heard about Terreille, he worried more and more about his youngest granddaughter. Even in his small village incidents had already occurred, and it was no longer wise for a woman to travel after dusk without a strong escort. Was that how it had begun in Terreille, with fear and distrust spiraling deeper and deeper until there was no way to stop it?

"Your request has been noted," Lord Jorval said, making a gesture that indicated dismissal. "Will the next—"

The doors at the end of the chamber blew open with a force that sent them crashing into the walls.

Jaenelle Angelline glided into the Council chamber, once again standing outside the petitioner's circle, once again flanked by the High Lord and Prince Lucivar Yaslana. Along the edges of her black, cobwebby gown's low neckline were dozens of Black Jewel chips glittering with dark fire. Around her neck was a Black—Black?—Jewel set in a necklace that looked like a spider's web made of delicate gold and silver strands. In her hands . . .

Lord Magstrom's hands shook.

She held a scepter. The lower half was made of gold and silver and had two Black-looking Jewels inset above the

hand-hold. The upper half of the scepter was a spiraled

horn.

Fingers pointed at the horn. Murmurs filled the chamber. "Lady Angelline, I must protest your interrupting—" Jorval began.

"I have something to say to this Council," Jaenelle said coldly, her voice carrying over the others. "It will not take long."

The murmurs grew louder, more forceful. "Why is
she
allowed to have a unicorn's horn?" the dismissed Terreillean Queen shouted.
"I
wasn't allowed to have one as compensation for my men being killed."

There was no expression on the High Lord's face as he looked at the Terreillean Queen. Lucivar, however, didn't try to hide his loathing.

"Silence."Jaenelle didn't raise her voice, but the undisguised malevolence in it hushed everyone. She looked at the Terreillean Queen and spoke five words.

Lord Magstrom knew enough of the Old Tongue to recognize the language but not enough to understand. Something about remembering?

Jaenelle caressed the horn, stroking it from base to tip and back down. "His name was Kaetien," she said in her midnight voice. "This horn was a gift, freely given."

"Lady Angelline," Jorval said, pounding on the Tribunal's bench as he tried to regain order.

From the seats closest to the Tribunal's bench, Lord Magstrom heard harsh voices talking about
some
people who thought they could ignore the authority of the
Council.
Jaenelle swung the scepter in an arc, holding it for a moment when the horn pointed at the floor before swinging it up until it pointed at the chamber ceiling.

A cold wind whipped through the chamber. Thunder shook the building. Lightning came down from the ceiling and entered the unicorn's horn.

Dark power filled the chamber. Unyielding, unforgiving power.

When the thunder finally stopped, when the wind finally died, the shaking members of the Dark Council climbed back into their seats.

Jaenelle Angelline stood calmly, quietly, the scepter once again held in both hands. The unicorn's horn was unmarked, but Magstrom could see the flashes of lightning now held within those Black-but-not-Black Jewels, could feel the power waiting to be unleashed.

"Hear me," Jaenelle said, "because I will say this only once. I have made the Offering to the Darkness. I am now the Queen of Ebon Askavi." She pointed the scepter at the Tribunal's bench.