Queen of the Darkness (16 page)

Her eyes widened. ”You mean ”the Queens who are here?”

”Yes.”

”Oh, dear.”

”That’s one way of putting it.”

She ducked her head as she stifled a laugh. When she dared to look at him again, he could tell she was thinking hard, reassessing the Hall and the people who resided here.

”I still don’t have anything to do,” she said hesitantly.

The almost-hopeful expectation in her eyes made him realize she had taken a long step toward accepting him as the family patriarch—and expecting him to fulfill the duties of that position.

”Lucivar didn’t say
anything
?”he asked, fully aware that the only reason Lucivar had brought her there was to keep her away from anyone who might try to use her relationship to Jaenelle.

For the first time, a bit of temper flashed in her eyes.

”He told me to try not to faint because it will upset the males if I do.”

Saetan sighed. ”Coming from Lucivar, that was almost tactful. He’s right. Blunt, but right. Males react strongly to feminine distress.”

Wilhelmina frowned. ”Is that why that large striped cat keeps following me?”

Saetan looked at the study door. A quick question on a psychic spear thread gave him the answer. ”His name is Dejaal. He’s Prince Jaal’s son. He’s appointed himself your protector until you feel comfortable with the other males at the Hall.”

”He’s kindred? I had heard stories—”

”The Blood in Little Terreille don’t have much use for the kindred, and the kindred have even less use for the Blood in Little Terreille,” Saetan said, and then added silently,
Except when they’re hungry.

Rising, he offered a hand to Wilhelmina and led her to the door. He called in a grooming brush and gave it to her. ”If you want to do something that will help all of us right now, take Dejaal out to one of the gardens and brush him. Once you get used to him, perhaps it will be easier for you to be around the rest of us.”

”If it’s supposed to make me feel easier, maybe I should brush Lucivar instead,” she said with just a hint of tartness. Saetan burst out laughing. ”Darling, if you want to get along with Lucivar, just show him that bit of steel in your backbone. Since he’s lived with Jaenelle for the past eight years, he’ll recognize it for what it is.”

8 / Kaeleer

”Are you sure this is the path back to the Hall?” Daemon asked as he ducked under a low-hanging branch.

We left the path,Ladvarian said.
We have to cross the creek, and the path has no bridge.

”I don’t need a bridge to cross the creek.”

Ladvarian looked at Daemon’s shoes.
You would get wet.

”I’d survive,” Daemon muttered.

When he left Tersa’s cottage, he’d found Ladvarian waiting to escort him back to the Hall. At first, he’d wondered if this was a subtle kind of insult, implying that he couldn’t find his way back by himself. Then, when Ladvarian offered to show him a footpath that ran between Halaway and the Hall, he’d wondered if he was being set up for an ambush. Finally he realized the dog just wanted to spend a little time getting to know the male whose duties made him an important part of the Queen’s life.

What he didn’t like was the growing impression that he was being labeled as a human who needed to be coddled.

He stopped walking. ”Look, this has got to stop. I may not be an Eyrien warrior, but I’m perfectly capable of walking a couple of miles without collapsing, I can get across a creek without getting wet if I choose to, and I don’t need a short furball treating me like I can’t survive if I’m not inside a house full of servants. Do you understand?”

Ladvarian wagged his tail.
Yes. You want to be treated like a Kaeleer male.

Daemon rocked back on his heels and studied the Sceltie. ”Is that what I said?”

Yes.Ladvarian headed off at an abrupt angle.
This way.

A minute later, they arrived at the creek. Ladvarian trotted up to the bank and leaped. By rights, he should have landed in the middle of the creek, but he kept sailing over it, and when he landed, he was standing a foot above the ground, a doggy grin on his face.

Daemon looked at the creek, looked at the Sceltie, and then air walked over the creek to the other bank.

Did Jaenelle teach you that?

Remembering the afternoon when Jaenelle had shown him how to walk on air, Daemon’s chest tightened. ”Yes,” he said softly, ”she did.”

She taught me, too.Ladvarian sounded pleased.

As soon as they walked through another stand of trees, Daemon saw the road. The drive, he amended.

Once the north road out of Halaway crossed the bridge, it became the drive up to the Hall, and the land spread out before him was the family estate.

He headed for the drive, then spun around when Ladvarian growled, half-expecting an attack despite the dog’s display of friendship.

But Ladvarian was facing the way they’d come. The bridge was out of sight because of the roll of the land, but the wind was coming from that direction.

”What is it?” Daemon asked, opening his first inner barrier enough to sense the area around them.

Humans are coming. Three carriages. I’ve warned the other males, but we have to get back now.

Ladvarian started trotting in a direct line toward the Hall, forcing Daemon into a fast walk to keep up.

”What’s wrong with humans coming to the Hall?”

Ladvarian’s psychic scent became hostile.
They feel wrong.

The sudden fierceness was a sharp reminder that the small male trotting beside him was also a Red-Jeweled Warlord, and if Lucivar had overseen some of Ladvarian’s training, the Sceltie was a far more effective fighter than anyone might suspect.

Nighthawk will take you to the Hall. He runs faster.

Before Daemon could wonder about that cryptic remark, he heard the hoofbeats pounding toward him.

Under other circumstances, once he saw the black horse, he would have declined the offer—not only because riding a stallion bareback wasn’t a healthy idea, but because, for just a moment, the wind and the horse’s movement had lifted its forelock and he’d seen the Gray Jewel hidden underneath. Despite the difference in their species, he recognized the aggressive psychic scent of another Warlord Prince. But when he didn’t move after the horse pulled up, Ladvarian nipped his calf.
Go, Daemon.
Now.

He barely had time to mount and grab a fistful of the long mane before Nighthawk took off at a flat-out gallop cross-country. Wondering how Ladvarian was going to keep up with them at that pace, he glanced back and saw the dog balanced on the horse’s rump.

When the horse angled toward the last, long, straight section of the drive, Daemon tugged on the mane, and shouted, ”Ease up,” worried that Nighthawk would slip on the gravel at that speed.

He felt a slight lift, and then heard... nothing. No pounding hooves, no scattering gravel. Looking over Nighthawk’s left shoulder, he saw those driving legs racing on air straight for the front door.

They were close enough to see the details of the dragon’s head doorknocker before Nighthawk sat back on his haunches and finally came to a stop a hand span away from the steps.

Daemon dismounted and walked up the steps, not sure if his legs were trembling from muscle tension or frayed nerves. When he reached the door and looked back, there was no sign of Nighthawk, but he could sense the stallion’s presence nearby.

”Hell’s fire,” he muttered as a footman opened the door.

Ladvarian rushed in ahead of him and disappeared.

Daemon entered more slowly, feeling the press of male hostility. Besides the footman, the only visible person in the great hall was Beale, the butler, but he doubted they were the only ones present.

”It seems we’re about to have company,” Daemon said as he smoothed back his hair and straightened his black jacket.

”So it would seem,” Beale replied blandly. ”If you would remain here, Prince Yaslana and the High Lord will be arriving shortly.”

Daemon looked around, then stepped into the formal receiving room just far enough not to be seen by whoever walked through the door.

Observing the move, Beale shifted position, putting himself directly in Daemon’s line of sight.

Lucivar,Daemon said, using an Ebon-gray spear thread.

I’m coming in through the servants’ door at the back of the hall.

If any of them manage to slip past us, is there any way for them to reach the living quarters?

The only way to the upper floors from that part of the Hall is by using the staircase in the informal receiving room. Don’t worry about it. Kaelas is there. Nothing’s going to get up those stairs. And the High Lord is coming down from that direction.

Daemon heard the carriages pull up in front of the Hall, saw Beale nod to the footman when someone banged on the door.

Footsteps. Rustling clothes. Then a woman’s voice.

”I demand to see Wilhelmina Benedict.”

Cold rage slipped through him so fast he was riding the killing edge before he realized he’d taken the first step toward it. He hadn’t heard her voice in thirteen years, but he recognized it.

”Lady Benedict is not available,” Beale said in a bland voice.

”Don’t tell me that. I’m the Queen of Chaillot and I—”

Daemon stepped out of the receiving room. ”Good afternoon, Alexandra,” he said too calmly. ”Such a pleasure to see you again.”

”You.” Alexandra stared at him, her eyes wide and fearful. Then the anger came. ”You arranged for that

’tour’ of Briarwood, didn’t you?”

”All things considered, it was the least I could do.” He took a step toward her. ”I told you I would wash the streets of Beldon Mor with blood if you betrayed me.”

”You also said you would put me in my grave.”

”I decided that letting you live was a more thorough punishment.”

”You bastard! You—” Alexandra started shivering. All of her entourage started shivering.

The intense, burning cold hit him a moment later, stunning him enough that he slipped away from the killing edge.

A moment after that, Saetan stepped into the great hall.

Is that what I look like when I go cold?Daemon wondered, unable to look away from glazed, sleepy eyes and the malevolently gentle smile.

”Lady Angelline.” Saetan’s voice rolled through the Hall like soft thunder. ”I always knew we would meet someday to settle the debt, but I never thought you would be foolish enough to come here.”

Alexandra clenched her hands but couldn’t stop shaking. ”I came to take my granddaughters home. Let them go, and we’ll leave.”

”Lady Benedict will be informed that you’re here. If she wants to see you, a meeting will be arranged—fully chaperoned, of course.”

”You dare imply that I present some kind of danger?”

”I know you do. The only question is, how much of a danger.”

Alexandra’s voice rose. ”You have no right—”

”I rule here,” Saetan snarled. ”You’re the one who has no rights, Lady. None at all. Except those I grant you. And I grant you little.”

”I want to see my granddaughters.
Both
of them.”

Something savage flickered at the back of Saetan’s eyes. He looked at Leland and Philip, then turned his attention back to Alexandra. His voice dropped into a singsong croon. ”I had two long, terrible years in which to come up with the perfect execution for the three of you. It will take you two long, terrible years to die, and every minute of it will be filled with more pain than you can imagine. However, in this case, I must have my Queen’s consent before I begin.” He turned away from them. ”Beale, prepare some rooms for our guests. They’ll be staying with us for a while.”

As he walked past Daemon toward his study, their eyes met.

Daemon looked at Leland, who was clinging to Philip and crying softly; at the other Queens and their males, who were cowering in a tight group; and, finally, at Alexandra, who stared at him with terrified eyes and whose skin was bleached of any color.

Turning on his heel, he headed for the study and noticed Lucivar standing quietly at the back of the hall.

If you go in there, be careful, Bastard,Lucivar said.

Nodding, Daemon walked into the study.

Saetan stood by the desk, carefully pouring a glass of brandy. He looked up, poured a second glass, and extended it toward Daemon.

Daemon accepted the glass and took a healthy swallow, hoping it would thaw him a little.

”Another male’s rage shouldn’t throw you so much it knocks you away from the killing edge,” Saetan said quietly.

”I’d never felt anything quite like that before.”

”And if you feel it again, will it throw you again?”

Daemon looked at the man standing an arm’s length away from him and understood it was the Steward of the Dark Court and not his father who was asking the question. ”No, it won’t.”

Moving carefully, as if he were too aware that any sudden movement might unleash the violence still raging inside him, Saetan leaned against his blackwood desk.

Keeping his own movements equally controlled, Daemon poured himself another brandy. ”Do you think the Queen will give her consent?”

”No. Since her relatives inflicted harm on her and not someone else, she’ll oppose the execution. But I’ll still make the request.”

Daemon gently swirled the brandy in his glass. ”If, for some reason, she doesn’t oppose it, may I watch?”

Saetan’s smile was sweet and vicious. ”My darling Prince, if Jaenelle actually gives her consent, you can do more than watch.”

9 / Kaeleer

Lord Magstrom sighed as he laid his stack of files on the large table already filled with stacks of files. He sighed again when his elbow jostled a corner stack and the top bulging file spilled on the floor. Going down on one knee, he began collecting the papers.

Thank the Darkness claiming day had ended and the autumn service fair was officially over. Perhaps he should decline to work the service fair next spring. The grueling hours were taxing for a man his age, but it was the heartbreaking hope and desperation on the immigrants’ faces that wrung him dry. How could he look at a woman no older than his youngest granddaughter and not want to help her find a place to live where the fear lurking at the back of her eyes would be replaced by happiness? How could he talk to a courteous, well-spoken man who had been horrifically scarred by repeated attempts to ”teach him obedience” and not want to send him to some quiet village where he could regain his self-respect and not have to wonder what was going to happen to him every time the Lady who ruled there looked in his direction?