Queen of the Darkness (20 page)

When they reached the practice circle, Wilhelmina hung back. Surreal pushed her way to the front.

When an Eyrien warrior snarled at her for elbowing him in the ribs, she snarled back, pleased that he was the one to give ground.

She looked around, saw Daemon, and felt her breathing hitch. He looked calm enough, standing there with a mug of coffee in one hand, but his face had that set look that she’d seen when they were in the Coach on the way here. It wasn’t as bad as it had been then, but it wasn’t good.

Then Lucivar started talking, and she put her concern for Daemon aside for the time being.

”There are reasons why Eyrien males are the warriors,” Lucivar said, his eyes skimming over the women as he paced slowly down the line and back again. ”We’re bigger, stronger, and we have the temperament for killing. You have other strengths and other skills. Most of the time, that works out well.

But that’s no reason for you to be unable to defend yourselves. And before you give me any shit about not being able to handle a weapon, I’ll remind you that most of you don’t have any trouble using kitchen knives, and some of them are as big as a hunting knife. They just look different. And some of you will want to wiggle out of this training by telling me that, no matter how much she knows, a woman can’t hold her own against a male. Right?” Looking at the other practice circle, he roared, ”CAT! Get over here!”

Wondering why he’d want a feline, Surreal looked toward the circle. Her breath came out in a hiss as the woman talking to Karla, Morghann, and Gabrielle turned around. ”Jaenelle,” she whispered.

She focused on Daemon again. He didn’t look shocked to see Jaenelle. Maybe they’d already had a chance to talk. Maybe... No, it was probably way too early to think about
those
maybes.

The other women strode toward the practice circle. Jaenelle came more slowly, her eyes fixed on Lucivar while she whipped the stick around her waist with enough force to sting the air.

Lucivar sidestepped to the middle of the circle, always watching her. ”Come play with me, Cat,” he said, giving her an arrogant smile.

She snarled at him and began to circle.

”Hallevar,” Lucivar said as he circled with her. ”Call the time.”

Surreal felt Falonar tense beside her.

”What’s time?” she asked, nudging him when he didn’t answer.

”Ten minutes,” Falonar replied grimly. ”He’ll beat her into the ground long before that.”

Surreal slashed a look at Daemon and started to sweat. If that happened, what would Sadi do? Easy answer. The hard question was, what could any of them do to stop him from tearing Lucivar apart?

The first clash of the sticks had her heart jumping into her throat. After that she wasn’t aware of anything except Jaenelle and Lucivar moving gracefully through a savage dance.

Seconds passed into minutes.

”Mother Night,” Falonar whispered. ”She’s making him work for it.”

Lucivar’s chest glistened with sweat. Surreal could hear his deep, harsh breathing. Her own sweat chilled her skin when she saw the wild look in Jaenelle’s eyes.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when, after half a dozen lightning-fast moves, Jaenelle lost her balance for a split second. Lucivar danced back just long enough to let her get her feet solidly under her before attacking again.

”He could have put her on the ground right then and ended it,” Falonar said softly.

”He wants to work her, not get her mad enough to really go after him,” Chaosti replied just as softly, stepping up behind Surreal.

Finally, Hallevar yelled, ”TIME!”

Lucivar and Jaenelle circled, thrust, clashed.

”DAMN YOU BOTH, I SAID TIME!”

They broke apart, backed away.

Hallevar strode into the circle and took the stick away from Lucivar. He looked at Jaenelle, hesitated, then backed off when Lucivar shook his head.

”Come on, Cat,” Lucivar gasped as he moved toward her. ”We’ve got to walk to cool down.”

Her head snapped up. She braced her feet in a fighting stance.

Lucivar held up his hands and kept moving forward.

The wild look in her eyes faded. ”Water.”

”Walk first,” he said, taking the stick away from her.

”Prick,” she snarled halfheartedly, but she walked with him.

”If you don’t give me a hard time about it, you can even have breakfast.” Lucivar handed the stick to Falonar as he and Jaenelle walked past. He took a couple of towels from Aaron, draped one over Jaenelle’s neck, and began to rub himself down with the other.

Looking around, Surreal noticed that Khardeen was also in the crowd, watching and alert. And she noticed, with a sigh of relief, that Saetan was talking quietly with Daemon.

Turning back to Falonar, she brushed her fingers against the stick. ”Do you think I’ll ever get half that good with one of these?” She half expected some dismissive comment, but when he didn’t answer, she looked up to see him studying her seriously.

”If you can become half as proficient with this as she is, you’ll be able to take down any male except an Eyrien warrior,” Falonar said slowly. ”And you’ll be able to take down half of them as well.” Then he looked at Marian. ”Are you all right, Lady?”

Marian let out a shuddering breath. ”I’m fine, thank you, Prince Falonar. It’s just... sometimes when they’re so intense ...”

Falonar bowed just enough to show respect, then left them to talk with Hallevar.

”Are you really all right?” Surreal asked, drawing Marian a little ways away from the crowd.

Marian’s smile was a trifle strained. ”Lucivar’s always tense after he’s been at the service fair, and he’s been worried about Daemon.”

Looking back, Surreal saw Daemon walking toward the Hall with the High Lord. Well, that was one worry out of the way for the moment.

She also noticed the way Jaenelle kept glancing at Daemon while Lucivar piled food on a plate. She smiled.

”Usually I can help him relieve the tension,” Marian continued.

Her self-conscious expression told Surreal exactly how Marian helped relieve the tension. The woman had guts to get into a bed with a man like Lucivar when his temper was already on the edge.

”Since that wasn’t an option this time...”

No,Surreal thought as Marian gave her a speculative look. If Lucivar had never suggested an alternative to intercourse,
she
certainly wasn’t going to supply the information.

After a moment, Marian shrugged. ”Usually when Jaenelle is his sparring partner, they just keep working through the moves until he’s sweated out the tension. But this morning... Jaenelle’s relatives showing up like this has put her on edge, too.”

”Yeah, seeing her family again isn’t a reason to cheer.”

Marian stiffened. ”Her
family
lives here.”

”Yes,” Surreal said after a minute, ”I guess they do.”

2 / Kaeleer

Wilhelmina walked silently beside Lucivar as he escorted her to her room. She wished he would put his arm around her. Maybe then she would stop shivering. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so afraid.

That was funny. A few hours ago, she’d been terrified of him, especially after she’d seen him and Jaenelle attacking each other with the sticks.

Afterward, she’d tried to slip back to the Hall before anyone noticed because she’d been sure her heart would just burst if any of those Eyrien warriors snarled at her when she couldn’t do the exercises properly. But Lucivar had noticed her slinking away. He’d grabbed the back of her tunic and hauled her into the practice circle.

And he’d been kind. While other Eyriens instructed the other women, and Marian and some of the coven had demonstrated the moves, he had worked with her and the girl, Jillian. Never in a hurry, never impatient, his hands firm but gentle when he repositioned her body, his voice always calm and encouraging.

She hadn’t expected that from him. And she hadn’t expected him to stay with her when she went to meet Alexandra, Leland, and Philip.

She should have said ”no” when the High Lord told her they were here and wanted to talk to her. But she’d felt an obligation to see them, since they’d come all this way.

They’d been angry when Lucivar refused to let the Province Queens and the escorts into the room and refused to leave himself. Oh, he’d gone out onto the balcony, but no one was going to forget his presence.

She could tell they had been as insulted as she had been relieved, but they
had
been glad to see her.

They’d all hugged her and complimented her on how pretty she’d become and how worried they had been about her and how much they’d missed her...

And then Alexandra told her not to worry. They would find a way to break the contract and get her out of this place and away from these people. She’d tried to explain that she intended to honor the contract, that the High Lord and Prince Yaslana weren’t the monsters Alexandra was trying to make them out to be.

They didn’t listen, just as they hadn’t listened years ago when her father, Robert Benedict, had tried to force himself on her after Jaenelle disappeared—a few months after he had come down with the illness that had finally killed him. She had run away because she’d been afraid that, one day, no one would hear her screams or, if they did, would ignore them because she was turning into a ”difficult” child, just like Jaenelle.

They didn’t listen. Because they were so sure they were right, so sure that they knew what was best.

Even Philip. He kept telling her that it would be all right now, that Robert was dead so it would be all right. But it wouldn’t be,
couldn’t be,
all right because they thought of her as being ”damaged”

somehow—she could see that in their eyes—and anything she thought or felt or wanted would be colored by that conviction. And because she cared for Philip and knew he would be hurt by it, she couldn’t tell them why she
really
wanted to stay there.

Her fear that they might actually be able to take her away after she’d struggled so hard to get to Kaeleer had escalated to the point where she had leaped up from the couch, and yelled, ”No! I don’t want to!”

Lucivar was in the room and hurrying her away from them before anyone else could move.

But she couldn’t stop shaking, and the fear was eating her alive.

Lucivar’s hand came down on her shoulder, stopping her. A moment later, he called in a flask. He vanished the cap, gripped the back of her head with one hand, and held the flask up to her lips.

”If you keep shaking like that, you’re going to rip something,” he said, sounding annoyed. ”Take a sip of this. It’ll settle your nerves.”

”I don’t want a sedative,” Wilhelmina said, trying to pull away as desperation swelled inside her.

”There’s nothing wrong with me.”

”Nothing except you’ve gone way past scared, and that’s not good for you.” Lucivar paused, studying her. ”It’s not a sedative, Wilhelmina,” he said quietly. ”It’s Khary’s home brew. It’s got a kick to it that will mellow you out—and it’ll also keep you from breaking apart. Now, hold your nose and swallow.”

She didn’t hold her nose. She
did
swallow the sip he gave her.

Golden.

It flowed over her tongue like ripe plums and summer heat, pooled in her stomach for a moment, and then flowed into her limbs.

When he offered her another swallow, she took it. That glorious heat melted her fear and produced a sensuous warmth inside her. If she had another sip, she might even feel brave—fiercely, wonderfully brave.

But Lucivar wasn’t offering another sip. She wasn’t aware that he’d released her, but he had the cap in one hand now and the flask in the other, and he was going to take away that delicious heat.

She snatched the flask and ran down the corridor, whipped around a corner, and guzzled as much as she could before he caught up to her and took it away.

She leaned against the wall and smiled at him. She felt enormously pleased when he took a couple of steps back and watched her warily.

Lucivar sniffed the flask, took a small sip, and said, ”Shit.”

”That would be a rude thing to do in the corridor.”

He swore softly while he capped the flask and vanished it, but it sounded more like laughter. ”Come on, little witch. Let’s get you settled somewhere while you can still walk.”

She walked toward him to prove that she could, but the floor suddenly got lumpy, and she tripped and fell against him.

”I am very brave,” she told him, leaning against his chest.

”You are very drunk.”

”Mmmm not.” Then she remembered the important thing she had to do. The most important thing. ”I want to see my sister.” She smacked her hand as hard as she could against the surface she was leaning on to emphasize her point. She looked at her stinging hand. ”It hurts.”

”We’ll have matching bruises,” Lucivar said dryly.

”Okay.”

Muttering, he steered her through the corridors.

She felt so wonderful, she wanted to sing, but all the songs she knew seemed so ... polite. ”Do you know any naughty songs?”

”Mother Night,” he muttered.

”Don’t know that one. How does it go?”

”This way,” he said, steering her around a corner.

She got away from him and ran down the corridor, flapping her arms. ”I can flyyyyy.”

When he caught her again, he wrapped one arm around her waist, knocked once on the door in front of them, and hauled her inside.

”Cat!”

Tears filled Wilhelmina’s eyes when Jaenelle walked out of the adjoining room. The warm smile of greeting was all she needed to see.

Slipping out of Lucivar’s grip, she stumbled a couple of steps and hugged Jaenelle.

”I’ve missed you,” Wilhelmina said, laughing while tears ran down her face. ”I’ve missed you so much.

I’m sorry I wasn’t braver. You were my little sister, and I should have looked after you. But you were the one who always looked after me.” She leaned back, holding Jaenelle’s shoulders for balance.

”You’re so pretty.”

”And you’re drunk.” Those sapphire eyes stared at Lucivar. ”What did you do to her?”

”Her nerves were so strained after meeting your relatives, I was afraid she’d break. So I asked Khary for the strongest brew he had in a flask because I figured she wouldn’t take more than a sip.” Lucivar winced. ”She guzzled half the flask—and it wasn’t one of his home brews, it was the concoction you created.”