Dreams Made Flesh

One

Rage filled him. Love drove him. He and Witch hit the Green web. He rolled, but he didn't have Lucivar's skill. They broke through close to the middle of the web. He kept rolling so that when they hit the Sapphire, they were close to the edge. He rolled the other way, wrapping her in the web's power.

They broke through the Sapphire, but they weren't falling as fast now. He had a little more time to brace, to plan, to pour the strength of his Black jewels into fighting the fall.

They hit the Red, rolled, clung for a second before falling to the Gray. Only half the Gray strands broke immediately. He strained back as hard as he could. When the other half broke, he rolled them upward while the web swung them down toward the Ebon-gray. He pulled against the swing, slowing it, slowing it.

When the other side of the Gray broke, they sailed down to the Ebon-gray. The web sagged when they landed, then stretched, then stretched a little more before the strands began to break.

His Black jewels were almost drained, but he held on, held on, held on as they floated onto the Black web.

And nothing happened.

Shaking, shivering, he stared at the Black web, not quite daring to believe.

It took him a minute to get his hands to unlock from their grip around her ankles. When he was finally able to let go, he floated cautiously above the web. Near her shoulder, he noticed two small broken strands. Very carefully, he smoothed the Black strands over the other colors that cocooned her.

He could barely see her, only just enough to make out the tiny spiral horn. But that was enough.

*We did it, * he whispered. He looked up. He couldn't see his brother and father, but he knew they were still floating in the abyss, exhausted from their own part of this fight to save her. *Lucivar! Priest! We did it!*

Then he looked at Witch … and horror filled him. In that moment of inattention, the Black web's strands had sagged, stretched, started to break. He lunged, trying to grab her. His fingertips brushed against her ankle, but no matter how hard he strained, he couldn't get any closer.

Her eyes opened. Even through the cocoon of webs, they glittered like fine sapphires.

"Daemon." Little more than an exhalation of breath, a sigh. "Daemon."

Then the strands of Black web broke, and she spiraled down into the Darkness and disappeared.

"No." Grief ensnared him, cocooned him in agony. "Noooo!"

Still trembling from the nightmare that had become a familiar companion over the past few months, Daemon Sadi braced his hands against the shower walls and let the hot water sluice over his bowed head.

He loved Jaenelle Angelline with everything in him, had waited all of his seventeen hundred years for the day when he would surrender to Witch and serve her, be her lover. He had dreamed of her, yearned for her, had endured the centuries of being used as a pleasure slave because he had to survive in order to find her. And now…

He was losing her. He didn't know what he'd done, or hadn't done, to cause her feelings for him to change, but he was losing her. There was sadness lurking in the depths of her sapphire eyes whenever he was with her, and with each passing day, she seemed a little more distant, a little more out of reach.

Daemon shook his head. He'd let doubt become a living cry of pain while the kindred were fighting to hold on to Jaenelle and heal her body, and those doubts had cost her dearly. He couldn't afford to let doubt surface again.

Soaping up a washcloth, he scrubbed himself fiercely, as if washing the sweat off his skin could also scour the nightmare from his mind and heart. When he finally shut off the water and toweled himself dry, his body was clean…and his heart still ached.

Going back into the bedroom of the master suite in his family's town house in Amdarh, Dhemlan's capital city, he looked at the bed and hesitated. No. He wouldn't take a chance of the nightmare coming back. Once in a night was more than enough. Besides, he could spend the hours before dawn going over the papers Marcus, his man of business, had delivered to the town house for his review.

During the years when he'd been lost in the Twisted Kingdom and the years he'd remained hidden while he regained his strength and patched together his sanity, Marcus had worked diligently on his behalf. Because of that, much of the wealth he'd accumulated over the centuries had been quietly transferred to investments in various Territories in Kaeleer. That diligence had served Marcus as well, establishing him as a businessman and making it possible for him to bring his wife and young daughter to Kaeleer without having to serve in a Queen's court. Now Marcus and his family also lived in Amdarh, where it was safe for a child to play in the park with her friends, where a woman could walk down the street and not fear the men she passed, where a man wouldn't have to wonder if he would be snatched and maimed for the amusement of a bitch's court.

Using Craft, Daemon turned on the candle-light near the chair and table where he'd left the large stack of papers waiting for his perusal. Between his personal assets and controlling the vast wealth of the SaDiablo family, he had enough work to keep him busy, enough work to fill the hours when Jaenelle…

He reached for the robe at the foot of the bed, then turned away empty-handed to stand in front of the freestanding mirror.

He had the light-brown skin, black hair, and gold eyes that were common to the long-lived races. But his face was beautiful rather than handsome and left women breathless; his deep, cultured voice with its sexual edge could cause a pulse to race; and his body, trim, toned and full of feline grace, made women, and more than one man, crave him. He was seduction in motion, a promise of pleasure to the woman who held his affection and loyalty…and a promise of pain to everyone else who thought to use him in a bed.

He was also a Black Widow, one of the Blood who could wield the Hourglass's Craft of dreams and visions… and poisons. His father had been the first male in the history of the Blood to become a Black Widow. He had been born one, and the venom held in the sac beneath the ring-finger nail of his right hand was deadly. Adding that to the fact that he wore Black Jewels made him the most powerful, and dangerous, male in the history of the Blood, second only to Saetan.

No. Not second. They had taken each other's measure, and they both knew the truth. He might be his father's mirror, but his power was a little stronger, a little darker. And whatever held his father in check from unleashing that power didn't hold him. With the right provocation, there was nothing he couldn't, and wouldn't, do.

Especially when it came to Jaenelle Angelline, the living myth, dreams made flesh, the Queen who had sacrificed herself and the tremendous power she'd wielded in order to cleanse the taint that Dorothea and Hekatah SaDiablo had smeared over the Blood in Terreille.

The Queen who was called Kaeleer's Heart.

She had stopped the war that would have devastated Kaeleer. The price had been vicious. Even though she had healed enough to come home, she had suffered so much during the first weeks when he'd brought her back to SaDiablo Hall. True, the pain had lessened as autumn gave way to the first breath of winter, but even now, when the winter days would soon give way to the promise of spring, she was still so fragile, still an invalid who could barely walk from bed to chair. She never spoke about shattering her Ebony Jewels, never spoke of the new Jewel, Twilight's Dawn, that had taken the place of what she had lost.

She didn't say much of anything anymore. At least, not to him.

"It's not over," he told his reflection. "You've kept your best weapons sheathed, old son. Maybe it's time to remind your Lady what you can offer a woman, remind her that you're hers for the taking. If you don't play this game out to the full and you lose because of it, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. It's not over until she asks you to leave, so give her a reason to want you to stay."

Turning away from the mirror, he slipped into the robe, poured a snifter of brandy, and settled in the chair to take care of the work that had brought him to Amdarh. If he could get through the business that required his immediate attention, he'd have time to take care of some personal errands in the morning before meeting with Marcus…and he'd be home with Jaenelle by tonight.

Two

Daemon left the town house and strode down the sidewalk, his hands in the pockets of his wool coat, the collar flipped up to shield his neck from the bite of winter air. The walkways and streets were clear of snow, which made it easy to enjoy a brisk morning walk.

Personal errands first. As night gave way to dawn, he'd realized the only way to battle doubt was by feeding hope. He knew what he wanted more than anything else, and this would be a small step in the right direction.

The bookseller he patronized was his first stop, and the man barely had time to open his store before Daemon arrived. Today, browsing wasn't a temptation, so he simply looked at the books the man had set aside for him. Reading was Jaenelle's main entertainment these days, so every time he came to Amdarh on business, he made a point of stopping at the store. He selected three of the six books that had been set aside, but asked the bookseller to hold the others until he returned to the city in a fortnight. Buying them but not giving her all of them seemed dishonest, as if he were withholding a treat. Delaying the purchase gave him the pleasure of bringing her something new each time he had to leave the Hall on family business, and he needed to give her anything he could.

By the time he left the bookstore, there were plenty of people out and about Amdarh's shopping district. As he walked to his next destination, he greeted the men and women he'd met at aristo houses when he'd been invited to dinner or to a party. He'd made an effort to become acquainted with the Blood aristos in the city, especially the ones who served in Lady Zhara's court, since she ruled Dhemlan's capital. Except for Karla, the boyos and the coven who had made up Jaenelle's First Circle hadn't quite forgiven him for the games he'd played to keep them away from her while she created the spells that would protect them and Kaeleer. And he and Lucivar still weren't quite easy with each other. What he'd done in Dorothea's camp to protect his brother's wife and son was a still-healing wound between them.

He greeted two witches he'd met at a party when he was in Amdarh a few weeks ago buying gifts for Winsol. Baffled by the wary stares they gave him before returning the greeting, he shrugged it off as unimportant, his mind already focused on the shop at the end of the block.

"Good morning, Prince Sadi," Banard said as soon as Daemon walked into the shop. "I hadn't expected to see you here so soon after Winsol. Did the Lady like the pin?"

"Good morning," Daemon replied as he walked up to one of the glass displays that also served as a counter. "Yes, Lady Angelline was delighted with the unicorn pin."

A gifted craftsman who worked with precious gems and metals, Banard, a Blood male who wore no Jewel himself, had been commissioned over the years to create a number of unique pieces for darker-Jeweled Blood… including Jaenelle's scepter when she'd established her Dark Court.

"I have a commission for you," Daemon said. "One that requires your discretion for the time being."

Banard smiled. "Don't they all require discretion, Prince?"

"Yes, they do," he replied, returning the smile to acknowledge the truth ofBanard's statement. "But this one needs a little more than most."

Banard just continued to smile.

Daemon hesitated, wondering if he was being premature. Didn't matter. If he ended up being a fool over this, so be it. "I want you to make two rings. One… I'm not really sure how I want it to look." Despite the fact that they were alone in the shop, he lowered his voice. "The other is a plain gold band."

"Do you know the ring size for this gold band?"

In answer, Daemon held out his left hand.

"Ah." Banard's smile widened. "Then this other must be a special ring for a special Lady?"

"A ring worthy of a lifetime."

Banard called in a velvet-lined ring case. Brass rings marched in neat rows from the largest, which would fit a man twice Daemon's size, to the smallest, which looked like it would fit only a small child.

"I made the rings for the Lady's Court," Banard said, his fingers moving above the rows of brass rings. "If I remember correctly…" He selected a ring and held it out.

Daemon slipped it on his finger. A perfect fit. Just as the Consort's Ring had been a perfect fit.

He removed the ring and gave it back to Banard, who returned the ring to its place and vanished the case.

"As for the other…"

Banard broke off as the shop's door opened and a woman stepped inside. She smiled at them, then moved to the display case that contained brooches.

"I'll give the matter some thought," Banard continued quietly. "Make a few sketches for you to look at the next time you're in Amdarh. Would that be sufficient?"

"That would be fine," Daemon replied, working to keep his voice from turning into a snarl. Something in the air. Something that honed his temper.

He turned his head and studied the woman. A lighter-Jeweled witch. Who was cloaked in an illusion spell. The kind of spell that could only be made through the Hourglass's Craft. That's what he sensed. But there was nothing… enhanced… about her appearance. She was attractive but hardly stunning. Perhaps she was disfigured in some way, from accident or illness. There were some things even the best Healer couldn't fix completely, so an illusion spell was sometimes used to hide a disfigurement.

Wondering if she had come from Terreille, and knowing the cruel and terrible things Dorothea and her followers had done to people, he felt a moment's pity for her and was glad the illusion spell gave her the courage to go out in the world.

"There is one thing I can show you," Banard said. "I just finished it yesterday." He retreated behind the curtain that shielded his workroom and the private showrooms, then returned quickly with a piece of folded black velvet. He set the cloth on the counter and revealed its contents.

Daemon picked up the bracelet. It was a double strand of white and yellow gold set with precious and semiprecious gems that matched the colors of the Jewels from the Rose to the Black.

"It's beautiful," Daemon said. And so appropriate since it reflected every color that made up Twilight's Dawn, the Jewel Jaenelle now wore. "A special gift for a special Lady."

"I was hoping you would think so," Banard said.

Grinning, he set it back on the velvet. "Wrap it up, and I'll take it with me."

"Oh. May I see it?"

The woman was standing near him, focused on the bracelet. There was a greediness in her eyes that made him want to lash out, to sweep the bracelet out of sight. But he thought of the illusion spell and the reasons she might have paid a Black Widow to create one. Beauty of any kind might be a new discovery for her.

He forced himself to step aside so she could get a better look at the bracelet, but he rested his hand on the counter close to the velvet, a subtle claim and a warning that she could look but not touch.

After a long study, she smiled and moved back to the counter with the brooches.

Wrapping the velvet around the bracelet, Daemon vanished it, promised to return in a fortnight, and turned to leave the shop. At the door, he looked back at the woman, but her attention was on the brooches, not on him. Shrugging off his uneasiness as a reaction to living in Terreille for most of his life, he headed back to the family town house, where he and Marcus would share a midday meal before getting down to business.

A few minutes later, Roxie left Banard's shop with a brooch safely tucked in her small carry bag. She strolled down the street, stopping to look into store windows, until she reached the horse-drawn cab waiting by the curb. As soon as she scrambled inside, the driver pulled into the stream of horse-drawn conveyances and Craft-powered coaches. "Well?" Lektra demanded, twisting a curl around her finger. "I think he noticed the illusion spell," Roxie said, feeling a little breathless now that their plan was truly in motion.

"Doesn't matter," Lektra replied. "There are plenty of reasons why people pay for illusion spells to change their looks. Besides, I was assured sensing an illusion spell isn't the same as seeing beneath it."

Lektra was the niece of a Queen who ruled a two-village District in Dhemlan, so she was known to many of the aristo Blood in Amdarh and couldn't afford to draw attention to herself right now…not if their plan was going to work. That was why Roxie had volunteered to get the information they needed. But Lektra had come up with the idea of paying a Black Widow to create the illusion spell so Roxie, a Rihlander originally from Ebon Rih, would look like a Dhemlan witch.

"I bought this," Roxie said, taking the brooch out of her carry bag.

"This will do nicely," Lektra said as she examined the brooch. "It's certainly pretty, and, most important, it has Banard's mark on the back."

"There were prettier ones," Roxie said.

"What do you care? You're not going to wear it."

"But…" Even if it wasn't the one she would have chosen if she could have spent anything she wanted, she'd still expected to keep it. After all, it was a brooch by Banard…something she could never afford for herself.

"What was Daemon doing there? What was he buying?"

"I think he commissioned Banard to make something special… probably for that stupid cripple, Jaenelle. But he did buy a bracelet. 'A special gift for a special Lady.' " As she described the bracelet, Lektra's gold eyes gleamed with delight.

"We can go to another jeweler and get a duplicate made," Lektra said excitedly. "It doesn't have to be exact, just have all the right elements, so when someone sees me wearing it, they'll think it's the one Banard made. And since Jaenelle Angelline isn't likely to be coming to Amdarh anytime soon, no one will know the difference."

"What about the brooch?" Roxie asked.

"While he was in Amdarh last time, Daemon attended several parties. There's always dozens of them just before the actual thirteen days of Winsol. Some of the theater folk attended one of them, and I heard Daemon spent some time with one of the actresses. Danced with her a couple of times. Even stood as her escort for dinner." Lektra pouted.

"So maybe he's not as chaste as everyone thinks."

"Don't be a fool. Of course he's chaste. Hell's fire! Any hint that he's been unfaithful to precious Jaenelle would have everyone worth knowing shunning him…which is the whole point, remember?" Lektra smiled. "That's why using this actress is the perfect starting point to freeing Daemon from Jaenelle's control. People did notice the attention he paid the bitch. If she receives a gift from a secret admirer…a 'special gift for a special Lady'…she's going to wear it, and she's going to tell people it's from a secret admirer. So all we have to do is mention that someone had seen Daemon in Banard's shop buying a 'special gift' and people will tie the knot between those two bits of information themselves."

Lektra tapped her lips with a fingertip and looked thoughtful. "Maybe I won't have another bracelet made after all. It will be so much nicer when Daemon takes me to Banard's shop to buy one for me."

"What do I get out of this?" Roxie muttered.

"You get to share the prize, just as I promised," Lektra said coolly. "And you get to pay the SaDiablo family back for the way Lucivar Yaslana treated you. And as my friend and guest, you get to attend parties and dances you'd never be invited to on your own…not to mention the lovers who come home with us."

Lektra's seconds, that's what she got. But what Lektra said was true: being exiled from Ebon Rih six years ago had cost her almost all her social status. It had gotten so bad in Askavi, no man wanted to dance with her, let alone do something more interesting. So she had moved to Dhemlan, but it wouldn't have been any better if Lektra hadn't befriended her.

So she put up with the reminders that she owed what social standing she had in Amdarh to Lektra's efforts on her behalf, and she put up with men who wanted Lektra but made do with her.

Now that Lektra's interest in Daemon Sadi had ripened into obsession, the Dhemlan witch needed her help, and that worked in her favor. Besides, if they won this prize, she wouldn't mind taking whatever crumbs were left over.

"Oh, Daemon. It's beautiful."

The delight in Jaenelle's sapphire eyes as she picked up the bracelet warmed him and gave him hope. There was so little these days that delighted her.

"Try it on." He took the bracelet and fastened it around her wrist, painfully careful not to touch the fragile skin…skin he wanted to caress, kiss, lick. The memory of how even the gentlest touch had left hideous bruises whenever he'd helped her move still made him ill. So he didn't let his fingers brush her skin as he fastened the bracelet, then eased back.

As she held out her arm to admire the bracelet, he no longer saw something beautiful. He saw the shadow the bracelet cast on her skin. Or was it something else?

He stiffened. "It's not too heavy, is it?" Fool. Idiot. It hadn't occurred to him when he bought it that having the metal resting against her skin would bruise her. And it should have occurred to him. When he'd brought her back to the Hall last autumn, she couldn't wear anything but the lightest-weight fabrics, couldn't have more than a sheet over her in bed. Anything more had left her covered in bruises…and had left him terrified that the constant effort to keep healing the bleeding under the skin would interfere with her overall healing…or even make it impossible for her to ever completely heal.

"No, it's not too heavy," Jaenelle said as she lowered her arm.

Daemon winced. By reminding her of how frail she was, he'd spoiled her pleasure in the gift.

When she looked at him, the delight that had been in her eyes was gone. She was gone. She still sat beside him on the couch, but there was a distance between them again that he didn't know how to bridge.

He looked at the table in front of him, and his heart sank a little more. The book he'd given her at Winsol lay on the table, the bookmark indicating she'd barely gotten halfway through it.

"The story doesn't appeal to you?" he asked, wondering if any of the new books he'd brought her would please her. Wondering if there was anything he could do anymore that would please her.

Jaenelle looked away, but not before he saw pain and sadness in her eyes. "I guess I've lost my taste for love stories," she said. Then she tried to smile. "I'm feeling a little tired. I think I'll get some sleep now."

He recognized a dismissal when he heard one. "I'll help you to bed," he said as he rose.

He waited until she slowly, painfully got to her feet. Then he used Craft to float her from the sitting room to the bedroom. With exquisite care, he removed the soft wool robe Marian had made for her and tucked the sheet and blanket she could now tolerate around her once she was settled in bed.

"Good night, sweetheart," he said. "I'll come to bed in a little while." Unless you want me to stay. Please want me to stay.

"Good night, Daemon."

Idly swirling the brandy in the glass, Daemon stared out the window of the bedroom that adjoined Jaenelle's. The Consort's room. Since she no longer ruled a court, technically he was no longer her Consort. Since he couldn't touch her, he wasn't technically her lover either.

Didn't matter. He was still her lover. Would always be her lover. He suppressed that thought before his body responded to it. After he brought her home and realized how frail she was, how little it would take to overwhelm the healing taking place inside her and have it fail, which would leave her permanently imprisoned in a body that wouldn't allow her to do more than exist, his desire for sex had vanished. Not surprising. Despite the centuries of being a pleasure slave, he'd been a virgin until he gave himself to Jaenelle. No other woman had aroused him, no other woman had filled him with hungry need.

That was still true. When he attended the dinners or parties in Amdarh, he danced with women because he enjoyed dancing. But none of them stirred any interest for her company beyond the dance. Only Jaenelle. Always Jaenelle.

He'd been content to let his desire sleep. So he wasn't sure what to think about the fact that, lately, he would wake in the night hard, hot, and aching, troubled by dreams of spreading Jaenelle's legs, of kneeling before her while his tongue and fingers stroked her to a climax.

Lately, the sound of her voice was enough to stir his cock… and her unhappiness was enough to wither desire. But not completely. Never completely. Between the erotic dreams and the nightmare of losing her, he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in weeks.

*Prince?*

Daemon turned and studied the Red-Jeweled Sceltie Warlord. Ladvarian's determination had gathered the kindred who had pored their strength, love, and unshakable belief that they, along with the Arachnian Queen who had spun the powerful healing webs, could rebuild Jaenelle's devastated body, could hold dreams to flesh and keep Kaeleer's Heart among the living. He had brought the Jewel that became Twilight's Dawn to the island that was ruled by the golden spiders who were the Weavers of Dreams. And he was the one who had finally allowed Daemon to come to the other island where the kindred had hidden, and cared for, Jaenelle after she rose from the healing webs.

*You are unhappy,* Ladvariah said.

*Just tired,* Daemon lied. *I haven't been sleeping well.*

Ladvarian hesitated. *Should we take Jaenelle somewhere else?*

*No!* Daemon struggled to remain calm while temper and fear raged through him. That the small dog could, and would, remove Jaenelle from his care wasn't lost on either of them. His inability to believe she would come back, his grief and longing filling the abyss day after day, had been the reason she had risen from the healing webs too soon. He was to blame for the suffering she'd endured when he'd first brought her back to the Hall. The kindred had been willing to overlook his failure to love without doubt, but they wouldn't overlook anything else that might interfere with Jaenelle's well-being.

*No,* he said again. *I'm grateful to have her here. I'm grateful to be with her.* And what he wouldn't admit to was the fear that if the kindred took her away, he might not be able to win her back enough for her to love him again.

*She is healing, Daemon,* Ladvarian said after another hesitation. *She is getting stronger.*

*I know* But she would never be what she had been. It wasn't just her body that she'd crippled when she'd unleashed her power to save Kaeleer. She could no longer wear the Black or Ebony Jewels that had once signaled the enormity of her power, and no one really knew what to make of Twilight's Dawn since nothing like it had ever existed. Sometimes it felt similar to a lighter Jewel, sometimes he could feel a hint of Ebon-gray or Black when he was near her.

He didn't give a damn what Jewel she wore, but he, like the coven and boyos who had been members of her First Circle, worried that the loss of that power would affect her mental and emotional health, which, in turn, might damage her physical health.

Don't borrow trouble, old son. You've already got enough of it. Do everything you can to get her well again and deal with what her Jewels can… and can't… do another day.

*Are you sleeping here?* Ladvarian asked.

Here? Where he couldn't wake up and hear her breathing, where he couldn't have that immediate assurance that she was still with him? *No.*

As soon as Ladvarian trotted back to Jaenelle's room, Daemon stripped out of his clothes and shrugged into a robe that was a token gesture of modesty. He didn't need it for warmth. The warming spells he'd put on Jaenelle's suite of rooms and this one guaranteed she wouldn't catch a chill.

The fire burning low in the hearth was enough light to see by as he made his way to her bed, shrugged off the robe, and slipped under the covers. The bed, specially built and strengthened with Craft to accommodate Kaelas, the eight-hundred-pound Arcerian cat who had slept with Jaenelle since she brought him home as an orphaned kitten, meant he could sleep with her without fear of bumping her during the night and causing an injury.

As he pulled the covers up, he heard the change in her breathing, felt her roll onto her back.

"Go back to sleep, sweetheart," he said softly. "It's just me."

"Daemon." She sank back into the deep sleep her body demanded.

Propped up on one elbow, Daemon watched her sleep for a long time. Had he heard longing in that one word?

He shifted closer to her. Then he reached out and touched the ends of her golden hair. The kindred had used Craft to crop her hair very short. A practical thing to do while they'd tended her body when she was still connected to the healing webs. It had grown out enough to look shaggy. It was also the one thing he could touch without fear of hurting her.

So he brushed his fingertips over her hair, wishing she was healed enough that he could brush his lips over hers, could slip his tongue into her mouth and kiss her the way he wanted to kiss her.

Someday he would be able to kiss her that way again. Someday he would be able to do a lot more than just kiss her.

He wouldn't allow himself to believe anything else.

Three

Too restless to sleep, Lektra paced her bedroom. Roxie's scheme had to work. It had to. They would stir rumors and provide nuggets of information that, if strung the wrong way, would ruin a man's reputation. They would also be Daemon Sadi's most vocal defenders. In the end, when he was freed of his obligation to take care of that crippled invalid, he would feel grateful to the woman who had loved him enough to publicly defend him against the charges of infidelity.

And she did love him. She did. So why should that beautiful, virile man be trapped playing nursemaid to a woman who no longer had any use for him? Why should he spend the next few decades sitting by a sickbed, reading aloud to a lump of flesh? Or, worse, why should he have to hide his revulsion if Jaenelle Angelline still wanted something sexual from him?

She'd fallen in love with Daemon the first time she'd seen him over a year ago. He had come to Amdarh with Jaenelle to shop for Winsol gifts and attend a few parties before returning to SaDiablo Hall to celebrate Winsol with their family and Jaenelle's First Circle. It had made sense that he would have agreed to be Jaenelle's Consort. At the time, she'd been the Queen of Ebon Askavi…the most powerful Queen in Kaeleer. Every strong, ambitious male who had been trained for a consort's duties had wanted to wear the ring Daemon had worn on his left hand. But Daemon, beautiful Daemon, had won that coveted position.

And no wonder. He'd looked at Jaenelle as if no other woman existed…

or would ever exist. And when they danced together, every move he made was a prelude to the bedroom dance, a promise of what he could offer in private. Even when it was a dance that required several couples, you could see him bank that sexual heat when he turned to another partner, could watch it flare as soon as his hand touched Jaenelle's.

An exquisite male. The kind of male that made all the others seem lacking in some essential.

She would have waited for him to be free of his contract. After all, the Eve years he was required to serve in Jaenelle's court was nothing to someone who came from one of the long-lived races. Once his contract was completed, he would have been free to look elsewhere for a lover. She'd even tried to join the Dark Court so they could be together in some way. But the letter she'd received from the Steward made it clear there were no plans to expand the Dark Court to accommodate all the Blood who were offering to serve.

Then there was all that talk of a war between Kaeleer and Terreille, and news of fighting in other Territories. And then there was that unleashing of power unlike anything the Blood had ever experienced. When that power faded, the war was over, the Blood who had threatened Kaeleer were destroyed…and the Queen of Ebon Askavi was gone.

But not Jaenelle Angelline. Despite being hideously wounded, she'd survived somehow. Instead of grieving a few weeks for the loss of a Queen before moving on, Daemon was chained to a cripple who was still adored by the Queens and Warlord Princes who controlled the other Territories in Kaeleer.

He would never shake free of Jaenelle Angelline. So she would help cut the ties between the former Queen of Ebon Askavi and the Warlord Prince who, otherwise, would remain trapped for years, possibly decades. Oh, the Queens would snub him for a while, but in a year or two, they would realize it was better to have a Warlord Prince attached to a woman who could be what he needed. And while he would suffer a little because of the accusations of infidelity, she had no doubt, with the help of her family, she could restore his reputation.

And then he would look at her the way he had once looked at faenelle.

Four

"Let me see if I understand this," Jaenelle said.

Surreal turned away from the window. The gray day and the sleet that would make a mess of all the roads matched her mood, but she did her best to bury wounded feelings as she approached the couch where Jaenelle sat bundled in a nightgown and robe, her legs stretched out under a quilt.

She looks better, Surreal thought. Oh, far from well and still so fragile, but better than she'd looked a few weeks ago when Surreal had come back to the Hall to spend a few days with the family during Winsol.

"You and Falonar have decided to go your own ways," Jaenelle said with a patience that made Surreal wary.

She shrugged. "It was a mutual decision." The bastard.

"Uh-huh. So you packed your bags…"

"It was his eyrie," Surreal cut in. "I certainly didn't want to live there." And I didn't want to watch him courting Nurian in ways he never thought to court me.

"…and left Ebon Rih without telling Lucivar."

"Who would have strung Falonar up by the heels"… or by the balls, which might have been interesting to watch …"before having a little chat."

"No," Jaenelle said, "he would have waited for Chaosti to show up, and then he would have strung Falonar up by the heels." She paused. "Maybe by the heels."

Which just confirmed why Surreal had slipped away from Ebon Rih before Lucivar had time to notice. As the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih dealing with a Warlord Prince who was his second-in-command, Lucivar would have been nasty and explosive. Chaosti, the Warlord Prince of the Dea al Mon and a kinsman on her mother's side, would have approached Falonar with the protective viciousness that made Warlord Princes such a deadly facet of Blood society.

Dealing with the male relatives she'd acquired since coming to Kaeleer was so much fun.

"And you entered the Hall through one of the side doors to avoid seeing Daemon, who's working in his study and would have met you before you got out of the great hall."

Feeling more wary by the minute, Surreal did her best to look indifferent. "No reason for him to get involved in this." Sweet Darkness, please don't let him think this is any business of his. "Besides, I don't need either of them getting all snarly and protective over something that was a mutual decision."

"So instead of mentioning this to either of them, you went to the Keep and told Saetan."

Surreal winced. "Well, I figured I should tell someone before leaving Ebon Rih."

"Uh-huh. So you told the High Lord of Hell, the patriarch of this family, the man from whom Daemon and Lucivar inherited the temper you were trying to avoid." Jaenelle pushed the quilt aside and swung her legs over the side of the couch to sit up straight. "Did I miss something?"

Unable to stand still, Surreal started pacing in a circle in front of the table that held the pot of coffee, cups, and sandwiches Beale, the Hall's butler, had brought in a few minutes after she'd knocked on Jaenelle's door.

"I thought he'd be reasonable," she snarled. "He's older and less… excitable." And Saetan had sounded calm and reasonable while she explained that living in an eyrie with Falonar had lost its appeal and she intended to spend a few days at the Hall before staying at the family's town house in Amdarh for a while.

"Did he hurt you?" Saetan had asked too softly.

Surreal snorted. "Uncle Saetan, sugar, do I look hurt?"

Watching his eyes glaze, she'd realized she'd made a serious tactical error. Which was why she'd caught the Gray Wind and headed for the Hall as fast as she could, hoping Jaenelle would have some advice about dealing with the rest of the family.

Jaenelle sighed. "All right. We'll deal with this."

Surreal watched Jaenelle's arm tremble as she lifted the coffeepot and poured two cups. When she reached for the cream and sugar, Surreal stepped forward.

"Want some help?"

"No."

Wondering about the whiplash of anger under the word, Surreal hesitated.

"Take your coffee and a sandwich," Jaenelle said, grabbing a sandwich off the plate and taking a bite.

"What's going on?" Surreal asked cautiously.

"You want Falonar to walk away from this intact?"Jaenelle countered. "Then take a sandwich. And hold on to that wall of sass and indifference you've erected in front of what you're really feeling."

Before Surreal could ask what coffee and sandwiches had to do with what she was, or wasn't, feeling, she felt the wash of dark power roll through the Hall. Ebon-gray and Black…immediately answered by another Black.

Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. All three of them…and all of them pissed off.

Grabbing a sandwich, Surreal took a bite and hoped she wouldn't choke.

"Come over here and sit down," Jaenelle said.

Feeling the three-pronged storm moving through the Hall toward them, Surreal sat on the end of the couch farthest away from the door. She gulped coffee to wash down the sandwich, then refilled both their cups after Jaenelle drained hers.

"Ready?" Jaenelle asked.

Shit shit shit. "Can I go back to being an orphan?"

Amusement lit Jaenelle's eyes. "Not a chance."

The sitting room door swung open. Saetan walked in, flanked by Daemon and Lucivar. Lucivar's gold eyes were lit with hot temper. Daemon's and Saetan's eyes had that chilling glaze. But the three of them stopped abruptly when Jaenelle smiled at them as if there was nothing in the world they could possibly be upset about.

"If you want coffee, you'll have to ask Beale to send up another pot," Jaenelle said, "but there are plenty of sandwiches left."

"No, thank you, witch-child," Saetan said, taking another step forward. He studied the woman who had been his Queen…and was still, and always, the daughter of his soul…before those glazed eyes focused on Surreal.

Looking past Saetan, Jaenelle focused her smile on Daemon. "Surreal's going to stay with us a few days."

"She's always welcome," Daemon replied. "This is her home, too."

Lucivar stepped away from the other men, his dark wings flaring, making him look bigger…and more formidable. "You left Ebon Rih in a hurry."

Surreal shrugged. "Just wanted to get away for a while. And frankly, sugar, your mornings start with a lot more noise than I want to deal with."

"Noise?" Jaenelle asked.

Surreal rolled her eyes. "The last time I was at Lucivar's eyrie around breakfast time, Daemonar was screaming because a wolf pup had chewed on his foot. Of course, the reason the pup had chewed on his foot was because he had been chewing on the puppy's tail."

"In other words, it was a typical morning."

"Precisely."

They both looked at Lucivar, who swore under his breath. "All right. Fine. Anything you want to tell me about Falonar?"

"No," Surreal replied.

Before Lucivar could argue, Saetan said,"Our apologies for intruding, Ladies. We'll let you get back to your own discussion."

Surreal held her breath as she watched Saetan and Lucivar leave the room…and noticed how Daemon lingered a moment, his eyes on Jaenelle, before he followed his father and brother. When the door closed behind him, she sighed with relief.

"Think they bought it?" she asked.

"No." Jaenelle set her cup on the table. "But it's understood that they have no justification for going after Falonar, so they'll leave him alone."

She set her own cup aside. "I owe you for this."

"Yes, you do." Jaenelle stared at the table. "Do you want to tell me why you really left Falonar and Ebon Rih?"

"Not really."

Jaenelle nodded. "Sometimes there's no specific reason," she said softly. "Sometimes things just don't work out between two people."

Are we still talking about me and Falonar? Surreal wondered. Remembering the way Daemon had lingered for a moment, she had an uneasy feeling Jaenelle was thinking of two other people.

She waited until Saetan and Lucivar had left the Hall before tracking Daemon to his study. It felt strange walking into that room and seeing another man behind the desk where Saetan had ruled Dhemlan for so many centuries. Even stranger to feel as if nothing had really changed.

"So," she said, settling into the chair in front of the desk. "Do you ever see any rooms in the Hall besides this one?"

"Occasionally," Daemon replied with a dry smile. "Brandy?"

"Sure." She watched him pour a snifter for her and top off his own before he used Craft to float hers over to her waiting hand. "Thanks."

Daemon leaned back in his chair, the snifter cradled in both hands. His Black-Jeweled ring glittered on his right hand. His left hand looked naked without the Consort's ring. Did he miss the feel of it on his finger? She'd noticed that Saetan still wore the Steward's ring, which the loss of his little finger made more noticeable. But she could understand why Daemon had set the Consort's ring aside. Saetan had withdrawn to live at the Keep, leaving his sons… Daemon, specifically… to handle the property owned by the SaDiablo family as well as the wealth acquired over Saetan's long, long lifetime. Daemon, on the other hand, was still very much in sight. He was no longer the Consort, since Jaenelle, while still a Queen, no longer ruled a court.

Of course, only a fool wanting to commit suicide would in any way imply that the absence of a ring made him any less Jaenelle's Consort.

"What are your plans?" Daemon asked quietly. "Or haven't you thought that far ahead?"

"Know anyone who needs an assassin?"

He choked back a laugh. "In Kaeleer? Hardly."

She saw the question in his eyes. "If I'd wanted him dead, Sadi, Falonar wouldn't be breathing. You know that."

His gold eyes stayed locked on hers as he took a sip of brandy. "Point made. Besides, I'm surprised you put up with him this long."

That startled her. "Why?"

"Too much of that Eyrien arrogance for you to swallow for long."

"You have a brother who has even more of that Eyrien arrogance," she pointed out.

"You want to sleep with him?"

"I'd eat worms first. Live." Since the image made her a little queasy, she took a healthy swallow of brandy. "Not that I don't like him," she added. "Maybe even love him a little in a sisterly way… when he's not being a stubborn prick about something."

"Hmm, all of five minutes a month."

She grinned. "If you add it up." The grin faded. "What about you?"

He rolled the snifter between his hands and studied the way the brandy followed the motion. "We're doing all right. He's… wary. Can't blame him for that. But he'll stand. If I need him, he'll stand."

And you and Jaenelle?

"Anyway," she said, "I thought I'd spend some time in Amdarh, if you have no objection to me using the town house."

"It's the family's town house. You're family." He hesitated for a moment. "I have to go to Amdarh in a few days. If you're willing to wait, we can go at the same time. I have a box at two of the theaters, if you'd like to see a play…and wouldn't mind some company."

I think you're the one who needs some company. Shit, Sadi, what's going on here?

"Fair enough." She set the snifter on the blackwood desk, stood up, and stretched. "I'd better see what Graysfang is up to. He's of the wolfie opinion that I enjoy drying him off and brushing him when he comes in wet and muddy. Don't know why."

"He's male. He's getting petted. This is hard to understand?"

The words were said lightly, but there was an undertone of anguished yearning.

Not knowing what to say, she left the study. But she thought about it on and off for the rest of the day. She watched the two of them throughout dinner. And when she was staring at the ceiling late that night, with Graysfang curled up beside her, snoring softly, she came to a decision.

All right, Sadi. I'll keep the peace while we're at the Hall. But once we get to Amdarh… The Blood in Terreille had good reason to call you the Sadist. If I have to dance with that side of your temper to find out what in the name of Hell is wrong between you and Jaenelle, then that's what I'll do. But one way or another, you're going to talk to me.

And if she couldn't get anything out of him, informing the patriarch of the family that there was serious trouble between Daemon and Jaenelle would get some results. One way or another.

Five

Jealousy coiled around Lektra's heart as she watched Daemon settle the lovely woman in the seat beside him. He never invited anyone to sit with him when he came to the theater. Never. "Who is she?" Lektra asked, struggling to hide the feeling of betrayal that welled up at the sight of Daemon with another woman. He should be keeping other women at arm's length until he could be with her.

Lord Braedon, the Warlord who had agreed to be her escort tonight with gratifying eagerness, looked across the theater to the box opposite theirs. "Who? Oh. That's Sadi's 'cousin.' "

Tavey Lektra's cousin on her father's side, snickered and leaned forward a little to see around Roxie, who was sitting on Lektra's right. "Convenient, isn't it?"

"Meaning what?" Lektra snapped.

"I heard she used to be a whore," Roxie replied primly.

"A high-priced one, from what I heard," Tavey said. "Wonder if she and Sadi had a standing arrangement when they both lived in Terreille."

"I doubt there was much standing," Braedon said blandly.

Shocked, Lektra stared at her escort. "Do you mean Dae… Prince Sadi and that woman used to… ?"

Braedon shrugged. "It's possible she's really related in some way to the

SaDiablo family. But if a man needed to be very discreet about getting certain… needs… met, having a 'cousin' who could stay under the same roof without anyone thinking twice about it would make it much easier."

"Especially an 'experienced' cousin," Tavey said, snickering again.

"You're both being ridiculous," Lektra said, remembering she was supposed to be Daemon's defender.

"Is she wearing a bracelet?" Roxie said, then hunched her shoulders as if she'd said something she shouldn't have.

"Who's going to notice a bracelet when you can notice other things?" Tavey asked, cupping his hands close to his chest.

Lektra bit back a snappish remark about making such gestures in public. Tavey was a Yellow-Jeweled Warlord who was devotedly loyal to her, which made up for him not being very bright. He also had a thirst for gossip that accounted for his never having a contract renewed when the family managed to get him accepted in a court.

"Well," Roxie said, sounding reluctant, "I'd heard Prince Sadi had bought a bracelet from Banard. A 'special gift for a special Lady' "

"Thought it was a brooch," Tavey said, frowning.

"There was an actress showing off a brooch that had been sent by a secret admirer," Braedon said. His eyes flicked from the stage to Sadi's box and back again. "You don't think…"

"No, I don't," Lektra said firmly. "Everyone knows Prince Sadi is devoted to Jaenelle Angelline."

"Who hasn't been seen in months," Braedon murmured.

"Oh, hush," Lektra said. "The play will start in a few minutes. I'm looking forward to seeing it." Her eyes flicked to the box opposite hers as she added softly, "I'm definitely looking forward to it."

Surreal watched Daemon remove two items from the wooden box he'd called in as soon as they were settled in their seats, at first with idle curiosity, then with growing apprehension.

"Is that a tangled web?" she asked. She knew he was a Black Widow. Hell's fire, she'd lived with him for several years while he was struggling to come back from the Twisted Kingdom and then rehone his Craft skills.

"Of a kind," Daemon replied as he used Craft to set the frame holding the tangled web on air where it couldn't easily be seen by other people attending the play. Behind the tangled web, he set a faceted, oval crystal. "I started with the kind of web the Hourglass uses to see dreams and visions and adapted it for a specific purpose."

"Which is?"

He grinned, but there was an acknowledgment in his eyes of why she was asking the question…and why she was wary of the answer. Daemon rarely announced his intentions when he went hunting, and she'd often wondered how many of the Blood he'd destroyed in the Terreillean courts were aware of what had killed them until the last moment when that slash of Black power burned out their own power, finishing the kill.

"By using a spell I worked out and channeling through the web, I can retain the play in the crystal so that it can be played again."

"Like the spelled music crystals retain a musical performance?"

Daemon nodded. "But this one holds what is seen as well as what is heard."

Surreal studied the web and crystal again, this time with keen interest. "That's brilliant! But… why?"

He hesitated. "Jaenelle is still too fragile to come to Amdarh to see a play… so I bring the plays to her."

Emotion that felt appallingly sentimental welled up in her. She punched it down. "Does she enjoy the plays?"

Now he smiled ruefully. "I hadn't quite worked out all the snags in the spell the last time I tried it. There was a… lag… between when the actor said his lines and the words were heard. She found it entertaining, but not in the way I'd intended."

Surreal laughed. "Anything I can do to help?"

"This spell doesn't work independently. At least not yet. So I need to stay focused on the play."

She heard the warning under the words. "That explains why you Black-locked the door." And why he'd told her he preferred to attend the theater alone when she'd asked him earlier if he ever invited anyone to join him as a guest. She'd been thinking of Marian, Lucivar's wife, but the chill in the air when he'd replied made her wonder how many offers he'd had for company whenever he came to Amdarh.

It also told her how much of a concession he'd made by inviting her to join him tonight. And how he trusted her to let him do what he'd come here to do.

As the house lights went down, Daemon made himself comfortable and focused his eyes on the stage.

The play was entertaining, but Surreal found Daemon more interesting to watch, even though she, too, kept her eyes fixed on the stage. How much of the play did he actually notice since he kept looking at the center of the stage to see the whole of it instead of shifting his gaze to follow the action when it moved closer to one wing or the other? Or would he finally enjoy it when he replayed it for Jaenelle? Although she doubted his attention would be on the play at that point.

When the first act ended and she offered to fetch some refreshment, his quick agreement surprised her…until she made her way through the crowd to the curved bar at one end of the theater's lobby and ordered two glasses of sparkling wine. The number of women who had given her a cool appraisal as she passed made her wonder how many of them were trying to find out how deep Daemon's attachment to Jaenelle still ran.

From their point of view, she understood the interest. Daemon was no longer officially Jaenelle's Consort. Few beyond the family and Jaenelle's former First Circle would know he'd committed himself to Jaenelle years before he ever became her Consort. They wouldn't know what he'd done…and suffered…to try to save an extraordinary child who became the most powerful Queen in the history of the Blood. What they saw was a beautiful, sensual male who came from one of the most powerful, and wealthiest, families in Kaeleer, and was a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince in the bargain.

He'd be a prize for any woman who could win him.

She shuddered at the thought of any woman trying to win him away from Jaenelle.

"That's a lovely bracelet."

Surreal glanced over at the Warlord who had squeezed in beside her to wait for his order. "Thank you."

"Is it a design by Banard?"

Something about his interest wasn't quite right, but she couldn't figure out what it was about him that made her want to spill his guts all over the floor. So she hooked her long black hair behind one delicately pointed ear…and saw his eyes widen at the evidence that she wasn't solely from any of the long-lived races.

"No," she said, "it's Dea al Mon."

Nerves danced in his eyes at the mention of the Children of the Wood…a race who fiercely protected their Territory and seldom let anyone who crossed their border walk out again…but he worked to keep his smile easy.

"Then you must be Lady Surreal," he said. "I've heard of you."

You didn't hear enough, sugar. If you'd heard about more than my "public" profession, you wouldn't be crowding me.

She smiled at him, called in a silver mark and put it on the bar when the server gave her the glasses of sparkling wine, and turned to leave. The woman directly in her path stared at her with hostile jealousy for a moment before moving aside.

She dismissed the look without a second thought as she worked her way back up to the box. She'd seen enough of those looks when she'd been a whore in Terreille.

Maybe that accounted for the odd feeling she got from the Warlord and his interest in the bracelet. Maybe he'd just been trying to find out where he could buy something similar and was nervous about his Lady seeing him talking to another woman. Besides, there was something about the woman in the moment when their eyes met that practically shouted "possessive bitch" to someone who'd spent her life quickly sizing up rivals, enemies, and prey.

Not her problem, she thought as Daemon opened the door enough for her to slip back into the box. Noticing the unhappiness lurking in his eyes before he took the glass she offered, she almost said something, but the house lights began fading as a warning that the second act was about to begin.

No, the Warlord and the bitch weren't her problem…not when she had a bigger, and more dangerous, one sitting beside her.

Surreal waited until they'd enjoyed the appetizers at the dining house Daemon had chosen for their after-theater meal.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked quietly.

"The play?"

"No, about what's going on between you and Jaenelle that's making you so unhappy."

"Leave it alone, Surreal," he said, his voice turning icy and razor-edged.

She shook her head. "Can't, sugar."

"Do you want to talk about Falonar?" he countered.

She hissed.

"Exactly." Smiling, he raised his wineglass in a salute. Then he looked down at his plate…and sighed. "I'll talk if you will."

Hell's fire. The least said about Falonar to any male in her family the better. But… "I have your word you won't do anything to him? Anything?"

She didn't like the fact that he thought about it for several seconds before inclining his head in agreement.

Pushing her plate aside, she folded her arms on the table. Not a ladylike posture, but it let her lean closer to him. It occurred to her that they could have this entire conversation on a psychic thread to keep it silent and private, but it felt necessary to give the words the weight of sound.

"I'm not what he wanted," she said, feeling the sting of the truth.

"He doesn't want a beautiful, intelligent, talented woman?"

Realizing Daemon meant what he'd said eased the sting a little. She tried to smile."He wants a Marian. Not Marian." she added quickly seeing the instant chill in Daemon's eyes. "The things that intrigued him enough initially for him to offer to share his eyrie with me were the same things that eventually stuck in his throat. Hell's fire, Sadi, I'm not going to apologize for what I've been."

"He couldn't get past the fact that you used to be paid for sex?" Daemon asked too softly.

"Since he wasn't offering to be anything more than my lover, that didn't bother him. Well, not much. And he certainly appreciated my… skills." She sighed. "No, what rubbed the wrong way was my skill with a knife…and the fact that an assassin doesn't worry about sticky details like letting the prey know he's about to be turned into carrion."

"You were a competitor."

She sat back as the dishes vanished and the server brought the main course. She savored the taste of a perfectly cooked filet before going back to a subject that would ruin her appetite.

"I was a competitor," she agreed. "Falonar could be indulgent about the Eyrien witches learning to use weapons to defend themselves because none of them will ever have enough skill to be a rival to him. And they were only learning because Lucivar insisted on it, not because they wanted to. But I wanted to improve skills I already had…and killing is what I do."

"And since Falonar wears a Sapphire Jewel and you wear the Gray, he wasn't stronger than you in that arena," Daemon said. "There are plenty of men who have lovers who wear darker Jewels than they do."

"Falonar wants a woman who looks at him and sees a protector, a defender. He wants someone who needs his strength, someone whose talents are… gentler."

"Who is she?" Daemon asked as he dipped a piece of lobster into the bowl of clarified butter.

Surreal studied him warily. "I didn't say there was someone in particular."

Daemon just smiled and continued eating.

She concentrated on her own meal for a few minutes. Then she sighed. "Nurian. She's a Healer."

"And she's Eyrien."

"I don't know how deep Falonar's feelings about her run, but I'm pretty sure she's in love with him. Over the winter, things changed between him and me. Lots of sex and not much else. Some snide comments about my snipping off balls because I wanted a pair of my own. And for the record, I'd rather have the discomfort of moontimes than carry what you've got between your legs."

He just raised an eyebrow.

"Moon's blood only throws me offstride three days out of a month. A cock makes a man potentially stupid at any hour of any day."

"You have such faith in the male gender," he said blandly.

"I made a good living because cocks make men stupid," she countered, picking up her glass to sip her wine.

"And Falonar's cock kept pointing in Nurian's direction?"

She clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from spraying wine all over the table. "Now that's a picture," she said when she finally managed to swallow. "No, it wasn't that obvious. Mostly because I was in the way," she added softly.

Daemon nodded. "A Gray-Jeweled witch who is skilled with a knife… and is also related to Lucivar."

"I think Falonar couldn't figure out how to step back."

"Probably afraid that if you didn't rip his balls off, Lucivar would."

"Exactly."

"So you told him things weren't working between you and packed your bags."

She shrugged. "Seemed the only thing to do."

"Did you love him?"

She hesitated, then shook her head. "I felt… special… for a little while. I've had sex with hundreds of men over the centuries, but I've never had a lover. I'm feeling bruised, but I'm not heartbroken over it."

Dipping the last piece of lobster into the butter, Daemon held it out to her. "Someday you'll find a man worthy of you."

She looked into his eyes, scared that she'd see some underlying message. What she saw was the warm affection of an older brother. She took the bite from his fork.

Easing back, she enjoyed the warmth for a moment before saying, "Your turn."

He set his fork on his plate with painful care. Then he picked up his wine and studied it.

"I'm losing her," he said softly. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong, but… I'm losing her."

Surreal stiffened. "What you are talking about?"

His voice dropped to a whisper. "Maybe I'm no longer what Jaenelle wants."

"Wait," she snapped. "Just wait." She studied the misery in his eyes. "You really believe that."

"She isn't comfortable being around me anymore."

Surreal shook her head. "I agree something isn't right between you, but, Daemon, I'm sure it isn't that."

"You were only at the Hall a few days."

"Which was long enough to know you're going down the wrong path if you think Jaenelle doesn't love you anymore."

He closed his eyes, shutting her out, but not before she saw the pain and desperation he was choking back.

She reached across the table and took his hand. Worry spiked through her when his fingers curled around hers in a fierce hold, a sure sign he was looking for reassurance.

"She won't talk to me," he said. "I don't know what to do."

"I do."

He opened his eyes, disbelief warring with hope.

"I'm willing to wager a year's income that her feelings haven't changed," Surreal said. "And I know yours haven't changed. So maybe the reason she can't talk to you is because you have a cock."

"I've always had a cock," he said dryly.

"Right. And there are things you might admit to another man you'd never admit to a woman. And there are things a woman might say to another woman that she would never say to a man…especially a man she loves."

"And your point is?"

"You're going to be in Amdarh a few more days, right?"

"I do have some things to take care of."

"Fine. You go tend to things, and I'll go back to the Hall and have a little chat with Jaenelle."

"What makes you think she'll talk to you?"

I'm not going to give her a choice. Which wasn't something she intended to ever tell Daemon, so she gave him a sassy smile. "Because I know the opening line to this little play." She eased her fingers out of his grip and patted his hand. "Trust me. And signal the server to bring over the dessert tray."

"Did you see the way he fed her that bite of lobster?" Roxie said, sighing. "That's like something from a love story. He's sooo romantic."

Tavey frowned. "If you wanted to taste some of my dinner, why didn't you say so?"

Watching Daemon, Lektra wanted to smash all the plates and glasses on the table. How could he betray her like that? How could he sit there, in public, and fawn over a whore. She was the one who was working to free him from that useless cripple, Jaenelle. He shouldn't be playing with another woman. He shouldn't even be thinking of another woman. It was so… sluttish. When he was hers, she'd make sure he severed all association with that bitch, Surreal.

Her hands curled into fists as she watched Surreal take his hand.

How could he be so lost to propriety that he'd let a woman touch him like that? He might as well stand on the table and announce he was going to drop his pants for his "cousin" as soon as they got behind closed doors.

If they even waited that long.

Selfish bastard.

Well, she'd still have him because she loved him. Besides, he was beautiful and was, no doubt, magnificent in bed. But he was obviously more ripe to belong to another woman than she'd realized, so she was going to have to fan the flames and ruin his reputation faster, and more thoroughly, than she'd intended if she wanted to be sure he didn't accept another offer from a woman who just wanted to use him.

Yes, she had to save him before he tumbled into any other bed but hers.

Six

The next morning, rumors seeped through Amdarh's marketplace as the servants who worked in aristo households gathered to take care of the day's shopping. Arguments broke out between those who declared they weren't surprised by the news that Daemon Sadi had abandoned the pose of still being the faithful, devoted lover of the former Queen of Ebon Askavi and those who hotly denied there could be any truth to Prince Sadi taking a lover, let alone escorting her to such a public place as a theater.

But they all took those rumors back to their respective houses to chew over with their fellow servants.

By midday, the stories trickled through the shopping district. Some merchants worried that the aristo Blood, especially those who served in Lady Zhara's court, would take their business away from any shop that was patronized by Prince Sadi. Other merchants, who counted several members of the SaDiablo family as regular customers, paled at the news…and wondered how much of Amdarh would be left if Lucivar Yaslana found out about his brother's supposed betrayal of the Queen they'd both served.

By evening, the rumors had reached the ears of the aristo Blood and were the main topic during the evening meals. Some defended Prince Sadi, saying he would never insult Jaenelle Angelline by taking a lover while she was still living with him at the Hall. Some defended him by insisting he wasn't breaking any vows by taking a lover, that Jaenelle was now nothing more than a family member who required care, and no matter what their relationship had been, it was no longer of a nature that demanded celibacy from a Warlord Prince. Others argued that, even if taking a lover could be excused under the circumstances, holding hands with her in a dining house was hardly discreet.

No matter what anyone thought of Daemon Sadi's behavior, they all pitied Jaenelle Angelline, who had sacrificed her body and her Jewels in order to save Kaeleer and was now being abandoned by the only man she'd ever cared for enough to take as a lover.

Seven

Surreal walked into Jaenelle's sitting room and came to an abrupt stop when she saw the shoes scattered around the room. Jaenelle stood in the middle of the room, holding a pair of soft leather house shoes. Color brightened her face, and her eyes sparkled.

"Look," Jaenelle said excitedly. "I can call in my shoes."

Pity squeezed Surreal's heart, but she smiled as she walked over to Jaenelle. "Well, that's… wonderful." Or would be if Jaenelle was a child learning basic Craft.

"Isn't it?" Jaenelle dropped the shoes, then held out her hands. A moment later, a pair of boots hovered in the air. She took the boots and grinned. "I decided it was time to find out what I can do with Twilight's Dawn."

A year ago you could do things the rest of the Blood couldn't even dream ofdoing, Surreal thought sadly as she looked at the shoes. And now you'reexcited about being able to do basic Craft. Ah, sugar.

Trying to think of something to say that would be encouraging, she looked into Jaenelle's eyes. It took everything in her not to stumble back a step or two.

No delight in those sapphire eyes now. There was strength there, power there. Those eyes were cold, feral, and filled with deadly anger.

Then Ladvarian trotted into the room, and Jaenelle looked away.

Witch, Surreal thought as she fought to hide a shiver of fear. She hadn't expected to see that look in Jaenelle's eyes ever again…and wasn't sure what to think about seeing it now.

Ladvarian sniffed the shoes on the floor, then looked at Jaenelle. *Why is Surreal calling in your shoes?*

"She didn't," Jaenelle said quietly, dropping the boots. "I did."

*You called in your shoes?*

Jaenelle shrugged, a quiet sadness draining the color from her face, leaving her looking ill and frail.

*You called in your shoes!* Ladvarian's tail wagged madly while he danced in place. *You could never do that before!*

Jaenelle smiled reluctantly. "No, I never could."

That admission startled Surreal. Ladvarian was right. Jaenelle never could call in her own shoes. It was a standing joke in the family and the First Circle that Jaenelle could move an entire library of leather-bound books without any effort at all but couldn't call in something to put on her feet.

Ladvarian shot upward, hovering on air so that he was face-to-face with Jaenelle. *The kindred will still fetch your shoes during the moon-days when you can't use Craft, but the rest of the days you can call in your own shoes,* he said happily.

Jaenelle smiled as her hands cupped the Sceltie's furry face. "Yes, I can."

*And you won't have to wear the wrong shoes because we didn't pick the right ones.*

Well, Surreal thought, that explained why Jaenelle's shoes hadn't always matched the rest of her outfit.

"I never said you chose the wrong shoes," Jaenelle said softly.

*You didn't tell us because you love us.*

Jaenelle rested her forehead against the dog's. "Yes, I love you."

Surreal swallowed the lump that was suddenly lodged in her throat. Shit shit shit. Hadn't she learned anything from seeing the kindred's unshakable loyalty and belief in Jaenelle? She had felt pity and had spoiled Jaenelle's pleasure in successfully performing a bit of Craft.

Ladvarian was simply delighted…and had recognized that Jaenelle wasn't regaining a piece of skill that was lost, she was exploring new ground.

*I have to tell Kaelas!* Ladvarian bounded out of the room.

"By tonight, all the kindred who were part of the Dark Court will know you can call in your shoes," Surreal said dryly.

Jaenelle grinned. "Do you think it will take that long?" Then the grin faded. "I thought you were going to stay in Amdarh."

"I came back to talk to you." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly…and hoped she wouldn't see that cold, feral anger leap into Jaenelle's eyes again. "What's wrong between you and Daemon?"

"Nothing you can mend."

Surreal reached out, her fingertips just brushing the sleeve ofjaenelle's robe. "Talk to me. Mother Night, Jaenelle, the man is eating his heart out because he doesn't know why you're pushing him out of your life."

Jaenelle turned away. "For his sake." Her voice was a pained whisper. "So he isn't trapped into staying with a woman he no longer wants just because everyone else expects him to remain loyal."

"Trapped, my ass," Surreal snapped. "You're who he wants. You're who he needs."

"He wanted and needed what I was," Jaenelle snapped back. "But what I am now?" She shook her head.

"Do you still love him?"

"It doesn't matter what I feel."

"Of course it matters! You love him. He loves you. Why are you throwing him out of your life?"

"Look at me!" Jaenelle shouted, jabbing a finger toward her chest. "I'm healed, Surreal. Completely healed. But he can't bring himself to touch me, can't even bear to hold my hand. Why should he be chained to someone who repulses him when he's s-so damn beautiful it hurts just to look at him and remember what it was like when he w-wanted… "

Shocked, Surreal just stood and stared. Then she shook her head. She didn't doubt Jaenelle believed what she said, but that didn't tally up with what Daemon believed.

"Does he know you're completely healed?" Surreal asked. "And by completely, you do mean completely?"

A gleam of anger flashed in Jaenelle's eyes again. "I don't need his pity any more than I need yours."

"So you haven't told him."

"And have him feel obligated to service his former Queen?" Jaenelle smiled bitterly. "I don't think so."

Surreal raked her fingers through her hair. Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. If Daemon found out that this was why Jaenelle was pulling away from him, he'd explode six times over. And that was only if he retained a measure of self-control.

Dropping her hands to her hips, she sighed. "All right, sugar. Strip. Let's see what we've got to work with."

Jaenelle stared at her. "What?"

"You heard me. Strip."

Doubt filled Jaenelle's eyes. "I don't think…"

"Good, since you're not thinking straight anyway. Come on. You don't have anything I don't see in the mirror every day."

More hesitation.

"Fine," Surreal said, turning around. "I won't watch." And it will giveme time to brace myself in case there are any nasty surprises.

Silence. Then, finally, the sound of clothes being removed.

"All right," Jaenelle said.

Surreal turned around. Stared. Frowned. Circled slowly to study Jaenelle from the back before continuing the circle until they were facing each other again.

"All right," she said, "I'll play the game. What's wrong with you?"

Jaenelle's mouth dropped open. "Look at me."

"I am. What's wrong with you?"

"I'm…"

"Skinny. You were always slender, but now you're skinny." Surreal tipped her head to one side. "Despite that, you've got a decent pair of tits and a nice ass."

Jaenelle just gaped at her.

She growled in frustration. Jaenelle had picked a lousy time to become sensitive about her appearance. "You need to eat more to fill out a bit, need to start working out to build up and shape your muscles again. Lucivar can help with that."

"He won't," Jaenelle said, looking away. "I asked him. He said no."

"He's going to help. Trust me." Surreal picked up the robe and handed it to Jaenelle. "As for the rest, we're going to Amdarh tomorrow."

"But…"

"I heard of a new place that opened a few months ago. Pure female indulgence. Manicures, pedicures, massages, the works. We can even stay there, so we don't have to bundle all the appointments together. The place even has shops." She held up a hand before Jaenelle could grumble about shopping. "And you're going to get your hair trimmed so that it has some style."

"I was growing it out," Jaenelle protested, one hand reaching up protectively.

"Which doesn't mean you have to look shaggy," Surreal countered. "And, yes, some new clothes. Something that fits. Not a lot since you'll grow back into your former wardrobe, but enough to cover different activities until then." She paused. "And then, once you look like you again instead of a stray wearing hand-me-downs, you'll go to the town house and see Daemon. And you'll tell him in direct, simple words that you are completely healed."

"Then what?"

If you can't guess how Daemon will react to that… She shrugged. "Then you'll know the truth, one way or the other."

Jaenelle sighed. "So what do we do today?"

Surreal gave her friend a knife-edged smile. "I'm going to have a chat with Lucivar."

Smiling, Surreal waved Lucivar into Daemon's study. She put a Gray lock on the door as she closed it, and by the time he turned to face her, she'd called in her crossbow and had it aimed below his belt.

He studied her for a moment, then growled, ''What's this all about? You asked me to come here, so I'm here."

"Yes, you are," Surreal replied, still smiling. "And now I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen. If you don't listen, I'll shoot you with this little crossbow arrow."

"Quarrel."

She shook her head. "We're not going to quarrel. I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen…or I'll pin your balls to the wall." She didn't have any chance of actually hitting him. She wore Gray; he wore Ebon-gray. The moment he sensed the Gray lock on the door, he'd put an Ebon-gray shield around himself. There was nothing she could do that would get an arrow through that shield, but the threat warned him that she wasn't going to let him dismiss what she had to say.

Lucivar shook his head. "It's called a 'quarrel' or a 'bolt,' not a 'little crossbow arrow.' "

"But…" Her face flushed. Falonar, you son of a whoring bitch.

"I guess Falonar didn't mention that when he agreed to teach you how to use a crossbow," Lucivar said, giving her a thoughtful look, as if a few pieces of a puzzle had just fallen into place.

"Doesn't matter."

"What does matter?"

"Jaenelle."

He took a step toward her, then stopped and looked at the crossbow. "Is she all right?"

"She needs to start training again to rebuild her strength. You're going to help her."

"No."

"Yes."

"No!" Swearing viciously, he turned away and paced, giving her searing looks every time he turned in her direction.

"Lucivar?" Surreal said quietly. "How long are you going to keep her an invalid? How long are you going to block her from being strong enough to stand on her own again?"

He charged toward her, stopping before she was within reach. "You bitch! How dare you?"

She lowered the crossbow. "I dare because I love her too."

He stared at her, fury in his eyes. "She's too frail."

"She's not as frail as you think." She saw hope, confusion, fear. "I understand that you're afraid of doing anything that might hurt her. I really do. But she needs you, Lucivar. She needs your help to regain what she lost."

Pain now as he looked away. "Not everything she lost."

"No, not everything." She vanished the crossbow and took a step toward him. "She learned how to call in her shoes today."

He snapped to attention, surprising her. "Jaenelle called in her shoes? She could never do that before." He walked over to the desk and leaned back against it. After staring at the floor for a long moment, he sighed. "All right. I'll take her through a warm-up.We'll see after that."

"I'm surprised you gave in so easily," Surreal said, joining him at the desk.

He shrugged. "Marian's been muttering similar things over the past few days."

"You married a smart woman."

His only response was a grunt. Then he turned his head and studied her. "Are you coming back to Ebon Rih, or do you want to stay here for a while?"

"Actually, I had my eye on the town house in Amdarh. I've missed city living." When she came to Kaeleer, she'd ended up signing a contract to serve the Prince of Ebon Rih, so, technically, Lucivar could demand that she go back to Ebon Rih with him.

"If that's what you want," Lucivar said.

"Well, I don't really want to watch Falonar make kissy faces at Nurian."

Temper flared in his eyes, confirming that Falonar hadn't wasted any time declaring his interest in the Eyrien Healer. "I can take care of that."

Being related to Warlord Princes was such a joy. "I'll tell you the same thing I told Daemon. If I'd wanted him dead, he wouldn't still be among the living."

"Twisting his cock off wouldn't kill him."

Surreal laughed. "That's what I like about you, Lucivar. You're so subtle."

He gave her a grudging smile before he pushed away from the desk.

"Unlock the damn door so I can see Jaenelle and decide if I should be pissed off with myself for being wrong or with you for being right."

She released the Gray lock on the door, watched him walk out…and hoped.

Seeing Jaenelle's hesitant pleasure as he handed her the Eyrien sparring stick bruised Lucivar's heart.

Are you sure you're not clipping her wings instead of helping her learn how to fly again?

Had Marian been right about that? Had they placed Jaenelle in a cage because they were so afraid of letting her do anything that might harm that terrifyingly frail body? They'd done it for the best of reasons, and certainly out of love, but a cage was still a cage.

"Partnered warm-up," he said, taking his position in front of Jaenelle. "Go easy. Don't push. When you feel tired, we'll stop."

He mirrored her slow movements, always watching, always assessing. She remembered the moves, but couldn't complete any of them. Not fully. Choppy motion where there had once been fluid grace. She began panting by the time they'd gone through the first third of the warm-up. By the halfway point, her arms and legs shook from the effort to shift from one move to the next.

Then one end of her stick hit the floor, and she used its support to stay on her feet. Refusing to look at him, she shuffled to the couch and sank down on the cushion at one end.

"So," she said. "You were right."

He took her stick, vanished it along with his, then crouched in front of her. "No, I wasn't." He waited until she looked at him. "Do you remember when you went into the Twisted Kingdom to mark a trail for Daemon to follow?Your body was already strained from healing the landens who had been trapped by a jhinka attack, and by the time you got back to the Keep after finding Daemon, you'd made a mess of yourself."

"I remember," she whispered, staring at her hands.

"As soon as you were able to stand on your own, we started working to rebuild your muscles and your strength."

"What's your point?" She looked weary, defeated.

He placed one hand lightly over hers. "You didn't get half as far that first time as you did today. So the point, Cat, is I'm sorry. I wanted you to come back to us so much, it got in the way. I clipped your wings instead of helping you learn how to fly again."

"So you'll be my sparring partner again?"

He smiled. "We'll get there. I'll come back tomorrow."

She made a face. "Can't tomorrow. Surreal and I are going to Amdarh for what she calls a female indulgence."

"You're staying at the town house?"

Jaenelle shook her head. "Surreal says it's easier to be pampered if we stay at that… whatever it is. Besides, Daemon's at the town house right now."

So? He didn't ask because there was something odd about her tone. Something… nervous. And Daemon had become edgy over the past few weeks…and subtly territorial in a way that made all the male servants at the Hall wary of drawing his attention. "Then let me know when you get back."

He stayed at the Hall long enough to assure Surreal he'd start working with Jaenelle once the two women got back from their female indulgence, whatever that meant, then caught the Winds and headed for Ebon Rih. But before he went home, he stopped at the Keep to have a little chat with his father.

Eight

Baffled by the worried glances he'd gotten from the servants and too restless to stay inside, Daemon left the town house shortly after breakfast, walking aimlessly until the shops opened. Then he headed for the bookshop where he could fill an hour or two browsing. Since love stories had lost their appeal, maybe he could find something else Jaenelle would find intriguing…and find something for himself that would catch his interest enough to keep him occupied while he waited for some word from Surreal.

After she left for the Hall yesterday morning, he'd summoned Marcus and had exhausted the energy and patience of his man of business by reviewing every possible business transaction that might come up in the next few weeks. If Surreal succeeded in finding out what was troubling Jaenelle, if she actually managed to fix the problem so that Jaenelle wanted his company again, he wasn't going to allow anything to intrude on his time with his Lady.

But he needed to keep busy until he heard from her…or from Jaenelle. Maybe he'd contact Lucivar and invite him to dinner. Or go to the Keep and spend a few hours with his father. He'd been choking on his fear of losing Jaenelle but had said nothing to anyone except Surreal. Now… Maybe he should get another male's opinion? But Lucivar would be too blunt and probably have the unfortunate effect of honing a temper that didn't need honing. Saetan, however, might be able to offer an insight into Jaenelle's emotional retreat… or even an assurance that it was a stage of healing and would pass. Maybe… Maybe even talking to Saetan about the nightmare that kept plaguing him might help, although lately, the erotic dreams were giving him more physical and emotional discomfort.

Shaking off those thoughts, he entered the bookshop and smiled at the owner…and wondered why the man's eyes cooled at the sight of him and the usual smile of greeting looked forced.

"Prince Sadi." The shopkeeper sounded like he'd swallowed glass. "You've come for the books I was holding for you?"

"Yes…and a few others," Daemon replied, starting to turn away from the counter to browse the shelves. He'd give the love stories to Marian. She and Jaenelle often exchanged books, so he knew she'd enjoy them.

"Very well."

The reluctance in the shopkeeper's voice stopped Daemon and had him turning back to study the man.

He doesn't want me here, Daemon thought, stung by the unexpected reaction to his presence.

Feeling a hint of ice brush the edge of his temper, he walked to a part of the shop where the shelves hid the shopkeeper from view. For the sake of past, and possibly future, courtesy, it was better to keep his distance until the desire to shred the shopkeeper's skin passed. After all, the man could be upset about something that had nothing to do with him.

Dismissing the shopkeeper for the time being, he began perusing the shelves of fiction, skipping over the love stories and straightforward adventures, and finally stopping at a section that looked interesting.

Pulling a book from the shelf, he read the first page and choked back a laugh. By the time he got to the fourth page, he was leaning comfortably against the shelves and grinning. The heroine was a Blood female named Tracker, a musician by trade, whose companion was a Purple Dusk Sceltie Warlord named Shadow. The village they lived in was clearly modeled on the village of Maghre, and the Warlord who ruled the village and requested their assistance in solving a mystery.…

Did Khardeen know about these stories? He'd send Khary a brief note this evening. It would be a good way to respond to the note he'd received from the Warlord of Maghre last week. Khary's note had been nothing more than a few sentences about horses, but he'd understood the significance of the note coming to him rather than Jaenelle. His actions during the time Jaenelle needed to create her spells to save Kaeleer had broken the friendships that had developed between him and the other males in Jaenelle's First Circle. Since then, they'd all been coldly civil with him. Khary's note was the first sign of any willingness to try to repair those friendships.

Closing the book, Daemon checked the shelves and found two others by the same author that featured Tracker and Shadow. He took those, too. Even if the mystery part of the story didn't end up being sufficiently compelling, the author's understanding of human-kindred relationships was certainly entertaining.

As he crouched to look at another book, he heard two women, speaking in low, urgent tones, walk up to the other side of the shelves.

"It's true, I tell you," one woman said.

"I don't believe it," the other replied, sounding oddly defiant. "And accusing a man of infidelity without proof is irresponsible."

"He was seen, in public, with the bitch he's bedding. How much more proof do you need?"

"I'd heard she was his cousin."

"Her being one thing doesn't exclude her being the other."

A hesitation. "No. I'm certain this is all a dreadful misunderstanding. You only had to look at him last winter to see he was in love with his Queen. He wouldn't betray her now."

"We'll see," the first woman said darkly.

Her companion sighed. "Did you want a book from this section?"

"No, I just wanted to get away from the shopkeeper to finish telling you what I'd heard. The way he kept shushing us was most annoying… and peculiar. I don't usually come to this shop, and I'm not sure I will again."

"Then let's go. I already have my selections."

When he no longer sensed the women's presence in the shop, Daemon stood up and took his books to the counter. As he waited for the shopkeeper to return from another part of the shop, he thought about what he'd overheard.

Poor bastard. An accusation of infidelity could rip a man's life apart. Marriage was the prized partnership…a commitment of the heart rather than a contract for the body and sexual skills. Being branded unfaithful could not only cost a man his marriage, he could lose his children as well. A few hurtful words could destroy everything that mattered to him.

"Prince." The shopkeeper approached the counter, gray-faced and trembling.

"What's wrong?" Daemon asked. "Are you ill?"

"No." The man swallowed hard. "Is this everything?"

Since the man didn't want any assistance, at least from him, Daemon waited until the price of the books was tallied and added to his account. Then he initialed the account, vanished the books, and left the shop.

As he walked to Banard's shop, bafflement shifted into irritation as male acquaintances he passed on the street avoided looking at him or responding to a greeting and the women gave him hostile stares before pointedly looking away, making it clear they didn't want any connection with him. When he walked into Banard's shop, the three people already there, including a Priestess who served in Lady Zhara's court, turned away from the display cases and walked out without saying a word.

"What in the name of Hell is wrong with everyone today?" Daemon snarled as he approached the glass display case that served as a counter.

"You've come for the rings?" Banard asked.

"Yes, I've come for the rings."

Banard cupped his hands over the display case. When he lifted his hands, two velvet-lined ring boxes rested on the glass.

Everything else was forgotten as Daemon picked up what he hoped would be Jaenelle's wedding ring. Simple and fluid, it held a sapphire flanked by rubies.

"It's perfect," he murmured, setting it back in its box before examining the other ring. Just a plain gold band. No etching in the gold or fancy embellishments. He didn't need those things, didn't want those things. All he wanted, everything he wanted, was what that ring would stand for when Jaenelle put it on his finger.

Closing both boxes, he vanished them and smiled at Banard.

Banard didn't return the smile. "Some distressing rumors have spread throughout Amdarh."

Hearing a warning under the words, Daemon inclined his head. "I believe I heard a bit of it this morning. Do you think it's true?"

"No."

Banard's certainty surprised Daemon, but before he could phrase a question, the jeweler added, "You wouldn't have asked me to make those rings if the rumors were true."

For a long moment, he just stared at Banard, unable to make sense of the words. Then cold rage flowed through him, sweet and deadly.

"Thank you for telling me," Daemon said too softly.

As he walked back to the town house, he took mental note of every person who shunned him and every person who made a point of acknowledging him. He saw everything… and he saw nothing because the city had faded behind a soft mist that held a terrible clarity.

Arms linked, Surreal and Jaenelle strolled to the registration desk at the far end of the two-story atrium that was decorated to feel tranquil and lush…and was a clear signal that pampering Ladies was a serious business.

"Mother Night," Jaenelle said, looking around with wide eyes. "Are there really enough female indulgences to take up a place this size?"

"You'd be surprised," Surreal replied, biting back a smile when Jaenelle groaned. The place was built on a much grander scale, but it reminded her of Deje's Red Moon house in Chaillot,Terreille…and made her wonder, since there were guest rooms, if there were a few accommodations that weren't advertised. Not that sex was on her list of indulgences right now. Not for herself, anyway. "We'll get settled in our suite, then I'll make the appointments for our pampering."

"Maybe just…"

"No."

"But…"

"You'll love it. Trust me."

Jaenelle gave Surreal a narrow-eyed stare. "You think painting your toenails is normal."

"And your point is?"

Sighing, Jaenelle slipped her arm out of Surreal's and turned away from the registration desk just as a trim man returned to the desk from the other direction.

"Good morning, Ladies," he said, giving them a warm smile.

Returning the smile, Surreal gave him her name…and watched hostility flash across his face before he managed to hide it behind a neutral mask.

"I am sorry, Lady Surreal, but there are no rooms available."

You're not sorry at all, you spineless little prick. "I made a reservation, which was confirmed. Check your book."

"There's no need. I assure you…"

"Don't fret about it, Surreal," Jaenelle said quietly, turning back to face the registration desk…and the man. "If an error was made, we can stay at the family town house. There are other shops in Amdarh, and I'm certain this establishment isn't the only place that has people skilled at trimming and styling hair."

She wasn't sure which was more fascinating… the way Jaenelle bloodlessly gutted the little prick with a few words or the way the little prick scrambled to rectify his error when he recognized the golden-haired woman standing in front of him.

A minute later, Surreal tucked the key into her pocket, linked arms with Jaenelle to provide support without being too obvious, and headed for their suite of rooms.

"He didn't want us here," Jaenelle said quietly.

"Oh, he was thrilled to have you," Surreal replied. I'm the one he looked at as if I was shit on his shoes. Now why is that, I wonder?

The ground-floor suite had its own small, heated pool off the sitting room as well as two bedrooms with private bathrooms. At least the little prick was smart enough to give them one of the best suites.

"Why don't you rest for a bit while I go make the appointments?" Surreal said as she walked to the door.

"Are you going to take care of things, Surreal?"

Thinking Jaenelle hadn't heard her, she turned…and saw the look in Witch's eyes. And understood Jaenelle wasn't talking about appointments.

She smiled. "You can count on it."

She grabbed the first official-looking person she met, swung the other witch into a tiny alcove, and had the tip of her favorite stiletto tucked under the woman's chin before her prey had a chance to react.

"Listen up, sugar," Surreal said softly. "My cousin has spent months recovering from brutal injuries. Now that she's well enough, I brought her here for the kind of pampering I heard you specialize in. You understand me so far?"

"Y-yes," the witch stammered.

"Wonderful. So here's the deal. Whatever problem you have with me, you bury it while she's here, and you give her the best you've got. Because if you do anything to spoil this first outing, I'm going to tell her father, her brother, and her lover that you made Jaenelle very, very unhappy. By the time those three are finished expressing their displeasure, I sincerely doubt there will be anything in this place big enough to qualify as a pebble. Is that clear enough?"

The woman nodded.

"Good. I'm going to set up some appointments and give you a little time to pass the word." Surreal vanished the stiletto and stepped back into the corridor. "And, sugar? Jaenelle's male relatives aren't the only ones who are dangerous."

"My toes will be rose?"

"You'll love it. That polish will complement the sapphire jacket and trousers I saw in one of the shops we passed on the way to this room. We'll go there next so they'll have time to make any alterations by this afternoon."

"But… rose toenails? Who's going to see them?"

Daemon will when he's nibbling his way down your legs.

But there wasn't any reason to mention that right now.

"Mud? They're going to put mud on my face?"

"You'll love it."

"Whenever the kitties and I played stalk and pounce and we ended up muddy, everyone frowned about it."

Surreal grunted softly. Only Jaenelle referred to Jaal and Kaelas, a full-grown tiger and an eight-hundred-pound Arcerian cat, as "the kitties"…or voluntarily played games with them to keep their predatory skills honed.

"So why is this mud different?" Jaenelle grumbled.

Stretched out on the other table, Surreal turned her head and opened one eye. "It's expensive."

Whispers rose and fell, an ebb and flow of sound as they went to their various appointments throughout the day. They pretended not to notice the way conversations stopped when they entered a room, pretended not to see the uneasy glances. It wasn't the fun, relaxing experience Surreal had wanted it to be, but it served its purpose. By late afternoon, Jaenelle's hair was trimmed and styled, her nails…all of them…were painted, and they'd found enough clothing in the shops to suffice as a wardrobe for a few weeks.

Now, waiting for Jaenelle to return from the dressing room, Surreal studied a display of shawls. Two of them had the right colors to blend nicely with Jaenelle's new clothes and provide extra warmth if it was needed.

Her lips twitched. Well, extra warmth when Daemon wasn't wrapped around his Lady.

"I heard you were here," a voice said.

Turning, Surreal studied Zhara, who was staring at her with an expression that was close to dislike but hadn't quite crossed that line. "And you're here, too. Busy place."

Interesting, Surreal thought as Zhara moved closer. She doesn't want to talk to me, doesn't want to get close to me, but something is pushing her.

"I've heard some disturbing rumors," Zhara said.

"Really? Are you going to share them, or are you going to be another bitch whispering behind Her hand?"

Temper flared in Zhara's eyes. "Remember who you're talking to."

"You're the Queen of Amdarh. And I'm a witch who wears Gray Jewels. If push comes to shove, sugar, you're a corpse. So you want to tell me in plain words what's bothering you, or do you want to keep dancing around in the shit?"

"There's a rumor that Daemon Sadi… that he… "

"What about Daemon?" asked a midnight voice.

Reading the discomfort and embarrassment in Zhara's eyes before they both turned to face Jaenelle, Surreal suddenly had a good idea of what kind of rumors were going around. Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. There were better ways of committing suicide than starting a rumor like that about a man the Blood in Terreille had called the Sadist.

Of course, pissing off Witch wasn't a great idea either. Especially when that deadly anger was back in Jaenelle's sapphire eyes.

"What about Daemon?" Jaenelle asked again, as if Zhara's expression hadn't told her plainly enough the reason for the whispers that had followed them all day.

"I…I'm sure the rumors aren't true," Zhara said.

Jaenelle's smile was razored ice. "So am I."

"Where are you going?" Surreal asked as Jaenelle headed out of the shop.

"I'm going to talk to Daemon."

She didn't try to stop Jaenelle, and she didn't offer to go with her. She didn't want to be around either one of them during that discussion.

"Well, that was fun," she said, looking at Zhara. "You planning to do anything else today to create a firestorm in the city? I was thinking of doing something dull like reading or sleeping, but if you've got your heart set on starting a gut-spilling slaughter, I'm willing to play."

"What are you talking about?" Zhara snapped.

You don't know who… and what… he is, Surreal thought. She shook her head. "Never mind." It's too late anyway.

Daemon prowled the town house's sitting room. He would have preferred walking through the city to being caged in this room, but he couldn't tolerate one more cold look, one more silent condemnation.

The hurt went deep. The fear went deep. But the rage went much, much deeper.

Damn them all to the bowels of Hell. He'd tried to fit in. Knowing the Queens in Dhemlan would be wary of a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince, he hadn't worn the Black when he came to Amdarh. At least, not in public. He'd been courteous and civil, had done all the proper things a man was permitted to do when he was in an established relationship… and only the things a man was permitted to do. What had that courtesy and civility gotten him? At the first slur to his reputation, they'd condemned him of thinking more of his cock than the woman who had given everything she had to defend and protect all of them.

Jaenelle should have let them all die, should have let them all choke in the twisted, vicious cruelty Dorothea had spawned in Terreille before Witch had cleansed the taint of Dorothea and Hekatah out of the Blood. She should have…

"Is this the response of a Warlord Prince, to tuck his tail between his legs and hide in his lair instead of standing up for himself?"

That wonderful, chilling midnight voice shivered over him. Despair clawed his heart, leaving it bleeding, as he turned around.

Mother Night. Jaenelle.

She was still painfully thin, but standing there, dressed in a rose silk shirt and soft sapphire jacket and trousers, she looked like the woman he'd known and loved before she'd torn both of their lives apart to save Kaeleer. She looked like the Queen of Ebon Askavi, strong and powerful, despite the fact that it was Twilight's Dawn and not a Black or Ebony Jewel hanging from the gold chain around her neck.

And her eyes… Feral. Angry.

Witch. The living myth. Dreams made flesh.

He wanted to kneel before her, wanted to surrender everything he was and could ever be, wanted to offer his life in any way she would have him.

But she'd obviously heard the rumors. She knew what was being said about him. That's what had brought her here. Someone's vicious lies had created a chasm between them, and if he didn't find a way to bridge that distance, if he lost her now…

Despair and fury twisted together, became a roar of pain. " I have not been unfaithful !"

"Do you think I don't know that?" Jaenelle replied. "I know you, Daemon. I know you. Even if there had been no hope of me healing, you would have stayed with me, celibate and faithful."

"Of course I would have. I love you." The bitterness under her words frightened him, but the fury was turning cold and sharp.

"I know." Jaenelle looked away, adding, "Maybe it would have been better if that weren't true."

"Meaning what?" he asked too softly, taking a step toward her.

"If you were capable of infidelity, it would be easier to believe you were staying with me because you wanted to stay and not because you felt you had to stay."

"What in the name of Hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you… and me." Pain flickered in Jaenelle's eyes before she looked away. "I know I don't look… that a man wouldn't be attracted…"

"Damn you." He didn't think about it. He grabbed the back of a stuffed chair and let his rage flow.

The chair exploded. Startled, Jaenelle stumbled back a step.

Daemon smiled bitterly. He'd instinctively created a bubble shield to contain the debris so that nothing sprayed over the room, so that not even the smallest sliver would strike Jaenelle and possibly harm her.

But that release was enough to shift ice to heat, so he snapped the leash that held his temper. "Is that why you've been pushing me away? Because of how you look?" He moved away from her, needing whatever distance he could get within the confines of the room as the insult churned through him. "I waited for you my whole life. Yearned for you my whole life. After Tersa told me you were coming, I spent seven hundred years searching for you in the court of every Queen who had bought my service as a pleasure slave. I searched in every Territory in Terreille that was within reach of wherever I'd been sent. For you. For Witch. For dreams made flesh. I never gave a damn what you might look like…tall, short, fat, thin, plain, beautiful, ugly. Why would I care what you looked like? The flesh was the shell that housed the glory. It was a way to connect with you, please you, be with you. Even if I couldn't be your physical lover, there are other ways to be a lover, and I know them all. So don't stand there and tell me what I feel for you depends on how you look !"

"Doesn't it?"Jaenelle snapped, her voice shaking with anger and hurt. "I'm healed, but you still can't bring yourself to touch me, can't even hold my hand…"

"Do you think it's because I don't want to?" Daemon roared. "I can't touch you!" His breathing hitched, surprising him, as the guilt he'd tried to lock away broke through. "It made me sick when I realized that no matter how careful I was, I couldn't touch you without hurting you, that even the lightest brush of my fingers left bruises smeared on your arms and hands, that when I helped you sit up in bed, there would be dark bruises in the shape of my hands on your back and shoulders. Every time I touched you, I hurt you, drained more of your strength because there was something else you had to heal."

"That's not…"Jaenelle paused. Then she sighed. "In the beginning, that was true. Everything was so… frail… it didn't take much to cause damage. But I did heal. It's been months since I've been that fragile."

He heard the words, but pain drove him now, forcing him to say what he'd hoped he'd never have to admit. "You suffered. Every moment you were awake, every move you made… you suffered." He still couldn't bear thinking of how much worse it had been when she'd first risen from the healing webs. How had Ladvarian, Kaelas, and the rest of the kindred who had cared for her endured watching her suffer?

Tears filled his eyes. "I understand why you want me out of your life. Sweetheart, I do understand. But I'd hoped you could forgive me."

Jaenelle's anger faded, but the hurt was still there. "Forgive you for what?"

"You suffered… because of me. You rose up from the healing webs too soon… because of me."

Horror began filling her eyes. "Daemon…"

The tears fell. He choked back a sob. "They told me you would come back, but I didn't believe them. Couldn't believe them. I wanted you so much, needed you so much… and you came back too soon. Because of me."

"That isn't true. The healing webs had done all they could and…"

"Liar." He waited, but she didn't deny it. She couldn't…and they both knew it. "You could have stayed longer in the healing webs, could have given your body more time to mend. But you never could withstand a plea for help from someone you cared about. And a cry of pain from me?" He shook his head. "You would have answered that cry no matter what it cost you. You paid the price for my doubts, and there was nothing I could do to make it up to you."

"Daemon…"

"Do you want to try another lie and tell me you didn't hear me calling to you in the abyss?" he asked bitterly.

Jaenelle's hands curled into fists. "Yes, I heard you. How could I not hear you? Begging. Pleading. I could feel you breaking under the pain."

"So you rose out of the healing webs too soon and then discovered the flesh was barely able to survive despite how much healing had already been done."

"Yes, I rose too soon…and then there was no going back. After that, the healing had to be done from within…and done in a way that only I had the skill to do. But it wasn't just you, Daemon. Did you think you were the only voice calling to me, pleading with me to come back? You were one voice among hundreds. All of them wanting me to return. I could feel Lucivar's and Saetan's yearning, the coven's grief, the boyos fear that, without me there as a connection for all of them, the Shadow Realm would splinter again, that most of the kindred would retreat from human contact again. And the kindred… They didn't want to let go of the dream either, and they held on with everything in them. All of you calling, pleading, hoping that love could do what shouldn't have been possible. Hell's fire, Daemon. I'm a Healer. I know better than you ever will what happened to this flesh when I got hit with the backlash of power still left in those webs I'd created. I knew the healing would be hideous and painful, and that after everything was done that could be done, I might not have anything better than a shell that would exist but never really be able to live." Jaenelle's eyes filled with tears. "But sometimes," she added, her voice breaking, "love is worth whatever price must be paid."

Daemon turned away. He should have felt relieved that it wasn't his fault…at least, not his alone. But her words had numbed him. No pain now, no anger. Nothing. "So you loved them enough to come back."

A long silence. Then Jaenelle said, "No. I came back for you."

He looked at her, not quite trusting enough to hope… or believe. But the emotional pain in her eyes now was more devastating than any physical suffering he'd seen.

"I came back for you," Jaenelle said, tears streaming down her face. "Because you were worth the price."

His heart ached as emotions flooded him. Pain. Pleasure. And the love. Oh, yes, the love. "Jaenelle." His legs trembled as he took the few steps that separated them. He raised his hand, intending to brush away the tears, but he was still afraid to touch her.

Jaenelle closed her eyes and took a few breaths before she looked at him. "I don't know if it will ever be better than this, but I'm healed, Daemon. Completely healed."

He stared at her, trying to decipher what she was telling him. His heart pounded hard enough for him to feel the beat against his chest as his fingertips touched her cheek. Fever raged through him, settling between his legs. His mouth watered as he brushed a finger over her lips. He wanted his tongue there, slicking her mouth until he slipped inside to stroke her tongue. And after that he wanted to stroke…

Healed. Completely healed.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Jaenelle nodded. "I'm completely healed. I have been for weeks now."

And she hadn't told him? Or had she tried in some hesitant way and he hadn't heard because he'd been caged by the memories of her being so frail?

Weeks. She'd been healed for weeks…which is when he'd begun having the erotic dreams, when his hunger for sex had reawakened. His body had known she was ready for him.

"Are you sure?" he whispered. Same words. Different question.

"I'm sure," she whispered back.

His lips brushed hers, softly, carefully. One hand cupped the back of her head while the other trailed down her spine, urging her to relax against him. As he deepened the kiss, he savored the feel of his tongue caressing hers.

The taste of her. The smell of her. The feel…

He eased back in order to brush his lips over her cheek. "You're wearing too many clothes," he whispered. The tip of his tongue traced the curve of her ear, making her shiver. "They're lovely clothes, but they are very much in the way right now."

"We need… to talk," Jaenelle gasped as he licked the pulse in her neck.

"We will," he promised, drifting back to her mouth to give her a long, sinking kiss. "In an hour…" Even through layers of clothing, her nipple hardened as he rubbed his thumb over it."… or two."

Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed against him, changing his desire into something close to desperation. "Tomorrow," he said, his voice part snarl, part groan. "We'll talk about anything you want tomorrow."

Not giving her time to disagree, he picked her up and headed out of the sitting room, maintaining enough control to use Craft to simply open the door rather than rip it off the hinges. As he walked into the entrance hall, he gave his startled butler, Helton, a searing look. "The Lady and I are not at home. To anyone. Is that clear?"

"That is very clear, Prince," Helton replied. "Shall I inform the cook that you will be dining upstairs this evening?"

"I'll let you know when to send up a tray," Daemon replied, taking the stairs two at a time.

"Someone might think you're in a hurry," Jaenelle murmured.

The bedroom door flew open as they reached it and slammed shut behind them, the locks clicking into place.

Private now, with the bed only a step away, the fury of lust eased back to the steady blaze of desire.

"Oh, no," he crooned, setting her on her feet so that he could unbutton the sapphire jacket. "This is going to be a long… slow… banquet." He slipped the jacket off her shoulders, slid it down her arms. "And I'm planning to enjoy every single morsel."

Since that seemed to stun her, he took advantage of her lost wits to unbutton the rose silk shirt and slide that off her. The camisole beneath it was a paler rose and sheer enough to veil her breasts without really hiding them. So he let her keep it on a little longer while he enjoyed the feel of stroking her through the material until her skin warmed under his hands. Then he vanished the camisole, and there was nothing between his hands and her skin.

"Daemon." His name ended in a moan as he gave her breasts a fleeting caress before opening her trousers and sliding them, and the whisper of material beneath them, down her legs. After vanishing her shoes and thin socks, he coaxed her into bed.

Walking around to the other side of the bed, he shrugged out of his jacket, letting it slide to the floor. It had been awhile since he'd stripped with the intention of having a woman hot and willing to let him do whatever he wanted by the time he slid between the sheets, but the look in Jaenelle's eyes told him plainly enough he hadn't lost his touch.

She reached for him as soon as he got into bed, but he had other plans.

"Roll over," he said, a hand on her shoulder guiding her to stretch out on her belly.

"What?" Confused, she obeyed.

He started with her neck and worked down. What his fingers didn't touch, his mouth tasted. By the time he'd licked his way down her spine, she was moaning. By the time his teeth gently scraped her calves, her skin was so sensitized to his touch, he didn't need more than warm breath to excite her.

Turning her over, he stroked her inner thighs and smiled at the painted toenails. Next round, he was going to have to admire them more closely. But judging by her glazed eyes and flushed skin, she was reaching the point where much more would become too much.

"Come here, sweetheart." Rolling on his back, he settled her over him, sheathing his cock between her legs before coaxing her to stretch out over him. He wrapped his arms around her to keep her still.

"Daemon."

Wildly aroused by the hint of snarl in her voice, he kept his kisses viciously soft.

"Let me do this, sweetheart," he whispered as he licked her throat. "It would destroy me if I hurt you now, so let me do this."

"Do what?" She sounded breathless, almost too aroused.

In answer, he used Craft to create a phantom touch, something he'd never done with her before because he'd wanted to give her his body… and because he'd never used that phantom touch except to hurt someone… especially when he pleasured her. Now he wanted to use everything he was and everything he knew to please Jaenelle, so his hands stroked her back and his tongue kept hers busy while phantom fingers caressed the sweetness between her legs until her body bucked within his gently restraining arms, milking him as he sent her on that last wave of pleasure.

Limp and quivering, she sprawled over him. "Mother Night," she gasped.

Brushing his lips against her forehead, Daemon just smiled and used Craft to pull up the covers. It might be spring, but it was still cool during the day, and the nights got cold. He wanted her to stay warm—in every way.

He waited until her heartbeat and breathing quieted. Still inside her, he was already swelling to fill her again, so he slid his hands down to gently knead her ass while a featherlight phantom touch played with her.

She finally raised her head. "Would you teach me how to do that?"

"Do what?" he purred.

"You know perfectly well what."

"Oh, you mean this?" He increased the phantom touch enough to have her gasping as pleasure pulsed through her.

"Ooooohhhh, yes, that."

"Not yet. We'll save that for dessert. Right now, I don't want you thinking about anything except what I'm doing between your legs."

He used phantom hands to restrain her movements, but he let her ride him until she took them both over the edge.

She was sound asleep moments after she stretched out beside him.

Tucking her against his chest to keep her warm, he breathed out a sigh of pleasure…and slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, Roxie shifted on the cab's seat to find a comfortable position while she continued to watch the town house across the street. A few minutes after she'd arrived, another horse-drawn cab had pulled up to the town house, and a woman who looked somewhat like Jaenelle Angelline had gotten out of the cab and entered the SaDiablo residence.

But it couldn't have been Jaenelle. For one thing, she wasn't supposed to come to Amdarh. For another, she wasn't supposed to be that… healthy. She was supposed to hear the rumors from some well-meaning acquaintance who had scurried to SaDiablo Hall to convey the news, but she wasn't supposed to come here and confront Daemon. What if he managed to talk Jaenelle out of breaking whatever ties remained between the two of them? What if he was doing a lot more than talking to convince Jaenelle to keep him?

No. Even that beautiful body, hot and ready for sex, wouldn't be enough reason for a woman to forgive a man for breaking faith with her in that way.

Of course, that didn't mean a woman wouldn't enjoy him before tossing him out of the house.

Two hours. If it was Jaenelle who had arrived at the town house, she should have left long before now…even if Daemon had tried sex as a distraction from the accusations of infidelity. After all, even a man who'd spent centuries as a pleasure slave couldn't spin out sex for two hours.

Could he?

The cab door suddenly opened, tearing her from that intriguing thought. She gasped and pressed herself against the back of the seat before she realized it was the driver standing there and not a member of the SaDiablo family.

"Day's ended," the driver said roughly, giving her a less-than-friendly look. "If you want me to drop you somewhere on my way home, I'll do that. Otherwise, you can pay me for the time my horse has been standing and step out of my cab."

"I'm not ready to leave," Roxie said, putting the kind of aristo haughtiness in her voice that usually made merchants and other kinds of tradesmen back down.

"I am." The driver held out his hand and stared her down. "Of course, I could always go across the street and knock on the door of that town house you've been watching. Someone there might be interested in knowing that a witch has been keeping watch of who comes and goes."

Before she could rail at him for threatening her, a horse-drawn cab pulled up in front of the town house. When it went on, Surreal SaDiablo stood on the sidewalk, looking at the cab Roxie occupied.

The whore didn't worry her, but it was more attention than she wanted today. "Very well," she said as she called in her leather wallet and named a place that was close to the dining house where she was meeting Lektra.

She was outraged when the driver told her his fee, but that bitch Surreal was still watching them, and it would take so little effort for the driver to cause trouble. She handed over the marks.

The driver looked at the marks, then at her before he vanished his fee and climbed up to the driver's seat.

Roxie breathed a sigh of relief as the cab headed for the theater district. Thank the Darkness she'd used the illusion spell today and looked like a thousand other Dhemlan witches. While she wasn't the only fair-skinned witch in Amdarh, the driver had studied the illusion's face a little too long for comfort, so it was good he couldn't tell anyone who had really been watching the town house.

As she watched the cab drive away, Surreal rolled her shoulders to release the tension. She couldn't say why seeing the driver talking to his passenger had caught her attention…or why it had made her uneasy.

Shaking her head, she climbed the steps to the front door and walked into the town house. She'd barely gotten far enough into the entrance-way to close the door before Helton rushed up, blocking her.

Hell's fire. If the servants had heard the rumors…and believed them… things were going to get nasty.

"Lady Surreal," Helton said. "The Prince and the Lady are not at home this evening."

"Really?" Since she could feel Daemon's presence, why the lie? Then she noticed the gleam in Helton's eyes. "Ah. Where did they dine while they weren't at home?"

"The Prince has not yet requested that dinner be sent up, Lady."

"I see." She looked at the staircase and grinned. Oh, she hoped it meant what she thought it meant.

She called in the small trunk she'd brought from the Hall. "When Lady Angelline is available, please see that she gets that trunk. It has the new clothes she purchased today. I think she'll need them." Her grin widened. "Eventually."

Helton returned the grin before regaining his professional demeanor. "I'll see to it personally."

Dancing down the steps, she stood on the sidewalk, not sure what to do with herself. Standing in the middle of the street dancing and whooping would be fun but would require an explanation she didn't want to give.

So she turned around with the intention of heading back to her rented suite for an indulgent dinner…and stifled a shriek as a large shape moved toward her.

Lucivar studied her for a moment, then shook his head. "If you're not going to pay attention to your surroundings to the point where you don't sense someone standing this close to you, you damn well better shield to protect yourself from an attack."

"I'm not likely to be attacked in Amdarh," Surreal snapped. But she glanced across the street to where that cab had stood. She shook off the hint of uneasiness and focused on the Warlord Prince in front of her. "What brings you to Amdarh?"

"Figured I'd better talk to Daemon," Lucivar replied, moving toward the town house's steps.

Surreal jumped in front of him. "Trust me, sugar. You don't want to do that. Not tonight. Daemon isn't interested in talking to anyone tonight."

Lucivar studied the town house door. "Where's Jaenelle? Aren't you doing some female thing today?"

"We were. We did. Now…" Surreal looked pointedly at the town house. "Jaenelle's not interested in talking to anyone either."

"You're telling me it'll be worth my balls if I walk in there and interrupt something?"

"At the very least."

Lucivar grinned. Then he looked at her. "So where are you staying tonight?"

"Jaenelle and I had a suite at the female place, but it looks like I'll have it to myself tonight."

"They have any rooms there where you can get something to eat?"

Oh, shit. "They do, but the place is really… female."

"No males there at all?"

Remembering all the looks and whispers she'd endured that day, she gave in to the urge to be pure bitch. "Yeah, there are males. We can get dinner there if you want. And since Jaenelle won't be using it, you're welcome to the other bedroom." She paused. "Besides, we need to talk. There's some trouble here."

"Fine. Let's go."

"We'll probably have to walk to the corner to find a cab," Surreal said, walking past him.

His snort of laughter warned her, but before she could react, he clamped one arm around her waist and launched them skyward. Since her back was pressed to his chest, she didn't have many places to grab while he flew way too close to the treetops, so she settled for swearing as creatively as possible.

"Shut up," Lucivar said, "or you'll end up with bugs in your teeth."

"What?"

Roaring with laughter, he spun them a few times before gliding down to the sidewalk and backwinging to land lightly in front of the "female place."

"You son of a whoring bitch," Surreal snarled. The sidewalk tilted, and she grabbed the arm he offered. "Just for that, I hope being in this place a few hours makes your balls shrivel up."

He just snorted and escorted her to the registration desk.

"Am I supposed to sign in or something?" he asked.

"You can do whatever you want." Surreal grabbed the desk. The atrium wasn't moving, but she still didn't quite trust her legs. The same little prick who had signed her and Jaenelle in that morning was still on duty…and eyeing Lucivar.

"We do request that any… company… visiting with our guests sign in," he said, setting a leather-bound guest book on the desk and offering a pen.

Taking the pen, Lucivar dipped it in the inkwell and signed his name. "I'm not company, I'm family."

It was the man's sneer, there and gone in a moment, that pricked Surreal's temper.

"What would you do if someone misinterpreted the reason for you being here?" she asked Lucivar.

He studied her. "I'm here to have dinner with a member of my family, and since your suite has a spare bedroom and I need a place to sleep tonight, I'm staying there. What's there to misinterpret? That's simple enough."

"Not everyone sees what's obvious… or true."

His gold eyes narrowed. Then he shrugged. "That's easy enough to deal with. If people turn my spending an evening with my cousin into something it's not, I'll just rip out their lying tongues."

Her jaw dropped, and she was very glad she was holding on to the desk. "Don't you mean you'd cut out their tongues?"

"No, I said what I meant."

She thought about the difference…and shuddered.

His hand closed over her arm. Then he led her toward one of the archways that provided access to the rest of the establishment.

"So where do we find dinner?" Lucivar asked.

"That way." She noticed her hand was trembling. Hell's fire. She was a Gray-Jeweled witch and an assassin. But he was… "You're family, and I love you, but I gotta tell you, Lucivar, sometimes you are a scary son of a bitch."

"Yes, I am." He stopped at the doorway of one of the dining rooms. "But if what went on back there has anything to do with the trouble you want to tell me about, then there's something the Blood in Amdarh haven't learned yet."

"What's that?"

Lucivar studied her long enough to make her stomach tighten. Then he said softly, "That I'm not the Warlord Prince they should be afraid of."

Nine

Daemon woke slowly, gradually becoming aware that his hand rested on a soft, smooth thigh, and someone's fingers were gently combing through his hair.

"You're so beautiful."

He opened his eyes and smiled at Jaenelle, who was sitting up in bed, watching him. Feeling more content than he'd felt in a long time, he caressed her thigh before lifting his hand to brush across her ribs and continue on to her back.

"You can thank my father for that. I didn't have anything to do with it," he replied.

She didn't smile, didn't respond. Just watched him.

Remembering what they still had to talk about, uneasiness began coiling around his contentment.

"What do you want, Daemon?" Jaenelle asked.

""You. Just you."

Her sapphire eyes changed. Became haunted, ancient. He hadn't seen that look in almost a year… since the day he'd gone to Hayll to play out a vicious game to keep Dorothea and Hekatah distracted while Jaenelle prepared to unleash her immense power to cleanse the taint of those two bitches out of the Blood. His heart beat painfully as he looked into those haunted eyes, knowing it was no longer Jaenelle who watched him.

"What do you want?" Witch asked.

Daemon swallowed the lump in his throat. "A wedding ring," he said, his voice roughened by longing…and a fear that he might still lose the one person who meant everything to him. "I want the wedding ring you promised I'd wear after I got back from Hayll."

She went so still he wasn't sure she was still breathing. Then her eyes changed again.

"I'm not the same as I was when that promise was made," Jaenelle said.

He couldn't stop himself from looking at the Jewel she now wore. Twilight's Dawn was a Jewel unlike any other, which made it extraordinary. But it wasn't the Ebony Jewel she used to wear. It wasn't the Black that had been her Birthright. As unique and mysterious as Twilight's Dawn was, it still represented a loss of the power she once wielded. And that did make her different, but…

He sat up to face her. Brushed his fingertips over her face. "No, you're not the same…except in the ways that truly matter."

"Do you really believe that, Daemon?"

Can you accept the difference? That was the question under the question.

"Yes, I really believe that." And I can accept the difference.

A sheen of tears brightened her eyes as she smiled. "Then let's do it. Let's get married. Today."

Now! Excitement, fierce in its intensity, flooded through him before common sense intervened. He rested his forehead against hers and forced himself to consider the ramifications of following desire.

"We can't." He pulled back enough to see the uncertainty, and a hint of hurt, on her face. "Sweetheart, there's nothing I'd like better than to marry you today, but we can't."

"Why not?"

He sighed. "For one thing, the coven and the boyos would never forgive me if they weren't invited to your wedding." Her wedding. Things were still too shaky between him and the rest of the humans who had made up her First Circle that they would give a damn whether or not they came to his wedding. "If we're going to avoid hurt feelings, we have to have a formal wedding. That means sending out invitations, talking to Mrs. Beale about preparing a wedding feast for the guests. It will take a few weeks." And the Darkness only knew what other rumors might be spread about him in that time.

Jaenelle echoed his sigh. "You're right. But…"

The look on her face made him giddy… and a bit terrified.

"We could have a private wedding today, just for us, and then have a formal wedding in a few weeks," she said.

"You mean a secret wedding?" Yes! But common sense, which he was really beginning to resent, intruded once more. "There isn't a Priestess in Kaeleer who would be willing to marry us in secret and risk the wrath of the Queens who rule Kaeleer…not to mention Lucivar and Saetan."

She took his face in her hands. "Daemon," she said, her voice full of laughter, "I've just discovered something about you. As much as you know and as much as you've experienced, you can still be naive about some things."

His mouth hung open, and no brilliantly phrased words came out.

After giving him a smacking kiss on the forehead, Jaenelle got out of bed and headed for the adjoining bathroom. "If we leave within the hour, we can get there by this afternoon."

"Where?"

"Since we'll have to rent a Coach here in Amdarh to ride the Winds to the Hall, contact Ladvarian and tell him to have one of our private Coaches ready so we aren't home long enough for anyone to ask questions. And tell him not to bring anyone except Kaelas."

"Why do we have to bring him?" Daemon grumbled as he got out of bed and slipped on a robe.

Jaenelle paused at the bathroom door. "Daemon? Where are you planning to sleep for the next decade?"

Hell's fire. "Fine. All right. I'll tell the Sceltie to bring the cat."

She just smiled and closed the bathroom door.

Great. Wonderful, Daemon thought as he left their room to use the bathroom down the hall. She had a point about placating those two. If Ladvarian's feelings were hurt by being excluded, the Sceltie could make his life very difficult. And Kaelas had a few points of his own. They were called teeth and claws. Pissing off an Arcerian cat who was a Red-Jeweled Warlord Prince and who already resented that a human male was claiming a piece of Jaenelle's bed wasn't the best way to begin his new position as a husband.

As he adjusted the water in the shower, he contacted Ladvarian on a psychic spear thread and delivered Jaenelle's instructions…and felt grateful the dog didn't ask any questions since he didn't have any answers.

That done, he stepped into the shower and quickly washed while he considered if he was amused or insulted by Jaenelle's "discovery."

Growing up under Dorothea's control had stripped him of innocence at a very early age, and there was little, if anything, of a twisted, vile nature that he hadn't experienced. The Darkness only knew all that he'd done, but one thing he knew with absolute certainty: He was not naive.

Surreal stared at Helton. "They left?"

"Immediately after breakfast," Helton replied.

"Did Prince Sadi say where he and Lady Angelline were going?" Lucivar asked.

"He did not, Prince Yaslana. Nor did he leave instructions on how to reach him. He did say he and the Lady would be returning, but he did not say when."

Surreal blew out a breath and looked at Lucivar, who shrugged.

"Would you like some breakfast?" Helton asked. "Or perhaps coffee served in the sitting room?"

"Coffee's fine," Surreal said. She walked into the sitting room and waited until Lucivar closed the door before she kicked a footstool.

"You pissed off about something, or are you reacting to this room?" Lucivar asked, moving around the room as if he were looking for a trap he knew was there but couldn't see.

"What about the room?" she snapped.

"The hot anger still lingering in it." Lucivar studied a spot on the carpet. "The cold rage underneath the anger."

Surreal stopped her own prowling to see what had caught his attention. "Where's the chair?"

"What?"

"There was a stuffed chair in that spot. At least, there was when I was here this winter to do some shopping forWinsol."

Lucivar crouched, his hand moving slowly just above the carpet. Then he pulled a sliver of wood out of the carpet and held it up.

He didn't have to say anything.

She closed her eyes. "Mother Night, Lucivar. Did I do something stupid by coaxing Jaenelle into coming to Amdarh?"

Rising, he tossed the sliver into the fireplace. "You didn't know about the rumors."

"Where do you think they've gone?"

Lucivar turned slowly. His Ebon-gray Jewel glowed. He paused, then clearly broke whatever link he'd been trying to make. "Daemon's not responding, but he's west of here. Heading for the Hall, I think."

Daemon was the only person Surreal knew who could make Lucivar wary. That Sadi wouldn't respond to his brother made her nervous.

A light knock on the door preceded Helton, who brought in the tray that held a dish of pastries as well as the coffee. It would have been natural, even expected, for one of them to ask him about the chair's absence.

Neither of them asked. They kept silent until Helton left the room.

Then Lucivar sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. "What are you planning to do?"

Surreal poured coffee for both of them. "I'll stay here for a few days, do some shopping, see if I hear anything interesting. What about you?"

"I think I'd better go to the Keep and inform the family patriarch about what's happening," Lucivar replied, taking his cup of coffee.

"Well, that should perk up Uncle Saetan's day."

He snorted. "Yeah. He's going to be thrilled."

"Is there anything you can do?" Lucivar asked, finding no comfort in the way Saetan sat so silent and still.

Finally, Saetan sighed. "I gave up my claim to Dhemlan last year when I decided to remain here at the Keep. The Queens there no longer have to answer to me."

"But they know you. They'll listen to you. Hell's fire, Father. Things are shaky enough between Jaenelle and Daemon. If these rumors…"

"I beg your pardon?"

He felt that whiplash of icy temper and winced. "You've visited them at the Hall often enough," he hedged. "Surely, you've noticed…" Oh, shit.

Saetan shook his head. "My apologies, Lucivar. I have no right to lash out at you for saying something I don't want to hear. Daemon came too close to sliding back into the Twisted Kingdom when he thought Jaenelle died. If he loses her now… I'm not sure what would happen."

"You know what will happen," Lucivar said. "You were in that camp in Hayll. You know what it's like to dance with the Sadist. He played out a game with illusions, but with the right provocation, he's capable of doing things like that. He's capable of doing anything. You know that."

"Yes, I know that," Saetan replied too softly. "After all, he is his father's mirror."

For a moment, Lucivar couldn't breathe. The deliberate reminder that a place called Zuulaman no longer existed was a caution about dealing with the man who sat on the other side of the desk…and a warning about the other man who wore Black Jewels. After all, Daemon was the reason he didn't fear Saetan. When it came down to it, the Sadist could be a more elegantly vicious enemy than the High Lord of Hell would ever dream of being.

"What do we do?" Lucivar asked.

"We wait." Saetan paused, then added, "And we hope."

He was naive. It was the only explanation for why he was standing in a meadow on a spring afternoon feeling overdressed and feet-deficient.

Of course, being flanked by a huge cat and a small dog while enclosed by a circle of unicorns could make any man feel… out of step.

Then the unicorns shifted, making an opening in the circle. Jaenelle stepped through the opening, flanked by Moonshadow, the Queen of Sceval, and her mate, Mistral, the Warlord Prince of the unicorns. Behind them came the Priestess, who had agreed to do her best to say words that would be meaningful to humans while she stood as witness to the "mating" of Kaeleer's Heart to Prince Daemon Sadi.

Thank the Darkness, none of them expected him to consummate the marriage in front of these witnesses.

Jaenelle's eyes brimmed with amusement as she took her place beside him. On his left.

He didn't think about it. He simply stepped back and shifted until he stood on her left, the subordinate position. Her startled expression told him she didn't know what to think about that move, since he now outranked her and was entitled to stand on the right. But his choice had nothing to do with the Jewels she now wore and everything to do with who, and what, she still was. Her place wasn't at his side; his place was at her side. And always would be.

Before her uncertainty could be sensed by the unicorns around them, Mistral reared. Then, looking at Daemon, he flicked his tail and snorted before moving to one side.

Jaenelle pressed her lips together.

*You'd have no use for me if I was hung like that,* Daemon told her on a psychic thread.

She changed her muffled laugh into a series of coughs, causing Ladvarian to declare it was still too cold for the Lady to be outside much longer.

So Moonshadow tossed her head, the sun gleaming on her spiral horn, and all the unicorns pricked their ears as the Priestess took her place in front of the two humans.

*Jaenelle,* the Priestess said, *this human stallion stands before you, wanting to be your mate. Will you accept him?*

"I will accept him," Jaenelle said. She called in the gold band Banard had made. Even though he'd given it to her for this ceremony, Daemon stared at it as if he'd never seen it before.

His left hand trembled when she slipped the ring on his finger, adding, "I offer this token to let everyone know Daemon is now my mate."

*Daemon,* the Priestess said, *the Lady is willing to have you as her mate. Do you promise to be her friend and…* She looked at Ladvarian, who, Daemon guessed, was helping the mare with human concepts. *…lover? Do you promise to protect her from enemies?*

"I promise," Daemon replied. He called in the sapphire ring and slipped it on Jaenelle's finger. "Let this token be a symbol of my commitment to honor, cherish, and protect, to be friend, lover, and husband." He lifted her left hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. "This I promise… with everything I am."

When he drew her into his arms and kissed her, he forgot about standing in a meadow, forgot about who was watching, forgot everything but her…

… until a young voice close to his hip said, *Are they going to mate now?*

Since his libido was rising a little too eagerly, he started to step back… and got stabbed in the ass by a little unicorn's horn.

"It could have been worse," Jaenelle said as he led her back to the Coach and the picnic Ladvarian had procured from somewhere.

"How?" Daemon said, grateful he was just bruised, not punctured.

"You could have been facing the other way."

Before he could decide if he wanted to be an intelligent husband or a snippy bastard, she kissed him, and when her tongue slipped into his mouth, he decided being an intelligent husband was the far better choice.

Wrapping his arms around her, he sank into the kiss, soaring on the feel of her body brushing against his.

She scraped her teeth over his chin. "Did you notice that Ladvarian chose the Coach that has a bed?"

"I noticed."

She licked his throat. "Do you think you can perform your duties as a husband, or are you too wounded?"

Since she was pressed against him, the answer was rather evident, but he said, "Oh, I think I can manage."

"I appreciate your having us to stay tonight," Daemon said as Khary refilled the brandy snifters. In Seek, the Blood still held with that quaint custom of the men and women separating after dinner for a while so that each group could chat with their own gender. So he and Khary had remained in the dining room while Jaenelle and Morghann had gone to the sitting room.

"Well, you could say we were expecting company," Khary replied, a twinkle in his blue eyes. "Especially since Ladvarian came pelting up to the house earlier today, saying he needed a picnic in a hurry and could we have you and Jaenelle to dinner and put you up for the night."

Daemon tried not to wince. "We could have stayed at Jaenelle's house."

"Now, that you couldn't. The staff put most of the furniture under dustcovers after Wilhelmina moved to her own cottage. This way, the house can be put to rights before your next visit." Khary gave Daemon an expectant look.

He smiled. "I have some business in Amdarh that requires my immediate attention, so we'll be going back to Dhemlan in the morning, but we're planning to come back here after the wedding for at least part of the honeymoon. And now that Jaenelle is completely healed, I expect we'll be dividing our time between here and the Hall."

Khary rolled his snifter between his hands. "Wilhelmina said you settled a generous income on her."

Daemon shrugged. "She's Jaenelle's sister. The family could afford it."

"Ah."

As they drank their brandy, the silence took on the weight of anticipation. Of course, there had been a feeling of anticipation since he and Jaenelle arrived at the home of the Queen of Seek and the Warlord of Maghre. Morghann and Khary had greeted the news of their intended marriage with enthusiasm and hearty well-wishing, but as the evening wore on, Daemon couldn't shake the feeling that Khary especially was waiting for something.

"Perhaps we should join the Ladies for coffee," Daemon said, pushing away from the table.

"If you're trying to keep it a secret, you should stop playing with the ring," Khary said quietly.

He'd intended to pretend ignorance, which would have been a lie, but he looked into Khary's eyes and realized they stood on a point of no return. Whatever conclusions Lord Khardeen had reached about what had happened last spring, and why, had been reason enough for him to offer a hand in friendship again. But if that offer of friendship was repaid with a lie, it would never be offered again…and Khardeen had enough weight with the rest of the boyos to bring him back into that circle of friendships… or leave him outside of it forever.

Daemon held out his left hand and dropped the sight shield he'd placed on the gold band to keep it hidden. "How did you know?"

Khary leaned forward to admire the ring. Then he grinned. "Did the same thing with mine when I first got it. Couldn't quite believe it was really there." He rose and gave Daemon's shoulder a friendly squeeze. "So that's what you were doing in Sceval this afternoon."

Feeling awkward, and not liking it, he shrugged. "We wanted to get married. But we are going to have the formal wedding."

"Damn right you are." Khary studied him. "Is there a reason for keeping this secret?"

Daemon felt himself going cold and fought against it. This wasn't the time or place for that sweet, deadly rage. But soon. Soon. "There's some… trouble… in Amdarh. It could shift to Jaenelle if our marriage became public knowledge." He wasn't sure when that realization had bloomed, but he trusted his instincts. "I'll take care of it."

"If you need help, you'll let me know?" Khary asked.

He nodded.

"Well, then." Khary rubbed his hands together. "Why don't we join the Ladies?"

Jaenelle's amused, guilty look when he and Khary entered the sitting room told him she'd had no better luck keeping their secret from Morghann than he'd had keeping it from Khardeen.

Khary looked at the two women and grinned. "So. Are we going to talk about the wedding that will take place or the one that did take place?" His eyes shifted to Daemon. "Because we were wondering why you were having so much trouble sitting through dinner."

Jaenelle snorted.

Daemon sighed, and muttered, "I backed into a unicorn."

Morghann burst out laughing. "Oh, we've got to hear the details."

So Khary and Morghann heard the details, and the evening ended with laughter…and the warm sense that he was back among friends.

Ten

Daemon drove the Coach back to Dhemlan. He didn't have much choice, since Ladvarian, who had driven the Coach to Sceval, had announced that he and Kaelas would meet them at the Hall. He usually didn't mind driving, but he'd anticipated talking Jaenelle into tucking into bed for the journey. And they would have gotten some sleep.

Still, it was pleasant to have her with him in the driver's compartment. Except for the time they spent in bed, it was rare for them to be together without the presence of kindred, court, or family.

But looking at her, he noticed the dark smudges beneath her eyes… and the way she shivered despite being wrapped up in her winter cape.

"Why don't you stretch out on the bed and get some sleep?" he suggested.

"No, I'm fine."

She might be completely healed, but she hadn't regained her physical stamina. He could see the toll the past two days had taken on her.

Scooping her out of the other chair, he returned to his chair and settled her on his lap.

"You're driving," Jaenelle said. "You have to pay attention."

"I'll pay attention," he promised, wrapping his arms around her. She was right. The psychic pathways through the Darkness made it possible for the Blood to travel faster than they could otherwise, but inattention while riding the Winds could be fatal, and guiding even a small Coach demanded extra care. "Just rest. We'll be back at the Hall a little after midday."

Jaenelle rested her head against his shoulder. "I thought we were going to Amdarh."

He hesitated a little too long.

She raised her head and looked at him, too much knowledge in her eyes.

"I'll take care of things in Amdarh," he said.

"No."

She'd been born a Queen. Even though she no longer ruled a court, she was still a Queen…and she was still his Queen. He couldn't prevent the instinctive desire to yield when Jaenelle gave him a direct command, but living in Kaeleer for the past year had shown him that males could, and did, dig their heels in and oppose the Queen they served when a command might put her at risk.

"I won't come to harm," he began.

"You've already been harmed," she snarled.

His temper strained at the leash. "So far, whoever is playing this game has used nothing but words. Once the announcement of our intended marriage is made…"

"The game may turn physical. I'm aware of that."

"I can take care of myself."

"But you don't think I can. Not having my full strength physically doesn't make me weak."

But you're not as strong as you used to be … and we don't really know how strong you are. "I'm aware of that."

When she squirmed, he tightened his hold, thinking she was trying to move away from him. But she only freed her left hand from the folds of the cape and held it up.

"What does this ring mean, Daemon?"

"My promise to honor, cherish, and protect."

"Besides that."

He studied her face, trying to discern what she wanted him to say.

"Partnership," Jaenelle said quietly. "You went to Hayll and played out a vicious game to distract Dorothea and Hekatah because that's what I needed you to do. And it cost you. Don't think I'm not aware of how much it cost you, Prince."

"That was different." Remembering the emotional cruelty he'd inflicted on his family in order to keep them from physical harm made his chest tighten, made it hard to breathe.

"Yes, it was different," Jaenelle said. "This isn't about serving in a court. This isn't about saving a Realm from being shattered by war. This is personal. Someone is going after you. And whether you like it or not, you are not going to play out this game alone."

Jaenelle would protect anyone she loved, no matter the price. If he refused to let her help, she would go off on her own to find whoever was playing games with his life. At least if they stayed together, he could protect her while she was trying to protect him.

"All right, partner," he said. "What did you have in mind?"

She frowned. "I'm not sure yet. But we'll think of some way to find the source of the rumors being spread about you." Then she looked at him through her lashes. "So, who's going to tell Mrs. Beale she's got a month to plan a wedding feast?"

Hell's fire. Mrs. Beale was a marvelous cook. She also had what he considered an unnatural relationship with her meat cleaver. Since he'd inherited SaDiablo Hall, he had gained a finer appreciation of why his father had stayed away from anything to do with the kitchen unless cornered. The woman was downright scary at times.

The fact that she and Beale, the Hall's butler, were happily married was something he tried not to think about because it made him wonder things about Beale he'd rather not wonder.

"If we both went to Amdarh, we could just write her a note," Jaenelle said.

He looked at Jaenelle. She looked at him.

"Good idea," he said.

That settled, she snuggled against him and slept for the rest of the journey.

*High Lord?*

Ladvarian's suppressed excitement made Saetan's nerves twang, but he continued warming a glass of yarbarah as if he had no concerns. "Lord Ladvarian. What brings you to the Keep?"

*There's something you should know. But it's a secret.*

Comfortably settled in a window seat, Saetan watched as twilight faded the colors in the small garden beyond the room Draca had given him to use as a study.

The daughter of his soul and the son of his blood had married yesterday. He'd told Ladvarian he was delighted, and he was. But in the privacy of his own heart, he could acknowledge a nip of hurt that he hadn't been asked to witness that bond. A father's wish to share the important moments in his children's lives.

And yet, he understood the reason behind this secret wedding. It didn't matter that Jaenelle was no longer the Queen of Ebon Askavi. Her decision to take a husband would create ripples throughout Kaeleer. Even if the guest list was contained to the Blood who had made up the First and Second Circles of the Dark Court, it would take weeks to plan the celebration that would follow the simple ceremony. For two people who wanted, or needed, to make a formal commitment to each other now, waiting in order to plan a party would have been intolerable.

Especially for Daemon. Because Daemon Sadi's loyalty began and ended with Jaenelle Angelline. The fact that someone was trying to give Jaenelle a reason to break all ties with him indicated the Blood in Dhemlan still didn't realize the kind of man they were dealing with. And that frightened him. The only thing restraining the power and temper of a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince was a woman whose own power was, as yet, undetermined. If the rumors spreading through Amdarh and, by now, through the other courts in Dhemlan, provoked Daemon into striking out indiscriminately, there was no one, including himself, strong enough to stop him.

The bloodbath could be horrific.

So it was prudent of Jaenelle to marry Daemon in a way that required little fuss to give him the assurance that he wouldn't lose her.

Saetan scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. With things balanced so precariously right now and so dependent on Daemon's state of mind, he just wished he had the answer to the question the coven, the boyos, and even Lucivar had been asking over the past few months.

If the kindred had truly succeeded in holding onto Jaenelle so that she would heal and come back to all of them, why had she come back different?

Eleven

Lektra dropped her cup, oblivious of the tea seeping into the white tablecloth as she twisted around to stare at the two women seated at the next table in the dining house.

"I…I beg your pardon," Lektra stammered. "I didn't mean to overhear your conversation, but… Daemon Sadi is getting married?"

The woman Lektra recognized as the Priestess in Zhara's First Circle nodded. "Lady Angelhne and Prince Sadi came to Lady Zhara's court this morning and announced they were going to marry in a month."

"But I… I thought Lady Angelline was an invalid." Lektra gripped the back of her chair so the other women wouldn't see her hands shaking.

Looking puzzled, the Priestess shook her head. "I don't know where you heard that, but she's not an invalid, although she looks like she's still recovering from her injuries." She paused. "There were some disturbing rumors about Prince Sadi's fidelity, but he was very solicitous with his Lady, doing and saying everything one would expect of an ardent lover."

"Perhaps doing and saying it too well?" the Priestess's companion asked.

The Priestess gave her friend a sharp look. "He was concerned for her well-being…as he should be."

Lektra forced herself to smile and turn away just as a waiter hurried to her table to vanish the soiled tablecloth, replace it with a clean one, and bring her another cup of tea. As much as she wanted to hear about her unfaithful lover's performance while he'd been visiting Zhara's court, it wouldn't do to make anyone wonder about her interest.

She picked at the meal she'd ordered, no longer taking pleasure in the food, too aware of the women at the other table. Finally, feeling too ill to continue pretending, she paid for her meal and hurried out of the dining house, wanting nothing more than the sanctuary of her own home.

"What's wrong with that bitch?" Lektra snarled as she paced her sitting room. "Doesn't she have any pride? She must have heard that he's been unfaithful to her. She should have severed whatever ties still hold him to her."

Roxie, curled in one corner of the sofa, selected another chocolate from the large box on the table. "Have you seen her?" She made a disgusted sound. "Even if he was unfaithful and having sex with six other women every day, she wouldn't let Daemon go if he's still willing to service her. What other man would want her?"

"But he's going to marry her!" Lektra's hands clenched. "He's supposed to want me. He's supposed to love me." How dare he disappoint her when she was counting on having the strongest, most beautiful man in the Realm as her lover? How could he even think of staying with Jaenelle when she loved him so desperately?

Roxie frowned. "Maybe we can give him a reason to walk away from her."

Or maybe it's time to take a more direct approach to the problem. "I'm going out," Lektra said, hurrying toward the door. Her Summer-sky Jewels were strong enough for what she had in mind. And with luck, there would be some tragic news for people to discuss over dinner tonight.

Wrapping one arm around Jaenelle, Daemon tucked her closer to his right side as the horse-drawn cab headed out of the shopping district.

Jaenelle said, "We could…"

"No."

"But…"

"Enough."

She studied him with narrowed eyes. "You've got that bossy I'm-a-Warlord-Prince-so-I'm-right tone in your voice."

"No, I've got that I'm-a-Warlord-Prince-who-is-your-adoring-loving-husband tone in my voice."

"Sounds like bossy from where I'm sitting."

"Must be the acoustics in the cab." He smiled as he kissed her frown-wrinkled forehead. "Sweetheart, you're exhausted. We've paid a courtesy call to Zhara and been seen in several shops today. That's enough. You need to rest." He paused. "Hell's fire, I need to rest."

She considered that for a moment. "What did you have in mind?"

Several things, but he'd take them in order. "Tucking into the sitting room for the rest of the afternoon. If you're a good little witch and nibble on some food to make up for what you didn't eat at midday, I'll read to you."

"That's bribery," Jaenelle grumbled.

"And your point is?"

"It's a good bribe."

Daemon grinned, then looked out the window when the cab stopped. "Streets are crowded today."

"What else is on your mind?"

He sighed. Of course she'd noticed his preoccupation at the last two shops they'd visited. Taking her left hand in his, he dropped the sight shield on his wedding ring for a moment. The brief sight of it warmed him, soothed him.

"Maybe we should let this go," he said quietly, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand.

"Someone tried to ruin your reputation and isolate you socially from the rest of the Blood," Jaenelle pointed out.

"Someone wanted you to turn away from me. You didn't. Nothing else matters." The cab started forward. "I don't give a damn if the Blood in Amdarh accept me or not."

"If someone wants you enough to hurt you…"

The driver cried out. The horse screamed and bolted.

Daemon had enough time to throw a Black shield around both of them before the horse veered sharply. The sound of wood snapping…

"Air!" Jaenelle shouted.

… then the cab tipped, crashing on its side before continuing a sickening flip with unnatural speed until it smashed against walls of power.

The inside of the cab was a dazzle of colors…Green, Rose, Summer-sky, Purple Dusk, Red, Sapphire.

As the cab came to rest, Daemon blinked to clear his vision. The colors danced around them a moment longer before they faded…and he realized they were floating in the middle of the cab. He had automatically created a tight, defensive shield that would have protected them from invasive harm, but they would have been thrown around the inside of the cab. Jaenelle's bubble shield had provided a better cushion.

Shattered glass and thrusting spikes of broken wood littered the cab's roof, which was now beneath them.

He wasn't aware he'd risen to the killing edge, wasn't aware of the freezing rage flooding him until Jaenelle said quietly, "Leash it, Prince. They just want to help."

He stared at her, working through what she was telling him, what she was demanding from him. He wanted to rip flesh from bone, wanted to crush the minds surrounding the cab. He wanted to wash Amdarh's streets in a river of blood.

"Daemon," Jaenelle said.

"For you," he crooned. "Only for you."

With effort, he chained the desire to strike out with lethal intent as the cab door opened, revealing worried male faces. The air bubble shrank around them. In the space of a heartbeat, he dropped the Black shield around them and reformed tight shields around each of them. Then he shifted until he could crouch among the shattered glass and shards of wood and help the Warlords reaching into the cab to guide Jaenelle, still floating on air, through the door.

As Daemon emerged from the cab, he noticed how the males had formed a protective circle around Jaenelle, noted the distress and angei in all of their faces.

"Where's the driver?" he asked too softly.

"Over there," a Warlord said, pointing to another cluster of males.

The males near the driver backed away as he approached. He looked down at the man sprawled in the street, testing with a delicate psychic probe.

Physically dead but not burned out.

He put a Black shield around the driver and vanished the body, ignoring the startled exclamations of the other men. The Warlords surrounding Jaenelle watched him with fear in their eyes. Jaenelle just watched him.

Her presence was the tiny spark of warmth in a world that had gone sweetly, deadly cold. So he held on to that spark while he led his Lady to one of the carriages offered for their use…and he held himself in the eye of a storm that he would either dissipate… or unleash on Amdarh.

Keeping her inner barriers tightly shut to prevent anyone picking up on her frustration and fury, Lektra, along with several other women, stood on a street corner and watched the Warlords ease Jaenelle Angelline from the broken cab. She walked away, knowing she'd be sickened by the sight of Daemon fawning over that pale bitch.

It should have worked. It should have. Even if Jaenelle wasn't as much of an invalid as she'd thought, being tossed around in a tumbling cab should have injured something. But the bitch didn't even have a scratch.

Of course, she hadn't seen Daemon emerge from the cab.

She turned back, barely able to stop herself from running. It hadn't occurred to her that Daemon might get hurt. She'd expected him to shield himself and be safe. But what if he'd shielded Jaenelle instead? What if he was still in the cab with a broken leg or a broken back or…

She reached the corner in time to glimpse Daemon helping Jaenelle into another carriage. Staggering back a few steps, she braced a hand against the nearest building. He wasn't hurt. Her beautiful love wasn't hurt.

But he still wasn't free to be her beautiful love, and if she couldn't find some way of preventing him from marrying that used-up bitch, it could be decades before he could be with his real love.

Maybe Roxie was right. Maybe she'd gone about this from the wrong direction. No woman would give up Daemon Sadi. But since Jaenelle Angelline didn't have any status anymore to attract a strong male, maybe the thing to do was give Daemon a reason to walk away from Jaenelle.

Feeling the cold rage wash over the town house, Lucivar stepped into the small entrance hall and shivered. A moment later, Surreal rushed down the stairs.

"Mother Night," she muttered. "We're going to dance with the Sadist, aren't we?"

"Yeah, it looks like we are." What had provoked Daemon into cold rage? Lucivar looked at Surreal. "Maybe you should get out of here."

She shook her head. "Two people distracting him are…"

"Twice as many targets for him to splatter over the walls."

"He doesn't splatter," she snapped. "He's not that merciful when he's this pissed off."

She was right. Unfortunately.

A minute later, they heard a carriage pull up in front of the town house.

Taking a deep breath and blowing it out, Surreal opened the front door. Her shock hit Lucivar with the force of a fist. He gave himself a moment to acknowledge his stomach-churning fear before he locked it away. He couldn't afford to show even a hint of fear. Not if he had to deal with the Sadist.

"Hell's fire!" Surreal flung the door wide open and stepped back. "What happened?"

"A carriage accident," Daemon replied as he carried Jaenelle into the house.

"Cat!" Lucivar leaped forward, but Daemon's glazed, sleepy eyes stopped him from actually touching Jaenelle.

"I'm fine," Jaenelle said.

"I'll settle the Lady upstairs," Daemon snarled. "Then we'll talk. In the meantime, contact Gabrielle and ask her to come as quickly as possible. We need a Healer."

Lucivar stepped aside to give Daemon a clear path to the stairs. "There are Healers in Amdarh."

"None that I trust," Daemon replied. He climbed the stairs and disappeared down the hallway that led to the suite he shared with Jaenelle.

"Oh, shit," Surreal said as she shut the door. "If he considers all the Blood in Amdarh as an enemy, someone is going to die."

"Let's try not to be among the corpses," Lucivar growled. "You stay here. I'll contact Chaosti." He walked into the sitting room and closed the door. Ebon-gray to Gray, he could make the psychic reach to the Warlord Prince of the Dea al Mon.

*Chaosti.* He waited a few moments, then called again.

*Lucivar?*

*We need Gabrielle here in her capacity as a Healer.*

Hesitation. *How much do you need her?*

*What?*

Another hesitation. *We confirmed yesterday that Gabrielle is pregnant. If she uses more than basic Craft… *

*She'll miscarry*

*Everything has a price,* Chaosti whispered.

Lucivar closed his eyes, understanding the question behind the words. If she was truly needed, Gabrielle would come and use whatever power was required for a healing, knowing it would destroy the baby she carried.

*No,* Lucivar said. *We'll find some other way*

*We could come to Amdarh, just to be there,* Chaosti offered.

*No. Stay away from Amdarh.*

*There's trouble?*

He felt the change in Chaosti and recognized a Warlord Prince's predatory nature rising to the fore. *Nothing we can't handle.* Which was true in its own way. No one was safe while Daemon was cold, so why ask a friend to step onto a potential killing field? *Stay home and take care of your Lady… papa.*

Chaosti's pleasure filled the link between them. Then he asked, *Have you spoken to your brother lately?*

*He's here in Amdarh.*

Silence. Then Chaosti said, *Take care of yourself, Lucivar.*

*I'll try to stay off the killing field.*

He broke the link and walked out of the sitting room just as Daemon came down the stairs and Surreal opened the front door to admit Zhara and another witch.

"I heard about the accident," Zhara said. "I brought my Healer to offer what help we can."

"No," Daemon said too softly.

*Daemon, Gabrielle is pregnant,* Lucivar said on a spear thread.

Those glazed eyes stared at him for too long before Daemon focused his attention on the two witches.

The Healer tried to smile. "Why don't I just have a look at Lady Angelline and…"

Daemon's snarl filled the small entrance hall.

"We do have a qualified Healer in residence," Surreal said. "I'll go up and ask Jaenelle if she needs another Healer. You just stand there and… breathe… until I get back." She eased around Daemon and bolted up the stairs.

Don't do anything to provoke him, Lucivar thought, watching ice coat the windows on either side of the door. The entrance hall was so cold he could see his breath, and Zhara and her Healer were shivering.

Daemon just stood there, his hands in his trouser pockets, staring at Zhara and the Healer.

Surreal raced down the stairs. "Jaenelle says she has a few sore muscles. Nothing worse than that. Not even a bruise. She's fine, Daemon. She really is. I'm going to help her into a hot bath to soak a bit while you cool off." She looked around the entrance hall. "Or warm up." She started back up the stairs, then turned."Oh.Jaenelle also said you promised to read to her. She told me to remind you."

Saying nothing, Daemon walked into the sitting room.

Surreal dashed up the stairs, leaving Lucivar with Zhara and the Healer.

Zhara's eyes glittered with anger. "If Prince Sadi thinks the respect the Dhemlan Queens have for his father means he can act any way he…"

"Shut up and get out," Lucivar snarled, keeping his voice low enough not to carry to the sitting room. "He doesn't trust you, and right now, he'll kill anyone he doesn't trust." Even me.

"I am Amdarh's Queen, and…"

"You don't know who you're dealing with. You. Don't. Know. But I'm very much afraid you're going to find out. So get out while you can… and hope you're still among the living when this is done."

Zhara's light-brown skin turned gray. "What are you talking about?"

Lucivar swore. "He's a Warlord Prince. Someone tried to hurt his Queen. What do you think is going to happen?"

"It was an accident."

"You believe that if you want to. You seem willing to believe a lot of things lately."

Before Zhara could reply, they all heard the quiet clink of glass against glass. She glanced toward the sitting room…and the two women left with more speed than dignity.

Lucivar closed the front door, then leaned against it for a moment. He didn't want to walk into that sitting room, but someone had to dance with the Sadist, and it looked like it was going to be him.

Taking a deep breath, and hoping he wasn't about to make Marian a widow, he walked into the sitting room and closed the door.

"Brandy?" Daemon asked as he filled a snifter halfway.

"Sure." Lucivar walked toward his brother, watching for any sign that things would turn lethal. Daemon sounded calm, but that didn't mean a damn thing.

Daemon poured brandy into another snifter and handed it to Lucivar.

"I was willing to let it go," Daemon said softly. "I told myself it was just words. Some petty bitch sees a male she wants and goes after him in one way or another. How many times had we watched that game played out in Terreillean courts over the centuries?"

"Too many," Lucivar said, wishing he could test the brandy for poison… and knowing the insult would probably get him killed. "Hell's fire, when that little Rihlander was planning to trap me a few years ago, I exiled the bitch."

"Just exile? Did you have a weak moment, Prick?" Daemon's smile was still on the chilling side, but not quite on the killing edge anymore.

Lucivar shrugged. "At the time, killing her would have caused more problems."

Daemon nodded and took a large swallow of brandy. "If this game had stayed focused on me, I would have let it go. Jaenelle didn't believe the rumors, and I don't give a damn what anyone else thinks." He looked away. "And I thought, if it got physical, I would be the target."

"You were in that carriage, too."

"But I'm not the one who was supposed to get hurt. It happened fast, Lucivar. We'd been using that same cab all afternoon. Anyone following us would have had time to put a spell on it…or at least prepare the spell for a fast strike. The way the cab rolled… It was too fast, too violent. Had to be Craft-enhanced. Which means someone hoped Jaenelle would be hurt."

"In order to have you." He could see it too clearly. A shield would have protected her from broken glass or wood, but being thrown around in a rolling cab could have resulted in a damaged neck or spine. Jaenelle could have been crippled, perhaps forever, just when she was starting to reclaim her life.

"In order to have me," Daemon agreed.

"So what are we going to do?"

"Whoever caused the accident killed the driver but didn't finish the kill. I have him. After he makes the transition to demon-dead, he may be able to tell me something."

"You have plenty of experience in finishing the kill and none when it comes to dealing with someone newly demon-dead."

"So?"

"Why not take the cab driver to the one person who does know how to deal with the demon-dead?" Lucivar took a swallow of brandy. "If you don't tell Father about what happened today, he's going to kick your ass. You know that."

The room went cold. "Do you think he can?"

Hell's fire. No. "Jaenelle is his Queen, too, Bastard. If she's in danger, he needs to be told."

The temperature in the room eased closer to normal.

"I don't want to leave Jaenelle," Daemon finally said.

"Then I'll take the driver to the Keep."

"All right."

"And after we find out whatever the driver knows?"

Daemon watched the brandy as he gently swirled the snifter. "Jaenelle wants to help me find whoever is behind the rumors. I'm not happy about that, but I understand the need. If I try to keep her away from everything that might hurt her, I'll smother her…and I'll lose her. She won't stay if she's thought of as less than what she was."

"She is less than what she was." Lucivar shrugged, ignoring the skitter of nerves down his spine at the way Daemon looked at him. "But she'll never discover what she can do if we keep standing in the way."

"Exactly." Daemon sighed. "There's a party in three days. One of those mind-numbing affairs. So Jaenelle and I will play out a little game at the party. Maybe we'll even find out something. Either way, I think I can convince her that she played out her part and should go back to the Hall."

"A mind-numbing party," Lucivar muttered. "Sounds like fun."

Daemon's eyes and smile finally warmed. "I'm delighted you think so, since you'll be there, too."

Lucivar swore. "Why do I have to be there?"

"Because if someone there goes after Jaenelle and somehow manages to get past me, I want to know they'll have to go through you in order to hurt her."

"Done." He set the snifter on the table. "You'd better include Surreal in this party. If you piss her off, she'll threaten to pin your balls to the wall."

Daemon grinned. "She does have a way of expressing her opinions, doesn't she?"

"That she does. So what happens after the party?"

The grin changed into a viciously gentle smile. Daemon set the snifter down and turned his right hand palm up so Lucivar could see the snake tooth slide out of its channel beneath the ring-finger nail.

"After that," Daemon said, "I'm going hunting."

Twelve

Daemon shrugged into his black jacket and adjusted the cuffs of his white silk shirt. He didn't want to go to this party, didn't want Jaenelle anywhere near the aristo Blood who would be crowding the rooms. But her plan to try to draw out whoever was behind the rumors sounded safe enough, especially with Lucivar and Surreal in attendance.

That didn't mean he liked it. And he wasn't sure he could do it.

To distract himself, he silently rehearsed the phrase in the Old Tongue that he'd painstakingly pieced together over the past few weeks. He'd learned a few phrases of the Blood's ancient language over the centuries from scholars who still had some knowledge of those fluid words, but nothing he'd known had come close to what he wanted to say. Something private. Something erotic. Something he could whisper to Jaenelle to tell her what she meant to him.

Unfortunately, there were only two people in all of Kaeleer who were fluent in the Old Tongue. He couldn't ask Jaenelle to help him translate the phrase since he wanted to surprise her, and Saetan… Well, no matter how sophisticated the relationship, no matter how adult the people involved, there were some things a son just couldn't ask his father.

So he'd struggled with the books he'd found in Saetan's private study deep beneath the Hall, books that were filled with the grammar and vocabulary of that old language. What they didn't tell him was how to pronounce those words.

Maybe he could talk Jaenelle into giving him a few lessons while they were on their honeymoon. After all, he was going to offer to teach her a few things, too.

A quiet click. The bathroom door opened.

He turned to face her as she entered the bedroom. He'd seen desire mingled with the heat of lust in other women's eyes, and had hated them for it because they saw only the body, wanted only the bedroom skills he'd had no choice in learning. But seeing those feelings in her…

A different kind of heat flowed through him, and all those bedroom skills finally had a purpose.

"You look beautiful," he said as he crossed the room and held out his hand.

"So do you." She blushed.

Watching the color wash over her cheeks made him hungry.

Drawing her into his arms, he nuzzled her temple. "What would you like to do on our honeymoon?" The look she gave him made him grin. "Besides that."

Her blush deepened.

He eased back enough to trace a finger over the gold chain that held Twilight's Dawn. "I was thinking we could see what skills you might have now with a different Jewel."

A touch of wariness filled her eyes. "Craft?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of cooking."

Her eyes widened. "Cooking? But I can't cook."

His fingers followed the chain back up to her neck. "You couldn't before. But you couldn't call in your shoes before, either."

"I don't know, Daemon."

The words were doubtful, but her expression was eager.

His hands caressed her back. His lips brushed her cheek. "We could start with something simple. A roast."

"A roast," she repeated, as solemn as any student learning her first difficult spell.

"We start with a choice cut of meat." His hands caressed her hips, her ribs, gave her breasts a teasing brush before circling back up to her shoulders. "Rub it gently with herbs to season it and bring out the flavor." Since her head had tipped back, exposing her throat, he took the invitation and left a trail of delicate kisses from her throat to her ear. "Then we give it heat, but carefully, slowly, so the juices rise and tremble on the surface to be savored."

"Are you sure we're talking about cooking?"

He licked her ear, enjoying the little tremors going through her.

"My legs are weak," she said, sounding breathless.

He froze, fighting against the panic that the strain of the past few days had been too much for her. But before he could think of a careful way to ask, she added, "When your voice gets that purr in it and you kiss me like that, my legs get weak."

His body relaxed in one way, tightened in another. He brushed his lips over hers. "We could skip the party, stay home, and"… the tip of his tongue touched her bottom lip… "discuss the merits of basting."

She stared at him. "I'm supposed to be annoyed with you. How am I going to be annoyed with you?"

"By remembering the second part of the evening's entertainment."

"What's that?"

"The kiss-and-make-up part." He smiled as phantom tongues delicately licked her nipples.

She wobbled, then held on to him to stay upright. "Mother Night."

"Ready?" he purred.

"For what?"

She sounded nervous. He never wanted her to fear him, but nervous… Oh, he knew exactly how to play with a light case of nerves.

Since he could think of a dozen answers to her question…and only one of them would get them out of the bedroom…he stepped back enough to guide her toward the door.

"For the party of course."

"The party. I remember."

He grinned. Strange to feel savagely volatile and lighthearted at the same time. "Let's collect Surreal and Lucivar and go play party games."

Surreal scanned another room full of milling people. It felt like every aristo in Amdarh was stuffed into this house. "Parties like this were more fun to attend when I was a whore."

Standing beside her, Lucivar also scanned the room. "Why?"

"Watching all the prissy bitches trying not to act scandalized that I was there was almost as entertaining as watching the men I'd slept with sweat over what I might say to the prissy bitches. Now that I'm considered part of an aristo family, these little evenings aren't as interesting."

"You're not 'considered' part of an aristo family," Lucivar growled. "You are part of an aristo family."

"Whatever."

"We've been here an hour. You don't have to stay."

"I'm not here for the food or the entertainment. Thank the Darkness."

She didn't catch most of the low, snarling response except for the words "moon's blood."

"It's the fourth day," she said with insulting precision. "I can wear my Jewels again."

"The males here don't know that," he snapped. "They'll just pick up the scent. You might as well hang a sign around your neck that says, 'I'm vulnerable. Hurt me.' "

She gave him a razor smile. "Exactly. Any male who looks at me and sees 'prey' is a man I want to have a private chat with."

He gave her a long, assessing stare. She knew that look. This was Lucivar assessing a warrior's potential to step onto a killing field and be able to walk away from it once the fight was done.

"You have your knives with you?" he asked.

"I used to be an assassin as well as a whore, remember? Yes, I have my knives."

"Are they honed?"

"Yes, they're honed. Would you like me to test one on you to prove it?"

He just stared.

Surreal sighed. Since he was Eyrien, a Warlord Prince, and a relative, getting pissy with Lucivar about weapons was pointless. She decided to change the subject. "What's wrong with Daemon and Jaenelle? They were snuggly in the carriage on the way to this party, and now…" She frowned. "Now Daemon has this look on his face…"

"His court mask." The sudden tension in Lucivar's body and the wariness in his voice made her uneasy. "His what?"

"That's the way he always looked in the Terreillean courts when he was a pleasure slave. Cold. Bored. His face was a mask that revealed nothing of what he was really thinking. It was a look that said, 'You can touch my body, but you'll never touch me.'"

That distracted her. "He actually let the bitches touch him…and they lived?"

"I didn't say they lived," Lucivar replied grimly.

Surreal shivered and went on to the second part. "Then there's Jaenelle. One moment everything is fine, and the next it's like she almost believes the rumors."

"Hell's fire," Lucivar said. "This is the game. Daemon told me they were going to try flush out whoever was behind the rumors. This is how they're doing it."

She thought it over, and her stomach churned at the possibility. The last time she'd been involved in one of Daemon's "games," the Sadist had scared the shit out of everyone in that Hayllian camp.

"It's a game," Lucivar repeated. "He knows his role…Mother Night, he's played it enough times over the centuries."

"And Jaenelle is pretending to waver between refusing to believe the rumors and wondering if there's some truth to them?"

"That's my guess." He sighed. "Come on. We'd better find them."

"I prefer watching the Sadist's games from a distance." But when Lucivar threaded his way through the crowd to reach the ballroom, she swore under her breath and followed him.

Lektra pulled her cousin Tavey into a small alcove where she could keep an eye on the ballroom and still talk with relative privacy. Watching Daemon fawn over Jaenelle was beyond intolerable, and if he continued playing the ardent lover so publicly, all her efforts to free him would be ruined. So she had to do something now. It was unfortunate that she didn't have time to find a male who could make the lie believable, but she had to hope that the shock of the claim would make Daemon react without thinking.

"This is what I want you to do," she said. Tavey's eyes widened as she told him.

"But he's a Warlord Prince," Tavey said, his voice rising until she shushed him.

"Exactly. By Protocol, if he's told to walk away, he has to walk away."

"But doesn't she have to tell him to go?"

"She'll never tell him. So you have to."

"But I don't even know her!"

"Shush!" Lektra looked around to assure herself no one was paying attention to them. "That doesn't matter. He won't know that." She paused and made her lips quiver. "Tavey, if you don't do this for me, my love will never be free, and if he ends up having to marry her, I'll be so miserable I…I don't think I'll be able to stand living anymore."

"Don't say that, Lektra. Don't." Tavey squeezed her hands. "I'll do it. I promise."

She sniffled and gave him a brave smile. "I won't forget this. And once Daemon and I are married, I'm sure he'll use his family's influence to get you a position in whatever court you want."

"Wouldn't mind having a month or so with Sadi's 'cousin.' "

"You want the whore? You can have her. I've already made plans for getting her out of the way for a while to insure she's not a distraction. There's no reason why she can't provide you with some company while she's staying in the country."

"Is something wrong?" Daemon asked as he escorted Jaenelle around the edge of the ballroom.

"I'm trying to look petulant," she replied. "Don't I look petulant?"

"You look like you have gas."

"Daemon." She choked back a laugh.

His lips twitched. This party was turning out to be more fun than he'd anticipated. Oh, not the party itself, but playing out this game with Jaenelle was definitely entertaining. It had been easy enough to slip behind that cold, bored expression that had served him so well in the Terreillean courts. Problem was, the mask kept slipping. They kept slipping, forgetting their roles of suspicious woman and discontented man. Dancing with her for the first time in months was too delicious a feeling to spoil with a game.

But he'd agreed to play this out, so that's what he would do.

"Are we still scheduled to have a public quarrel?" he asked, slipping an arm around her Waist once they found an open space where they could watch the dancers.

"Yes, we are, because I'm upset with you." Jaenelle frowned as she looked at him. "Why am I upset with you?"

"So that we can spend hours tonight doing the kiss-and-make-up part of this pretend quarrel," he purred, using Craft to change the sexual heat that, even leashed, poured out of him into psychic seduction tendrils that gently coiled around her while phantom hands stroked the inside of her thighs.

"Mother Night," she gasped.

Suddenly she was leaning hard against him, letting him support her.

"Feeling a bit weak in the legs?" he asked too innocently.

Her laughing snarl turned into a warm smile when she noticed the man swiftly approaching them.

Handsome, graceful and lean, with a mane of brown hair artfully disheveled, the man had fair skin, which meant he wasn't native to Dhemlan, and green eyes that were focused on Jaenelle. An Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince. A rival.

Daemon hated him on sight.

"My darling," the man said, pressing his lips to the back of the hand Jaenelle held out to him.

"Prince Rainier," Jaenelle replied, still smiling.

"I'm wounded," Rainier said.

Not yet, but you will be, Daemon thought.

"My favorite Lady finally makes an appearance at a party and hasn't asked me to dance," Rainier continued. "But that's all right. I'm content just to flirt with you."

I'll see you in Hell first.

Rainier gave him an amused glance before focusing on Jaenelle again. "Would you mind telling your lover that I'm allowed to flirt with you?"

"Of course you're allowed to flirt with me," Jaenelle said, her voice filled with laughter. "After all, you never mean it." She paused. "On the other hand, if you were flirting with Daemon…"

"Pointless," Rainier said, grinning, "since it's so obvious that he's taken. But…" Releasing Jaenelle's hand, he smiled at Daemon. "May I have this dance?"

Hot fury. Cold rage. Suddenly it was easy to slip into the game. He'd assumed the person behind the rumors was female…an assumption he shouldn't have made.

"If my Lady has no objections," Daemon crooned. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Lucivar and Surreal entering the ballroom. As soon as he moved away, they'd stay close to Jaenelle.

"Do you mind?" Rainier asked, glancing at Jaenelle.

She looked baffled. "No, I don't mind."

"Shall we?" Smiling, Rainier offered an arm.

Daemon didn't take the arm…too much temptation to rip it off…but he turned and matched his stride to the Warlord Prince beside him until they reached the dance floor.

The music started. A waltz. He wondered if Rainier had arranged that.

"Who leads?" he asked.

"I asked, so I lead."

The man could dance. Daemon heard startled gasps, noticed other couples stumble to a halt and move out of the way. But those were distant things. His focus…and his temper…were fixed on Rainier.

"Before you decide in favor of killing me, I should mention that I'm Second Circle," Rainier said.

That statement almost threw him off balance. It was possible. Jaenelle's court had been so informal, he'd never met anyone beyond her First Circle. "You mean you were Second Circle. The Dark Court no longer exists."

"Hmm. Yes. I'm no longer Second Circle just like you're no longer the Consort."

They whirled around the dance floor, perfectly matched, studying each other.

"I'll think you'll find, Prince Sadi, that those who serve Jaenelle don't give a damn that there's no longer formally a court. The Dark Court still exists because she still exists. We still serve…and you're still the Consort."

"What's your game, Rainier?"

"Figured I'd better help you two by providing a distraction. You're doing a lousy imitation of a quarreling couple. You're having too much fun. I'm thinking you're trying to draw out whoever started those rumors. So this should catch someone's interest."

The man had a point. They certainly had the attention of everyone in the room. "How did you end up in the Second Circle?"

Rainier grinned. "I was the coven's dance instructor. The fifth or sixth one the High Lord hired. I wasn't much older than the girls and had no credentials except a knowledge of, and love for, dancing, but he told me if I could last the hour with them I had the position."

"And you lasted the hour."

Rainier nodded. "The Heart of the Realm was in that room. If the personalities and power of the coven didn't scare the shit out of a man, there was no better place to be. There's still no better place to be."

He had a feeling Rainier was more than a dance instructor, but the man wasn't a rival, and a skilled ally could prove useful right now. "Do you know court dances?"

"I adore court dances."

"My lead." Daemon sent a psychic command to the head musician. When the music changed, he and Rainier broke the steps of one dance and flowed into the other as smoothly as if they'd been partners for years. Hand to hand. Turning. Circling. Gliding. Watching each other. Restrained sensuality swelling to the point of bursting. He saw the hint of fear in Rainier's green eyes as the web of desire he was spinning through the dance became a snare for the unwary.

"Mother Night," Rainier whispered hoarsely. "You must be a mean bastard when you want to hurt someone."

Daemon smiled a cruel, knowing smile, and crooned, "But you'd let me hurt you, wouldn't you?"

The sudden tremble in Rainier's hand was answer enough.

As the dance ended, Daemon leaned in, trapping their hands between their bodies, bringing lips close to lips. "That's why they called me the Sadist."

Something was scraping his temper, some feeling in the room that reminded him too much of the Terreillean courts, something that had him teetering a heartbeat away from the killing edge.

But that something wasn't the man staring into his glazed eyes. This male belonged to his Queen and shouldn't be harmed.

With effort, he pulled back the seduction tendrils, eased back physically. "Thank you for the dance."

"My pleasure." Rainier cleared his throat. "It's been an education."

They walked back to where Jaenelle and Surreal stood. No one in the ballroom spoke, no one moved. Even the musicians were silent for a long moment before the music began for the next dance, and the room was once more filled with movement and murmurs.

Jaenelle watched him approach, her face flushed, her eyes wide.

Was she repulsed by seeing him dance with another man? What was she thinking? He wanted to reach out, mind to mind, but he didn't dare. Not when his temper was being held back by a frayed thread.

As he stopped in front of her, Rainier still beside him, he saw her throat muscles working to swallow.

Looking dazed, Jaenelle said, "It's awfully warm in here. Is it warm in here?"

Surreal snorted as she studied him and Rainier. "Sugar, we passed warm and leaped straight to blazing."

"Oh. Good. It's not just me."

Surreal gave him a wary look and linked her arm through Jaenelle's. "I imagine everyone is feeling a bit warm right now. Let's go out on the terrace and get some air."

"Air is good," Jaenelle said, wobbling a little. "Air is… good."

He said nothing as the two women made their way to the glass doors that led out to the terrace.

Rainier cleared his throat. "It's been… um…" He shook his head and walked away.

Daemon stayed where he was, watching Lucivar approach, seeing wariness in his brother's gold eyes. Rainier had been given the lightest taste of what it was like to dance with the Sadist, but Lucivar knew. And Lucivar was afraid.

But being afraid never stopped him from issuing a challenge with all the Eyrien arrogance in him.

"Quite a dance," Lucivar said.

"It had its moments."

"Rainier is a good Warlord Prince."

"He's a dance instructor?"

"Among other things."

Which confirmed his sense of the man. "Who trained him?"

"I helped him hone what he'd already learned."

Which meant Rainier wasn't just a natural predator, he was also a well-trained killer.

"Daemon… Jaenelle and Rainier are just friends."

"I know. It isn't him. But there's something in this room…" He shook his head. "I'm going to find someplace to be alone for a few minutes. I need a few minutes."

Lucivar stepped aside, letting him pass. With a bit of hunting, he found a small, secondary parlor near the ballroom. By the look of it, this was where visitors who weren't "important company" were entertained. Which meant right now it was quiet and empty, and that was what he needed to bring himself back from the point of going cold.

Lektra grabbed Tavey's arm. "Do it now. He's by himself."

"You want me to talk to him alone?"

"Well, you can't do it when she's nearby, and she's been clinging to him all night. This may be your only chance." And after watching him dance with that other Warlord Prince, she'd go mad if she couldn't have Daemon soon.

Tavey looked scared, but he never could refuse her for very long. So he left the ballroom to deliver his little speech.

By the end of the evening, her beautiful love would be free to be with the one woman in the whole Realm who truly deserved to have him.

Hearing the parlor door open, Daemon slipped his hands into his trouser pockets to hide his wedding ring. He'd spent the past few minutes just staring at it, taking comfort in its presence. He'd almost regained his balance, but he wasn't quite far enough away from the killing edge yet. He needed to find Jaenelle and tell her he couldn't go through with their public quarrel. He couldn't afford to have anything prick his temper right now.

As he turned toward the door, he caught sight of himself in the mirror above the fireplace. His gold eyes were still glazed…the prelude to cold rage.

"You don't want to be here," he snarled softly as the Yellow-Jeweled Warlord slipped into the room and closed the door. "You really don't want to be here."

"I…" The Warlord swallowed hard. "I'm asking you to do the right thing."

"And what is the right thing?" He glided toward the door, forcing the Warlord to sidle farther into the room to avoid getting close to him.

"We…We're in love. We want to be together."

"Who is 'we'?"

"Jaenelle. Me. We're in love. But she hasn't wanted to say anything because…"

"Because?" Daemon asked too softly.

"She's afraid of you." The Warlord blurted out the words. "She doesn't want to be with someone like you anymore."

"Someone like me." The words sliced his heart, inserted a tiny sliver of doubt. Then he rubbed his left thumb against his wedding ring.

If Jaenelle had fallen in love with someone else, she might not have told him until she felt capable of dealing with him. But she never would have married him, because she understood the nature of Warlord Princes better than anyone else could.

"You may be in love," Daemon said, "but…"

"We're lovers."

His brain shut off, snuffing out control, shattering the illusion of civilized behavior. As he descended to the level of the Black, the cold, glorious Black, every thought, every feeling funneled through the lethal rage of a Warlord Prince.

Ice glazed the mirror over the fireplace, formed a crust over the carpet. In the moments when he and the Warlord stared at each other, he created a bubble shield and an aural shield, both ready to snap into place in a heartbeat. Then he rose from the abyss, his Black power delicately surrounding that weaker mind, preventing the Warlord from reaching anyone through a psychic thread.

"So," Daemon crooned as he drew his left hand out of his pocket and rubbed a finger over his chin, "just when did you sleep with my wife?" Horror filled the Warlord's eyes as he stared at the plain gold band. The aural and bubble shield snapped up around the Warlord at the same moment Daemon's Black power smashed through all of the man's inner barriers.

The Warlord's mouth opened in a scream of terror and pain, but no sound filled the room. He tried to run…and crashed against the shield that contained him.

Daemon gave his prey a few moments to stare at death before he ripped into the Warlord's mind…and found all the answers he needed.

One flash of the Black. The Warlord's torso burst open, his guts spilling out. Ribs snapped as they were ruthlessly spread open. The heart burst out of the body to hang, impaled, on a shattered rib.

Another flash of the Black. Witchfire filled the Warlord's skull…and it burned. As the Warlord hit the floor, the skull broke open. Hot ash spilled out on the ice-covered carpet. Steam rose as the ice melted, soaking the carpet enough to keep it from catching fire.

One last flash of the Black drained the Warlord's Jewels and burned out all of the man's psychic power, finishing the kill.

Daemon studied his work with a critical eye…and smiled a cold, cruel smile.

Lucivar flung the parlor door open and rushed into the room, pulling up fast when he saw the body on the floor. His gorge rose, but he braced himself for whatever would come. He knew what that glazed, sleepy look in Daemon's eyes meant, what that smile meant. The Sadist had gone cold, and there was no one strong enough to control him.

Daemon glided up to him…and waited.

"Annoyed about something?" Lucivar asked.

"Not anymore." Stepping around him, Daemon walked to the door and stopped. "Shall we go? I have an appointment to quarrel with my Lady."

No. Sweet Darkness, no. Lucivar moved to the door. "You don't have to quarrel with Jaenelle."

"What my Queen wants, my Queen will have."

Knowing better than to argue, Lucivar walked out of the parlor. Daemon followed him. The door closed behind them.

"Don't worry, Prick," Daemon said. "It won't be much of a quarrel."

Daemon walked away. Lucivar hesitated, then turned back to the parlor. Better to get rid of the corpse before someone else found it.

But when he reached for the doorknob, a feeling of revulsion swept through him, making his skin crawl. Stepping back, he studied the door. Stepping forward, the feeling swept over him again.

Craft. Daemon had done something in the moment when he walked out the door that guaranteed no one would willingly open that door until the spell wore off. Which meant Daemon wanted the body to be found…but not until he was ready to have it found.

"Well, bitch… or whoever you are," he whispered. "You wanted to play with the Sadist? Looks like you'll get your chance."

Turning away from the parlor, Lucivar hurried back to the ballroom. He couldn't stop what would happen, but he'd do whatever he could to protect Jaenelle and Surreal.

Daemon glided back to the ballroom. He had to find Jaenelle and get them both out of this house. He was a danger to everyone around him right now. The kill had cleared his mind enough to give him back a fragment of control, but not enough for him to be sure he wouldn't leave these rooms strewn with corpses.

Unfortunately, Jaenelle was waiting near the door, waiting for her cue to begin the quarrel.

"Where have you been?" she asked, handing her glass of sparkling wine to Surreal.

Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. It stabbed at him that her power was so much less that she hadn't been able to tell that he'd descended to the Black, that he was struggling not to go cold again.

He walked past her, not quite knowing what to do. He didn't want to quarrel with her. Couldn't quarrel with her. If he said anything that hurt her… Mother Night, he'd destroyed entire courts in Terreille when his temper had been riding this edge. If he hurt her, his control would snap completely, and the killing wouldn't stop until he'd exhausted his body and his power.

"Where have you been?" Jaenelle raised her voice enough to have conversations throughout the ballroom stutter to a halt.

He pivoted to face her, enough space between them to explain the raised voices. As he looked into her eyes, relief swept through him so fiercely he felt light-headed. She knew. Whatever her reasons for going through with this "quarrel," she knew he was too close to the killing edge and would take care not to push him back into a lethal rage.

He saw Lucivar walk into the ballroom, saw Surreal hand over Jaenelle's glass of sparkling wine. Hoping those two would have the good sense to stay out of this, he focused on Jaenelle, who, along with everyone else in the room, was waiting for his answer.

"I wasn't with another woman, if that's what you're asking," he snarled.

He felt a flash of frustration from her as she tried to find some way to respond to his words that wouldn't hurt either of them.

Balling her hands into fists, she shouted something at him. The fact that Lucivar choked on the wine confirmed the words were Eyrien, but he didn't know what she'd said. Which gave him a clue how to provide the tone of a quarrel without wounding.

Unfortunately, there was only one phrase he could think of that no one else would understand. So he bared his teeth and said the words he'd intended to say out of love, in the heat of passion. Words in the Old Tongue.

Her eyes widened in shock. She clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle the mewling noises. Then she whirled and rushed out of the ballroom.

Startled by her response, he hesitated. Play out the game, old son. Struggling to look irritated and slightly disgusted, he shook his head and left the ballroom to find Jaenelle.

She'd made it as far as the conservatory, where large ferns shielded her, giving her some privacy. He approached quietly, pained to see her shoulders hunched and her hands over her face. She gasped for air between sobs.

"Jaenelle," he said, brushing a hand over her shoulder…and bracing himself for her rejection of his touch. Mother Night, she sounded close to hysterical.

She lowered her hands and looked at him.

She was close to hysterical… because she was laughing so hard she could barely stay on her feet.

"I…I…I eat cow brains?" she gasped.

Shocked, his mouth fell open. "What? You do?"

"N-n-no. You do."

He gripped her upper arms to keep her upright. "What? No, I don't."

"Th-that's what you said. 'I eat cow brains.' " She collapsed against him, howling with laughter.

That was so far removed from what he'd intended to say it was embarrassing…and he could imagine how much worse it would have been if he'd whispered those words in the middle of hot lovemaking. "That wasn't… It wasn't what I thought I said." Feeling his face heat, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her face against his chest to muffle her laughter.

"Oh, g-good." She gulped air and made an effort to regain some control. "What did you mean to say?"

Oh, no. He wasn't about to embarrass himself that much. "Never mind." He paused. "So what did you say to me?"

"Oh. Well."

"Come on, fair is fair." He tugged on her hair. "What did you say?"

"I said you had the feet of a pig and smelled like a goat." She burst into laughter again.

Daemon sighed. "Well, we certainly descended fast enough to barnyard mudslinging, didn't we?"

"We did. Oh, we did."

Her laughter broke his temper better than anything else could have. "Let's get out of here."

She gulped and wiped the tears from her face. "I'm not sure I can."

He picked her up. "Just keep your face turned away. I'll get us to the carriage."

"Are you going to look all snarly and fierce?" she asked, fighting against another burst of laughter.

He rolled his eyes. "I'll do my best." And if he didn't get them away from here in a hurry, they were both going to be rolling on the floor, laughing like fools.

After contacting the carriage driver they'd hired for the evening, he strode out of the conservatory…and almost ran into Surreal. The look in her eyes told him she was primed for a fight. She couldn't take him, but he respected her as an adversary…and she'd fight him until he killed her if she thought Jaenelle needed the protection.

"I'm taking her home," Daemon said. "She's hysterical."

"I am," Jaenelle bubbled. "I really am." She turned her head to look at Surreal.

"Yeeesss, I can see that," Surreal said, narrowing her gold-green eyes.

Because he didn't want Surreal to worry about Jaenelle, he shifted his bundle of witch, drawing her attention to his hands. Then he dropped the sight shield around his wedding ring for a moment.

Brushing past Surreal, he said, "I'll send the carriage back for you and Lucivar."

"You do that," Surreal muttered.

No one else tried to stop him, no one else even dared speak to him as he walked out of the house and settled his Lady in the carriage. Jaenelle might find his fierce and snarly look amusing, but the rest of the Blood at the party finally began to realize he was a male they should fear. And very soon, they would understand why.

Surreal stood just inside the conservatory, wanting a few moments alone to ponder.

Had she really seen what she thought she'd seen? Sadi… wearing a wedding ring? He and Jaenelle. Married?

"Surreal?" Lucivar stepped into the conservatory.

"He took her home. She was hysterical."

Grim worry filled Lucivar's eyes. "Hysterical?"

"She was laughing so hard, I don't know what else to call it."

The grimness faded but the worry remained.

Wanting to ease the worry, she said, "So what did Jaenelle say that made you snort wine out your nose?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not sure I should repeat it."

She tipped her head to one side. "You tell me what she said, and I'll tell you what I just found out."

So he told her, and when she managed to stop laughing, he growled, "What did you find out?"

She took his left hand and tapped a finger against the gold band. "Daemon's wearing one of these." She wasn't sure how she expected Lucivar to respond, but she hadn't expected his concern to increase. "What's wrong?"

He stared over her shoulder. "Do you know the only thing more dangerous than a Warlord Prince? A married Warlord Prince who has someone playing games with his life that could threaten his marriage."

Suddenly nothing was amusing. Provoked, Daemon was dangerous enough. Pushed to defend something, or someone, who truly mattered to him…

She shuddered. "What do we do?"

"I don't know. I really don't know."

"Let's split up. Maybe we can learn something that will help end this."

Lucivar shook his head. "Daemon may already have all the information he needs."

Shit. She had a good idea what that meant. "I'm going to the ladies' lounge and freshen up. I'll meet you at the front door. I think I'd rather wait for the carriage outside."

He headed back to the ballroom to talk to Rainier, and she headed for the lounge. It had struck her as odd that a private home would have a "lounge" until she discovered the owners often "loaned" out the downstairs rooms for a "monetary gift." She didn't know why they couldn't just say they rented out their ballroom, but the lounge made sense, and right now, she was glad to have the privacy.

After taking care of personal needs, she sat down on a padded bench and closed her eyes.

"Are you feeling all right?"

Damn. She must be more tired than she thought. She hadn't even heard the woman enter.

She opened her eyes and studied the woman who stood nearby, looking concerned. The face looked vaguely familiar, but she was certain she'd never met the other witch. She was also certain there was something about the woman that wasn't quite… right. Something that put her on edge. Something that made her want to call in a knife.

She smiled and wrinkled her nose. "Just cramps," she lied. "Sometimes they're wicked mean."

"I know the feeling. Let me get you something to drink."

"No, that's all right." She shifted on the bench, prepared to get up and leave.

"It's no trouble. Really."

Suppressed excitement in the voice. A feverish glint in the eyes.

The witch opened the lounge door and whispered something to someone outside. Then she closed the door and leaned against it.

Bitch. Surreal felt fairly certain she'd just met the source of Daemon's problems, but considering Daemon's mood and Lucivar's worry about Daemon's mood, she'd prefer being absolutely certain before she said anything to either of them. And there was still the question of why anyone would be foolish enough to play with a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince.

It didn't take long before someone knocked on the door. The witch opened it, and another Dhemlan witch Surreal didn't recognize slipped into the room, carrying a glass.

Same suppressed excitement. Same feverish glint in the eyes.

The first witch took the glass from her companion, then handed it to Surreal. "Drink this. You'll feel better in no time."

Yeah. Cramps aren't a problem when you're dead, Surreal thought. As soon as the other woman let go of the glass, she used Craft to probe the liquid and the glass itself. No poisons. But there was something in the sparkling wine. She didn't recognize the drug, but she could sense its presence. Probably meant to knock her out for a while. But why knock her out?

Obvious. They wanted her out of the way for some reason. Of course, if she was unconscious, she wouldn't be hard to kill.

Refuse the drink and put these two bitches on alert…maybe make them nervous enough to bolt…or drink it and hope she wasn't doing something stupid? Because if they did end up killing her, Lucivar would help her make the transition to demon-dead just so he could spend a decade or two yelling at her, and the High Lord… Uncle Saetan would be sooo pissed.

She studied the two women and saw a kernel of suspicion in the eyes of the witch who had first approached her. So she took a sip, figuring she could get enough of a sense of what the drug was without it disabling her.

She figured wrong. That one sip made the room lift and drop with stomach-churning speed. Her fingers went numb. The glass dropped to the floor. Her vision faded.

She made one attempt to contact Lucivar on a psychic thread, but even that was already beyond her ability.

"Ah, shit," she muttered before she tumbled off the bench.

Lektra suppressed the urge to give her rival a hard kick in the ribs. Or in the face. After all, she'd promised Tavey he could have the whore for a while, so it wasn't fair to damage the bitch beforehand. And it was possible that the SaDiablo family would be upset if anything… permanent… happened to Surreal. But they could hardly complain about a whore spreading her legs for one more man. Besides, it wasn't like Tavey would be paying for the sex.

"Let's get her out of here," Lektra said.

Roxie opened the lounge door, peeked out, then signaled. A moment later, a Sapphire-Jeweled Warlord slipped into the room.

Lektra didn't like the man. Rough manners, rough temper. Roxie had found him somewhere, and the payment that had been promised had been enough to make him put aside any qualms about being an "escort" for an unwilling witch.

"Take her to the country house as arranged, and keep her there until I say otherwise," Lektra said.

"Gets boring in the country," he growled.

"I'm sure you'll find something to do," she replied, glancing pointedly at Surreal.

He smiled…and she sincerely hoped she'd never see him again. Of course, once she and Daemon were married, she'd never have to worry about men like him.

She watched him pull Surreal up off the floor. A moment later, he left the lounge, wrapped in a sight shield to avoid anyone inquiring about his presence at an aristo party…or about the woman slung over his shoulder.

"We'd better leave," Lektra said. "Have you seen Tavey?"

"Not since earlier this evening, when he left the ballroom," Roxie replied.

Tavey should have come back to report Daemon's reaction to their conversation. She'd seen her beautiful love carry that pale bitch out of the party. She hadn't liked that. He should have asked his brother to take her home. No matter. He wouldn't have to cater to Jaenelle Angelline much longer.

"If we don't meet up with him on our way out, Tavey will have to make his own way home," Lektra said.

With Roxie discreetly staying in the background, Lektra made her way to the front door, slipping into the ballroom and making a point of being seen talking to Lady Zhara, who had arrived late…and also giving herself and Roxie a reason to avoid walking past Lucivar Yaslana on the chance that he might recognize Roxie by her psychic scent, despite the illusion spell.

As soon as he strode away from the front door, they hurried out and went home.

Swearing under his breath, Lucivar headed for the ladies' lounge. Hell's fire! How long did it take a woman to piss anyway?

He flung the door open and walked in, not caring if he walked in on a woman pulling down her pants or pulling them up. But the lounge area was empty, and the toilet wasn't occupied.

Damn her. Where did she…

Turning to leave, he spotted the glass on the floor near a padded bench. Crouching, he studied it. Most of the liquid had seeped into the carpet, but the few drops left in the glass were enough.

*Surreal!* His temper flared. *Surreal*

No answer. Not even an irritable flicker that would have helped him pinpoint a direction.

*Rainier.*

*Yaslana?*

*Have you seen Surreal?*

*Not since I danced with her earlier. Is there a problem?*

*I'm not sure yet. See if you can find her. I'm going out to widen the search.*

Rainier hesitated. *Are you going to contact Prince Sadi?*

Now Lucivar hesitated. *No. Not yet.*

He left the party and spent hours soaring over Amdarh, searching, hunting, calling.

No answer. No way to find her.

As night gave way to the first hint of dawn, he flew back to the family town house. Daemon knew Surreal better than the rest of them. It was time to call him into the hunt.

Thirteen

A roar of fury and frustration that sounded like Lucivar in a mood rattled Surreal's mind, jolting her awake. Her head pounded, and her stomach felt queasy. And that pissed her off.

Moving slowly, she rolled to her side and opened her eyes. The soft predawn light revealed enough to confirm she was in an unfamiliar room. A pillow under her head and a sheet beneath her hand told her she was in a bed. And her psychic senses told her she wasn't alone.

Pushing herself upright, she swung her legs over the side of the bed… and swore silently as the bed seemed to lift and dip under her. Apparently, her body hadn't worked through all the effects of the drug, which was still playing nasty games with her sense of balance.

A chair creaked. A large body moved to a lamp on the table near the window. The sudden flare of light as he used Craft to engage the candlelights made her squint.

"They said you wouldn't wake up until sometime this afternoon," he said, giving her a mean smile. "Glad that's not the case. It was getting boring, just watching you sleep."

Since the skirt of her gown was shoved up to the tops of her thighs, she figured his self-restraint had more to do with not wanting to soil his cock with moon's blood than using an unconscious woman for sex.

She knew his type, had seen enough men like him when she was a child living in the meanest streets of a city in Terreille, whoring to earn enough to buy a day's food and, maybe, some shelter for the night.

"Just so you don't go getting any ideas, Greenie, there's a Sapphire shield around this room and a Sapphire lock on the door. So you don't go anywhere unless I say you can."

Greenie? She'd never advertised she wore the Gray when she'd worked in the Red Moon houses in Terreille, and while she hadn't made it a secret since coming to Kaeleer, there weren't many of the Blood beyond those who had been in Jaenelle's First Circle and the ones who lived in Ebon Rih who knew she wore a Jewel darker than her Birthright Green.

Which meant there might be a few other things the bitch who arranged this didn't know about her.

"What… What do you know about me?" she asked. The shakiness in her voice was due to the drug her body was still shaking off, but it made her sound afraid and, right now, that suited her just fine.

"I know you're a Green-Jeweled witch who's caused some trouble for a fine aristo Lady, who paid me a generous sum to make sure you don't cause her any more trouble. And I've heard you were an expensive whore who only worked out of the best Red Moon houses until you came to Kaeleer and managed to talk yourself into an influential family." He stared at her mouth and leered. "Or maybe you did something besides talk to convince them you'd be handy to have around."

Bastard. Her legs wobbled when she stood up, but she steadied quickly as the last of the drug, meant to subdue a Green-Jeweled witch, was burned off by a body that was a vessel for the Gray.

She walked up to him, keeping her gait unsteady. "What do you want?"

His big hands clamped on her shoulders, pulling her against him. "You be good to me, and I'll be good to you."

"I can be good." Her right hand curled in preparation for calling in her stiletto. "Sugar? There's one thing your Lady forgot to mention."

"What's that?" he asked as one hand groped her breast.

The stiletto was in her hand and through his ribs before he realized she'd moved. His eyes widened.

Surreal bared her teeth in a smile. "I earned more as an assassin than I ever made as a whore." She rammed the stiletto into him up to the hilt, piercing his heart.

He hit the floor with a hard thud.

Surreal yanked the blade out of him, cleaned it on his shirt, then vanished it. Her "housekeeping" completed, she studied him.

"I think it takes a few hours to make the transition to demon-dead, but it would be best to make sure you don't wander off before we have a little chat," she told him. Not that he could hear her. Yet.

Calling in her Gray Jewels, she broke his Sapphire shield and lock, replaced them with Gray, and left the bedroom to see if she could find the tool she needed.

*Daemon.*

Daemon stirred, then snuggled closer to Jaenelle.

*Come on, Bastard. Wake up.*

Lucivar. Hell's fire. Just because the man was usually up before the sun didn't mean everyone wanted to be.

But he got out of bed, pulled on a robe, and slipped into the hallway. "What is it?" he asked, his voice rough from sleep. Then he noticed that Lucivar looked furious and exhausted. That woke up all his fighting instincts. "What is it?"

Lucivar raked his fingers through his hair. "Surreal is missing."

The three of them sat at one end of the dining table, the remains of a small, hastily made breakfast in front of them.

"If she was drugged, we'll find her as soon as she wakes," Jaenelle said after Lucivar related his search…and his failure to find Surreal.

"If they didn't kill her," Lucivar snarled.

"Then we'd better start looking."

"No," Daemon said. He poured them all more coffee. "I want you to go back to the Hall."

A feral anger that excited and chilled him came into Jaenelle's eyes.

"She's my family, too," Jaenelle said in a voice that warned him he was close to crossing a line he might never be able to cross back over.

He laid a hand over hers, needing her to understand. "I know she is, but they've already tried to hurt you, and if they're confident they're strong enough to take on a Gray-Jeweled witch, they aren't going to hesitate to go after you."

"They?" Jaenelle asked too softly.

"I know who's behind this. I'll take care of it."

"Alone."

"Yes. Alone. This began with an obsession with me, so it's mine to deal with. But I need to know you're safe. I need that, Jaenelle. Please."

She stared at him a long time. Then she drew her hand away from his and pushed her chair back. "Very well, Prince. I'll go back to the Hall, and you do what you have to do. But once that's done, you and I will talk." She walked away from the table.

"Jaenelle." He waited until she turned to face him. "This has nothing to do with the Jewels you wear."

"If I still wore Ebony, would you ask me to go back to the Hall?"

"Yes. Because this is mine to do."

"We'll talk, Prince," she said after giving him a long, thoughtful look. Then she left the dining room.

Lucivar winced. "She's never cheerful in the morning. You know that."

"I know." He also knew that this "talk" would determine whether or not he still wore a wedding ring.

Lucivar cleared his throat. "So. When were you going to tell me that you and Jaenelle were already married?"

He suddenly felt awkward, and that surprised him. So he kept his eyes on his cup. "We just wanted to get married."

"I understand that. The celebration coming is more for everyone else than the two of you." Lucivar paused. "But if you'd asked, I would have been there."

"For Jaenelle," Daemon said.

"For Jaenelle," Lucivar agreed. "And for you."

Daemon looked up and met Lucivar's eyes…and saw things he hadn't been sure he'd ever see again. Love. Understanding. Acceptance.

And for you. Those three words healed the last of the rift between them.

"Thank you," Daemon said, his voice husky.

Lucivar reached across the table. Daemon locked hands with his brother. They didn't say anything. They didn't need to.

Finally, reluctantly, Daemon eased back. "I'd like you to take Jaenelle to the Hall. I'll ask Father to come to the Hall to free you up in case there's more than one battlefield. I don't think it will come to that, but…"

Lucivar nodded. "I'll contact Marian and ask her to come to the Hall to keep Jaenelle company." He waited a beat. "What about Surreal?"

"I'll find Surreal."

Lucivar pushed away from the table. "In that case, let's get this done."

Daemon waited until Lucivar and Jaenelle were on their way to the Hall before trying to contact Surreal. The staff had cleaned off the dining room table and brought him a fresh cup and another pot of coffee.

Pouring a cup, he sent a call on a Gray psychic thread, aimed toward a mind he knew well. *Surreal?*

*What?*

The surly tone relieved him enough to make him smile. *Are you all right?*

*I'm… fine.*

*Where are you?*

*Country house. Don't think it's that far away from Amdarh.*

*Are you sure you're all right? You sound breathless.*

*Damn… ax… is dull.*

Daemon raised an eyebrow. *Do I want to know what you're doing with an ax?*

*Have you had breakfast?*

*I've eaten.*

*Then you don't want to know.*

He sipped his coffee while he considered how to respond to that.

*In a few hours, I might have some information for you,* Surreal said.

*I know who's behind the rumors.*

*Well… shit.* A pause. *Guess I'll finish this anyway.*

*Do you need help?*

*Do you?*

*No.*

*Then I'll take care of my business, and you take care of yours. I'll be back in Amdarh late tonight.*

Taking a last sip of coffee, Daemon left the dining room. Since Surreal didn't need his help, he'd take care of the next errand.

After he and Saetan had settled in comfortable chairs in one of the Keep's smaller sitting rooms, Daemon got to the point.

"I have business to take care of in Amdarh. Until it's done, I would appreciate it if you would stay at the Hall…at least for part of the time."

"To protect Jaenelle?" Saetan asked softly.

Daemon nodded.

"What about Lucivar?"

"He'll be there. So will Kaelas and Ladvarian. But…"

"But?"

Daemon looked into his father's golden eyes. "But they aren't you."

Saetan inclined his head. "Understood."

No questions about his business, no comment about why an Arcerian cat and an Eyrien Warlord Prince wouldn't be sufficient protection. There was no need. He was, after all, his father's mirror.

"Anything else?"

Daemon hesitated. Who else could he ask? "I…There was something I wanted to say to Jaenelle… in the Old Tongue. But it didn't come out as I intended."

Saetan raised an eyebrow. "What did you say?"

Daemon hesitated, then said the words.

" 'I eat cow brains'?" Saetan burst out laughing.

Since there was nothing else he could do, he sat back to wait out his father's amusement. So he waited. And waited. And waited.

Finally, he sighed. It could have been worse. There could have been witnesses. No matter what else was said about him, he did not want to be known as the man who had reduced the High Lord of Hell to giggles.

"I'm sorry," Saetan gasped. Calling in a handkerchief, he wiped his eyes. "I can imagine the response to that."

"I'm sure you can," Daemon said dryly.

With effort, Saetan regained his composure. "So, what were you trying to say?"

Daemon took a deep breath, let it out slowly…and told him.

Great. Wonderful. He'd not only made the High Lord giggle, he'd made the man blush.

"I see." Saetan cleared his throat. "I'm… not sure that can be said in the Old Tongue. Let me think about it and see if I can come up with something that would let Jaenelle know she…"

"Is everything," Daemon finished quietly. "She is everything."

Saetan smiled. "Yes. She is everything."

Fourteen

Shivering, Lektra called in a shawl and wrapped it around herself. So cold. So terribly cold. But no one else seemed to notice except Roxie, who had retreated to her room.

Tavey was dead. Viciously murdered. Lady Zhara's Master of the Guard had come earlier that morning to tell her the body had been found…and to ask questions. Even through her shock and dismay, she'd realized the Master didn't care who had killed Tavey. After all, there was no law against murder among the Blood. No, he'd come to the town house as a courtesy…and to find out if Tavey's death foreshadowed a danger to his Queen.

She couldn't tell him what he wanted to know, and she wasn't about to tell him anything else. What could she say? She didn't actually know Tavey had talked to Daemon. And why would her beautiful love kill a man who was offering him a way out of an unwanted marriage? Besides, Daemon had been trained to be a lover, not a warrior.

So it had to have been someone else, someone who didn't want Daemon free of his ties to Jaenelle Angelline.

A warrior. Like Lucivar Yaslana. Maybe Daemon had already left the parlor by the time Tavey got there. Maybe Tavey had found Lucivar in the narlor and had blurted out his little speech thinking that telling Daemon's brother was easier than telling Daemon himself. But Lucivar was an Eyrien warrior. Brutal. Savage. Roxie had told her over and over how mean Lucivar had been to her, threatening to kill her once he got tired of bedding her, forcing her to flee her home and family in Ebon Rih so that he could marry some hearth witch nobody.

Yes, Lucivar Yaslana wouldn't have thought twice about killing Tavey. After all, killing was what he did. Why not force Daemon into continuing to play nursemaid so that he wouldn't have to take care of Jaenelle?

She walked over to the window, intending to look out, but something shuddered through her, making her back away.

There was something outside, waiting for her. Something dangerous. Something deadly. Something cold.

Shivering violently, Lektra hurried to the other side of the room, away from the windows, away from whatever was out there.

As long as she stayed inside, she was safe. Whatever it was couldn't get in, couldn't harm her. As long as she stayed inside.

Wrapped in Black shields that prevented the rest of the Blood from detecting his presence, Daemon watched the town house across the street. Lady Lektra's town house. Easy enough to find the root of all the rumors once he'd known where to look…and if it hadn't been for the Warlord at the party last night, he never would have looked in her direction. He'd probably seen her at a party or some other public gathering, maybe had even danced with her, a transient partner in one of those country dances. But he didn't remember her. The face he'd pulled from the Warlord's mind meant nothing to him.

Lektra's friend, however, did have a connection to him. Or, at least, to his brother. How unfortunate for her.

Smiling, Daemon walked away. His prey wouldn't go anywhere. The spells he'd wrapped around the town house would make sure of that. Whenever Lektra or Roxie got near a window or door leading outside, they would feel certain something deadly waited for them beyond those doors and windows…

Which was true.… and they were safe as long as they remained inside.

Which was not true.

But he would let them have the illusion of safety for a few more hours. Because some games were best played in the dark.

Saetan knocked on the workroom door, then opened it enough to poke his head into the room. "I'm looking for a witchling. Seen any about?"

Turning away from the worktable, Jaenelle gave him a dazzling smile. "Papa! What brings you to the Hall?"

"Nothing in particular," he replied, walking toward the worktable. "I just wanted to see… how… you were… doing." He stared at the rosebush rising up from a bowl on the table. "Mother Night, witch-child. It's beautiful."

Jaenelle looked at the rosebush and grinned. "I'm pleased with it."

Saetan circled the table to get a better look at the illusion she'd created. But he tried to touch one of the roses just to be sure it was an illusion. She'd always been able to create illusion spells that could fool the eye, and it seemed she hadn't lost that ability. But something felt different about this spell.

"Can you show me how you did this?"

She looked at the various jars and small bowls on the table and nodded. "I have enough ingredients to make several more."

So she showed him how to build a rosebush out of powders made from pastel chalks, dried rose petals, thorns, and a few other things. He mentally noted what she did and how much of each ingredient she used, but most of his attention was on Twilight's Dawn.

Whenever he'd seen it before, the Jewel she now wore looked like a Purple Dusk accented by other colors. Now, as she worked through the illusion spell, he watched it change. When she began working on the leaves, the center of the Jewel became dominantly Green, then shifted to Rose with a strong touch of Red while she created the flowers.

He didn't know why it was changing like that, didn't know how it could change like that.

It played havoc with his ability to measure her strength against his own because hers kept sliding. One moment he would have sworn the woman beside him was a Rose-Jeweled witch. The next moment, her power resonated with his Birthright Red. It was as if she were dancing on webs of power, and the threads she plucked shone the brightest.

Webs of power. Lorn had created webs of power to help prevent Witch, the living myth, from plunging back into the Darkness after Jaenelle unleashed her Ebony power to save Kaeleer. And Lorn had given Ladvarian the Jewel that was called Twilight's Dawn.

Fingers snapping in front of his face startled a snarl out of him.

"Hell's fire, witch-child."

"Well, you haven't heard anything I've said for the past minute or so," Jaenelle said. "I didn't want you to come back from wherever your mind had wandered and find me gone."

"Gone?" His heart leaped as memories of webs of power shattering in the abyss filled his mind. "Where are you going?"

We can't lose her now. We can't. She is everything. She is still everything.

Jaenelle studied him for a long moment, her sapphire eyes seeing too much. But she gave him a daughter's tolerant smile. "First I'm going to wash up. Then I'm going to join the others for the midday meal. Which I already told you."

"My apologies, witch-child. You're right. My mind was elsewhere."

"I noticed. Are you going to join us? Khary and Morghann are here, as well as Lucivar and Marian."

"No, I'd like to stay here and play around with your powders if you don't mind."

Jaenelle kissed his cheek. "Please yourself."

"What about you, witch-child?" He looked into her eyes. Still beautiful, still ancient. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he had disappointed her in some way. "Are you pleased?" She knew him well enough to know he wasn't asking about the illusion spell.

"I lost nothing I regret losing," Witch said softly. "I am what I want to be."

He watched her walk out of the room. There was a message under her words, something she wanted him to understand but didn't want to tell him outright.

Turning back to the worktable, he set her rosebushes to one side. Maybe figuring out one puzzle would help him figure out the other.

"Am I interrupting? I could come back later."

An hour of frustration hadn't made him cheerful, but he forced himself to smile at Marian, who hesitated in the workroom's doorway. "Yes, you're interrupting, and I'm grateful."

Marian walked over to the worktable. "Oh, dear. Is it that bad?" She looked at the dark, twisted, misshapen lump that rose out of the bowl and winced. "I guess it is that bad." She hesitated. "Jaenelle did that?"

"No, Jaenelle created those." Saetan pointed at the rosebushes.

Marian's mouth fell open. She hurried around the table to get a better look. "Oh, these are lovely. If you rubbed some rose oil on the rim of the bowl for scent, you wouldn't know for sure these aren't real until you tried to touch them." She studied the rosebushes. "I wonder how long the spells last."

"Why?"

"Well, if the spells lasted a while, people could decorate a room with one of these illusions and have a potted rosebush in a room that wouldn't support a real plant…or even have roses in a climate that wouldn't be suitable for real ones."

He smiled with real warmth and fatherly affection. Jaenelle, the living myth, could create such an illusion, but Marian, the practical hearth witch, could think of a way to use it.

Marian walked around the table to stand beside him. "So what is that?"

They looked at the misshapen lump in the bowl.

Saetan sighed. "My attempt to reproduce the illusion." Then he studied Marian, an idea springing up. "Is there something you need to do right now?"

"No," she said cautiously.

"Would you be willing to help with an experiment? We'll need Morghann, too."

"All right. I'll call her."

He set aside his failed spell, called in another bowl, then made sure the two witches would have everything they needed. By the time Morghann hurried into the workroom, he was ready.

"But we don't know how Jaenelle created that illusion spell," Morghann said after he'd explained what he wanted them to do.

"I know how she did it," Saetan said. "I'll talk you through the steps, but I want the two of you to do the actual spell."

They didn't understand, but Morghann and Marian followed his instructions, Morghann using her Green Jewel and Marian alternating between her Birthright Rose and her Purple Dusk Jewels.

When the last ingredient was added and the last part of the spell invoked, the two women laughed in delight as the rosebush rose out of the bowl. The illusion wasn't as big as the ones Jaenelle created, and it didn't fool the eye quite as well, but the spell had worked. He wasn't sure if that pleased him or chilled him. "So just what was it you were trying to find out, Uncle Saetan?" Morghann asked.

"The two of you can reproduce the illusion spell Jaenelle created," he said quietly. "I can't."

Marian frowned. "But… you're stronger than either of us. Why can't you do it?"

"Because I wear the Black, and the Red is my Birthright Jewel." He studied their illusion. "Power can't be diluted. It's not just that I have a deeper well of power than someone who wears a Jewel lighter than mine, my power is also more potent."

Morghann nodded. "Something you could do with one drop of Red power I could do with three or four drops of Green…and Marian could do using more of her Purple Dusk strength. But that's how it is. Three people doing the same spell will create the same thing, but how much power they have to use and the potency of the spell will depend on their Jewel strength."

"But not in this case." Saetan tipped his head to indicate the rosebush. "I couldn't reproduce the spell using an equivalent amount of power that should have matched the Rose, Purple Dusk, and Green that Jaenelle used. You two could reproduce it because your power has the right potency."

Marian frowned. "Then… how did Jaenelle create the illusion spell in the first place?"

"I don't know." But I'm going to find out. "Tell Lucivar I'll be back as soon as I can." He headed for the door, his mind already focusing on how to ask the questions that would provide some answers.

"Where are you going?" Marian asked.

Saetan paused in the doorway and looked back at the two witches. "I'm going to visit an old friend."

Saetan descended the stone stairs. He'd gone down this staircase many times during the years when Jaenelle had been the Queen of Ebon Askavi. Since returning to the Keep to live, he made this descent at least twice a month because he understood loneliness, and an hour's company now and then was all he could offer this ancient being.

The double doors at the bottom of the stairs swung open. Torches set in the walls flared to life as he walked to the other end of the huge chamber where the dragon's head came through an opening in the wall.

Unable to stop himself, he looked at the simple throne and the shattered scepter that lay on the seat exactly where Draca had set it after telling the First Circle that the Queen of Ebon Askavi was gone and the Dark Court no longer existed. Did seeing those reminders of what was lost ever bother Draca or her mate, the legendary Prince of the Dragons? Or did they think of it as a memorial for a Queen who had been the most powerful witch in the history of the Blood?

He looked away…and saw the dragon's large golden eyes were now open and watching him.

"Lorn," he said.

*Ssaetan.*

"I need answers."

*You have assked no quesstionss,* Lorn replied, sounding amused.

Saetan didn't feel amused. "What is Twilight's Dawn?"

*It iss the Jewel for Kaeleer'ss Heart.*

Frustration welled up inside him. "But what is it? How can one Jewel act like it's many Jewels? How did you create it?"

*I didn't. You did.* Saetan stared at Lorn.

*Father. Brother. Lover. You created Twilight'ss Dawn.* Webs of power stretching across a chasm somewhere in the abyss. Him, racing up to intercept Witch as she plummeted toward those webs, Lorn's warning that if she smashed through all the webs they would lose her ringing in his head. Catching her, smashing through the White, the Yellow, the Tiger Eye webs while he fought to slow her descent. Lucivar, taking his place, rolling Witch in the Rose web as they smashed through it. Rolling her in the other webs, beginning to slow the descent while wrapping her in a cocoon of power. Daemon, taking over at the Green web, fighting to stop the fall, fighting to hold on to the person who held his heart. Finally coming to rest on the Black web.

A Jewel formed by layers of power? A Jewel that had, somehow, retained those distinct layers? Extraordinary, to be sure… but still less than her Birthright.

"We didn't know," Saetan said quietly, deep sorrow weighing on his heart. "If we'd realized, maybe there was something we could have done differently."

*Your tassk wass to hold the dream to the flessh. You did what needed to be done,* Lorn said.

"But we changed her."

*You changed nothing, Ssaetan. Sshe iss who sshe hass alwayss been.* He shook his head.

"If that were true, Jaenelle would still wear the Black. She lost that."

*Sshe losst nothing.*

"How can you say that? It is a loss!" Saetan raked his fingers through his hair. "If I broke my Black Jewel, broke my power back to the Red, I would adjust. I would have to relearn some things, but I would adjust, like a person who loses a limb adjusts to the loss. But I would always remember what I had."

*That iss you. That iss not Jaenelle.*

"Who had even more to lose!"

*Who grievess the losss, High Lord?* Lorn snapped. *You or Jaenelle?*

Stung, Saetan took a step back, straining to hold his temper. "Are you saying I'm selfish because I want her to be everything she was? That Daemon and Lucivar and the coven and the boyos are selfish because we regret what she lost in order to save us and Kaeleer?"

The chamber grew cold. *The kindred undersstand. But they ssee ssome thingss more clearly than humanss do.*

They stared at each other, anger and frustration swelling on both sides.

Then Lorn sighed. *Look up, Ssaetan.*

Reluctantly, he obeyed.

The torches lit the lower part of the chamber, but where the light began to fade, he saw the colors of twilight…rose and bright blue deepening to sapphire and red and dark lavender, which gave way to night black.

*Twilight'ss Dawn,* Lorn said softly. He closed his eyes, a clear sign of dismissal.

More frustrated and uncertain than when he entered the chamber, Saetan walked back to the double doors. As he reached them, Lorn said, *Look with your heart, Ssaetan. You already know the ansswerss.*

But he didn't. He didn't. And it was clear Lorn wouldn't tell him anything more.

The kindred understood? Maybe it was because they had seen something he hadn't.

It was dangerous, but there was one other place he could look for answers, one other… person… he could ask.

Not giving himself time to consider what might happen if things went wrong, he left the Keep, caught the Black Wind, and headed for the island ruled by the Weavers of Dreams.

"Well," Surreal said cheerfully, "look who's back among the living. Not that you actually are among the living anymore, but why quibble?" Looking down at the Warlord on the floor, she bared her teeth in an insincere smile. "At any rate, your brain is working again…at least as much as it ever did."

"Bitch," the Warlord snarled. "Right on the first guess."

Struggling to sit up, the Warlord got a good look at his naked torso. "You filthy bitch! You cut off my cock!"

"And your balls. Not to mention your arms and legs. So relax, sugar. You're not going anywhere just yet."

Using Craft, Surreal lifted a chair and settled it near the Warlord. "And just so there's no further misunderstandings, the Green are my Birthright." She tapped the Jewel hanging from a gold chain around her neck. "I wear the Gray."

His Sapphire Jewel glowed as he tried to strike her with a bolt of power. She slapped the power back at him with interest…and heard his rib cage snap in several places.

He lay still, taking shallow breaths. Being demon-dead, he didn't actually need to breathe, but she imagined it took a little while for the brain to stop trying to do what it had once needed to do.

Sitting in the chair, she leaned forward, resting her arms on her thighs. "Here are your choices. You can tell me everything you know about why I ended up here, and in return, I'll finish the kill, freeing you from what's left of a dead body." He started swearing.

"Or," she continued, raising her voice to compete with his, "I can haul your sorry carcass up to the Keep, dump you on the High Lord's desk, and tell him you not only abducted his niece, you also worked for the bitch who tried to physically harm his daughter and ruin his son's reputation. You can imagine how well Uncle Saetan is going to respond to that."

He probably would have paled if he was still capable of doing that.

"Un…Uncle Saetan?"

You really weren't paying attention to much beyond your fee, were you? "Prince of the Darkness. High Lord of Hell. Patriarch of the SaDiablo family. Since he has over fifty thousand years of experience in ruling the Dark Realm, your being demon-dead isn't going to get in his way when it comes to hurting you. So who are you going to talk to, sugar? Me or Uncle Saetan?"

I wanted information about the bitch who hired him, not his life story, Surreal thought an hour later. Still, given his choices, she appreciated why the Warlord had wanted to be thorough.

She'd finished the kill as she'd promised, burning out what was left of his power and freeing his spirit to return to the Darkness. And thinking about the pack of Hell Hounds that had obeyed her mother and were now left without a mistress to look after them…assuming those animals actually needed someone to look after them…she wrapped cold spells around the torso and the other pieces, caught the Winds, and rode to the Keep.

Draca, the Keep's Seneschal, accepted her offering without comment, and offered, in return, a guest room where she could clean up and have a meal. She accepted both, glad of the opportunity to wash thoroughly and change into fresh clothes, and pleased when Draca sent along a selection of books with the meal. Choosing one, she decided to settle in for a few hours. Maybe Uncle Saetan would be back by then and she'd have a chance to talk to him before she headed back to Amdarh.

There was no official landing place on the island, since visitors were seldom welcome…and anyone unwelcome usually didn't survive. But he did sense a residual power he could home in on. Hoping he would land in a safe place, Saetan dropped from the Black Wind, wrapped himself in Black shields, and closed his inner barriers as tightly as possible.

A moment later, he appeared in the center of a small clearing. The trees and bushes around the clearing were veiled with webs, some old and tattered, others looking freshly spun.

As powerful as he was, he felt the whispery tugs from those tangled webs, luring him to open his mind, just a little, and slip into a dream from which he might never return.

He closed his eyes and fought against the lure…and wondered how the kindred Ladvarian had gathered here to help heal Jaenelle had managed to keep their minds intact. Or had the golden spiders refrained from spinning those tangled webs during those weeks?

*I am the High Lord.* He sent the thought rolling over the land. *I need to talk to the Weaver of Dreams. It concerns Jaenelle.*

He waited, slowly becoming aware that all the whispery tugs had faded until only one remained. Strong. Powerful. But not threatening. Just a thread to follow.

He followed a path out of the clearing. More of a game trail, actually. The kindred must have used the clearing as their landing place, must have created this trail as they traveled from one part of the island to another.

He moved carefully since he wasn't sure what would happen if he stumbled and brushed against one of the tangled webs close to the trail. He couldn't judge how far he'd walked, but his bad leg ached by the time he reached the caves and the thread of power drew him inside.

Witchlight glowed in niches in the cave walls. Was it for his benefit or did the spiders need the light as well? As he passed from one chamber to the next, the floor rocked beneath him, and the air became golden and veiled. No longer sure if he was still in the real world or caught in a dream, he stopped moving.

*Here,* a soft voice called. *Here.*

Light filled another chamber. Since he was watching where he set his feet, the dark stain that covered most of the chamber floor was the first thing he saw when he reached the entrance.

And the Blood shall sing to the Blood. And through the blood. Jaenelle's power, and her pain, rose up from the blood that had seeped into the stones, choking him. He sank to his knees. His hand touched the stain.

Feelings flooded him, but, thankfully, no images. Still, he recognized the feel of Ladvarian, the Sceltie's feet planted on the blood-washed stone as the dog braced for the battle of helping to heal a body devastated by a backlash of power.

He didn't know how long he knelt there while feelings of love, courage, and stubborn determination washed through him. No human could have done what the kindred had done. No human could have believed as they had believed. Had he ever thanked Ladvarian, Kaelas, and the other kindred for their gift of courage and love? He couldn't remember.

Pulling his hand away from the stain, he regained enough self-control to wipe the tears from his face and look around the chamber.

The tangled web that covered one part of the chamber left him breathless. The large golden spider clinging to the wall near one end of the web scared him to the bone.

*This is Kaeleer's Heart,* the Arachnian Queen said.

Gathering his courage, he stood and moved closer to the web.

Living myth. Dreams made flesh. Witch.

Hundreds of threads made up this web. The wishes and longings of all those dreamers. Lifetimes of longings. Generations of wishes. All woven together to create one extraordinary woman capable of touching all the races in Kaeleer, human and kindred, giving them a way and a reason to connect with each other.

*You ask about Jaenelle,* the spider said.

He kept his voice quiet, barely above a whisper. "Why is she different? I mean no disrespect, but if you truly were able to re-create the web that formed that dream and made it flesh, why did she come back to us different?"

*She is not different,* the spider replied. *She is still Kaeleer's Heart.*

"But not the same. If she were truly the same, she would be able to wear a Black Jewel."

*Kaeleer does not need the Queen. Her task is done. But Kaeleer still needs the Heart.*

Saetan closed his eyes, not even sure why he couldn't let this go.

Jaenelle was alive, and she seemed happy. Why couldn't he let this one difference go?

"Answer this one question, and I'll never ask again. Is this the same web? Can you tell me, with no doubt, that this is the same web that originally shaped that dream?"

The spider didn't answer.

Saetan opened his eyes and stared at the Arachnian Queen. "Is it the same web?"

*It is not quite the same web,* the spider admitted reluctantly. Walking on air, she moved above the web until she reached a place where three thick strands formed a triangle. *Because of that.*

He stared at that triangle, his heart pounding. He was one of those strands, one of those dreamers. Father. Brother. And the Lover, who was the father's mirror. Within that triangle, one delicate thread ran from the apex to the center of the base. One fragile strand with a tiny bead of blood attached to it.

If he broke that thread, would Jaenelle be everything she had been?

He took a step forward, lifted his right hand… and felt a thrum of power far, far, far below him.

The light in the chamber changed, refocused on that triangle and the single strand. The tiny bead glittered in a way a drop of blood never would.

And suddenly he knew what he was looking at…a tiny chip of an Ebony Jewel.

The Weaver of Dreams said, *There was another dreamer.*

Saetan sat on the window seat in his study at the Keep, staring at the evening sky, a glass of yarbarah dangling from his fingers. As much as he adored her, he was glad Surreal had left the Keep before he returned. Right now, he needed some time to himself before he returned to the Hall.

There was another dreamer.

What is Twilight's Dawn? It iss the Jewel for Kaeleer'ss Heart. There was another dreamer. Sshe iss who sshe hass alwayss been. I lost nothing I regret losing. I am what I want to be. Lorn was right. He should have looked with his heart to find the answers. If he had, he would have realized there was one person who had no regrets, who felt no grief about the power that had been lost. Was, in fact, enjoying her "diminished" strength. There was another dreamer.

One tear spilled over, not from sorrow this time but from joy. He raised the glass of yarbarah in a salute. "To you, witch-child."

Fifteen

No one saw him, heard him, felt him as he entered Lektra's town house and climbed the stairs. He paused on the landing. He'd spent the day learning about his prey, so it was simple enough to sense which woman huddled in which bedroom.

Turning away from Lektra's room, Daemon walked down the corridor. As he passed through the door of Roxie's bedroom, he placed aural and psychic shields around the room that would keep this conversation private.

She was curled up in a chair, reading a book…something he doubted she usually did for entertainment. She wasn't aware of him as he watched her, as he breathed in her scent.

An illusion spell could hide what a person looked like, but it didn't change her psychic scent. When he'd seen her in Banard's shop the day he bought the bracelet for Jaenelle, he'd felt pity for the witch who needed an illusion spell to hide a disfigurement.

Tonight, pity…and mercy…were words that had no meaning for him.

"So," he said pleasantly as he dropped the Black shields that had kept him hidden from her, "since you couldn't have my brother, you decided to play games with me."

Roxie sprang out of the chair, dropping the book. "I…I don't know what you're talking about."

"Roxie, darling, of course you do. Lucivar exiled you from Ebon Rih when you tried to force him into your bed. I know all about you. Or enough about you. I made it my business to find out. But I really don't care what games you played with Lucivar. I want to know why you decided to play games with me."

Roxie pouted. "Lektra wants you. I just helped her."

"By spreading lies about me, by watching me when I was in Amdarh so you could build those lies on a foundation of truth?" Smiling, he crooned, "Did you also help Lektra with the carriage accident that could have injured Jaenelle?"

"No!" Panic laced her voice, filling him with pleasure. "I didn't know about that! Not until she got back to the town house."

"Ah." Daemon sent wisps of a seduction spell into the room…just enough to dull the sharpest edges of her fear. "Everything has a price, darling. It's time to pay the debt for your part in these games."

"I suppose you're going to tell Zhara to exile me from Amdarh."

Smiling, he glided across the room until he stood in front of her. "Exile? Oh, no. That was Lucivar's choice." He held out his right hand.

As the seduction spells coiled around her, her eyes gleamed with speculation. She slipped her hand into his, then sighed with pleasure when he raised her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles.

Roxie licked her lips. "So you're not going to exile me?"

"No, I'm not. Because there is one small detail you didn't take into account." He licked the back of her hand as his fingers shifted to her wrist.

"What's that?" she asked, sounding breathless.

"I'm not my brother."

His nails stabbed her. His snake tooth pricked her wrist, and he pumped half of his venom into her before he released her and stepped back.

She stared at the wounds on her wrist, then looked at him, stunned.

"As I said, darling, everything has a price."

He watched her die…and it was a hard death.

Hearing the click of a lock, Lektra spun around and stared at Daemon Sadi, who was leaning against her bedroom door. She pressed a hand against her chest, as if that would control the sudden pounding of her heart. "How did you get in? My butler didn't announce you."

"I didn't want to be announced," he replied.

"You came for me." She breathed out the words, hardly daring to believe. Her beautiful love was here. He had realized who really loved him and had broken his ties with Jaenelle in order to be with her.

He walked toward her. "Yes, I came for you."

There was something cold about his smile, something mocking in his deep voice, but she didn't care about that because his gold eyes were already glazed with passion.

She flung herself at him, intending to throw her arms around him, but he stepped aside at the last moment. She staggered, off balance, and almost fell.

"Don't touch me," he snarled softly.

"But…" Confused, she pushed her hair away from her face. "Then why are you here?"

"I came to give you what you want from me. I came to give you what you deserve from me."

A low-backed stuffed chair drifted across the floor, then turned until it faced her freestanding mirror.

"Sit down," Daemon said.

She could almost feel his voice on her skin, as if it were some intoxicating lotion he was pouring over her. She couldn't defy it, couldn't disobey that voice. It scared her a little that she couldn't rouse herself enough to make her own demands. Not demands. Requests. She would never make demands. Not with him.

As she moved to obey, he said, "Not in the seat. On the back of the chair."

Being low enough and wide enough, she often perched on the back of that chair, but now she felt self-conscious as she climbed into position and saw her reflection in the mirror.

Daemon stepped up behind her. "What do you see?"

She gave him a coy smile. "I see my lover."

"And I see a woman so obessed with a man she tried to harm a Queen."

Her pleasure at having him in her bedroom vanished. "Is that why you're here? Because of stupid Jaenelle?"

For a moment, his face became a cold mask carved out of fine wood. Then he smiled. "You're right, darling. Jaenelle has no place in this room. This is between you and me."

His hands caressed her arms beneath her nightgown. He wasn't actually touching her…he couldn't take his eyes off the woman in the mirror any more than she could stop watching him…but she felt his hands caressing her arms. Then another pair of hands caressed her breasts…and another pair lightly stroked the insides of her thighs.

"How…" she gasped. But she couldn't form the question because a pair of lips brushed over hers. Two mouths closed over her nipples, licking and suckling. And another mouth…

Moaning, she arched her back and rested her head on his shoulder. This was so delicious, she never wanted it to stop, never wanted it to end.

Gently, relentlessly, those hands caressed her, those mouths licked and suckled… until the pleasure became an unbearable craving for his real hands, his real mouth.

"Touch me," she gasped, ripping open the nightgown to reveal her breasts. "I need you to touch me."

"Not yet," he whispered. "Not yet."

It didn't stop, didn't end. The pleasure went on and on until she began weeping from the need for release.

"Daemon… please!"

His right hand curled around her neck, and the warmth of that hand was ten times better than the feel of those phantom hands and mouths.

Feeling intensified until the pleasure became excruciating. As she finally crested, she felt a sharp prick in her neck, which somehow only added to her climax. The fierce release gradually eased to warm waves of pleasure, and finally faded to a delicious glow.

Still watching her, Daemon stepped away from the chair.

Gasping, Lektra stared at the flushed, wild-eyed woman in the mirror. A woman thoroughly satisfied by her lover. Brutally satisfied. And now…

Feeling strangely heavy and numb, she twisted on her perch to face him. "Now you…" It took her a moment to understand what she was seeing…and what she wasn't seeing. "You…You're not aroused."

"Why would I be?" he replied, sounding bored and cold. So terribly cold.

"It didn't excite you to make love to…"

"I serviced you like I serviced the bitches in Terreille who tried to play games with me. Love had nothing to do with it."

She slid down into the seat. Her legs didn't feel right. Neither did her arms. And she couldn't quite draw a full breath.

"You don't mean that," she panted. "You love me, and I love you."

"I don't know you…and you don't know me."

"But…" She pushed herself out of the chair and tried to walk over to him, but her legs wouldn't hold her. She collapsed on the floor. "There's something wrong with me."

"Everything has a price." Holding out his right hand, he flexed his ring finger. "The price for playing with the Sadist is pain."

She watched the snake tooth slide out beneath the long, black-tinted nail. "You…you poisoned me?"

He looked at her and smiled a cold, cruel smile. "Yes."

Remembering the prick she felt, she tried to reach up and touch her neck. "You poisoned me… while… I… was…"

"Coming. Yes."

"Why?"

"Because of your obsession with me, you tried to hurt Jaenelle. So you will be the lesson for any other bitch who thinks she can have me if she eliminates the competition. Just between you and me, darling, if I have to kill every witch in Amdarh to assure no one tries to hurt Jaenelle again, I'll do it and have no regrets. You're all expendable, and she is… everything."

Lektra stared at him, fighting for each small gasp of air. Pain danced through her limbs, setting her nerves on fire. She would have screamed if she could have drawn enough breath.

"Daemon… help me."

"I will," he promised. "Before you draw your last breath, I'll finish the kill. At least you won't have to face the High Lord and endure this kind of pain a second time."

As her lungs failed and her vision faded, she tried to see her beautiful love one last time. And even though he stood in front of her, the only thing she saw as the cold Black rage ripped through her was those glazed, sleepy eyes and that cold, cruel smile.

After he finished the kill, Daemon studied the room. The Blood had a saying: The walls remember. Wood and stone could hold strong emotions, and a skilled Black Widow could draw out those feelings and replay a ghostly image of what happened in a room.

At another time in his life, he would have walked away from this room, would have, most likely, added a few seduction spells that would have been triggered by drawing the memories out of wood and stone. Whoever had come to watch the events leading up to Lektra's death would have felt those phantom hands, those phantom mouths. They would have stood there, helpless to escape, knowing how the previous seduction ended.

It wouldn't have killed them, but the message would have been clear: anyone who tried to play games with his life or someone he loved would die.

But there was Jaenelle to consider, and he didn't want this game paraded before the rest of the Blood. He felt soiled enough being near Lektra and Roxie. So he would leave enough of a warning for the witches in Amdarh. As for the rest… He could deal with that easily enough.

Surreal stood across the street and watched the town house burn. She'd spent the evening wandering the nearby streets, passing by the town house often enough to keep an eye on things. Because Sadi had said Lektra was his business, not hers, she'd kept her participation to a passive watch.

So she'd been nearby when witchfire suddenly filled two of the upstairs rooms. She didn't run to the town house to pound on the door and alert the servants. There was no need. The Sadist had his own kind of justice, and the fire remained in those two rooms until the last servant had fled. Then the witchfire took the town house, roaring up to twice the structure's height, a beacon for the rest of the Blood in Amdarh.

They'd come running, but witchfire was fed by power, and there was nothing they could do to extinguish a fire fed by the Black. The water wagons were brought out, and the roofs of the neighboring town houses were doused, but the fire remained confined. He would have made sure of that before he walked away.

"Here," Lucivar said, joining her. He handed her a steaming mug of coffee. "It's damn cold to be standing around."

"Is it this cold a couple of blocks away?" she asked, taking a sip of coffee.

"No."

He'd arrived in Amdarh just as the rest of the town house went up, so they'd found each other easily enough. He, too, would have recognized the fire as a signal…and a warning.

After taking a sip from his own mug, he called in a bundled napkin, used Craft to balance it on air, then flipped open a corner.

Surreal grabbed one of the rolls filled with meat and cheese. She took a big bite, washed it down with coffee, then asked, "Where did you get these?"

"Dining house down the street a little ways. They were still open when the fire started, so they stayed open to keep serving food and drink."

"At least someone will profit from the evening." Finishing the first roll, she checked the napkin bundle, pleased to see two more stuffed rolls. Lucivar was going to share fairly…and just in case that wasn't what he had in mind, she took another roll and bit into it.

"And let's hope this is the only thing in Amdarh that burns tonight," Lucivar growled, using the mug to point to the carriage and riders slowly moving up the street.

The carriage stopped. Zhara stepped out and was immediately surrounded by her guards.

"He doesn't have any reason to go after her, does he?" Surreal asked.

"Not that I know of," Lucivar replied.

Someone pointed them out. Zhara and her circle of guards pushed their way through the crowd. On Zhara's command, the guards stepped aside so the Queen of Amdarh could face Surreal and Lucivar without looking over a wall of male bodies.

"Is Daemon Sadi responsible for this?" Zhara demanded.

Lucivar took a long swallow of coffee before answering. "Yeah, he is."

"Did he also kill Lord Tavey?"

"Sadi killed a Warlord?" Surreal asked.

"At the party the other night," Lucivar replied. "He was fairly neat about it…in a messy sort of way."

"I'm so glad I didn't know that."

"Stop it, both of you," Zhara snapped. "You find this all amusing? It's likely Lady Lektra and her friend were caught in that fire."

"They wouldn't have been alive when the fire started." Surreal shrugged. "What do you want us to say, sugar? The little bitch played a game with the Sadist…and she lost."

Zhara went very still. "What did you call him?"

Lucivar vanished his mug. "In Terreille, they called him the Sadist… with good reason. If you want to push at him for going after a witch who spread those rumors about him and tried to hurt Jaenelle, you go right ahead. You'll live just long enough to regret it."

The fire went out. One moment it was still blazing, the next it was gone.

"Oh, shit," Surreal said softly.

There was plenty of light from the houses on this side of the street to see him coming. That gliding walk, that feline grace. The waves of cold that had the rest of the Blood scrambling to get out of his way.

"Zhara," Lucivar said very quietly, "don't be a fool."

Daemon got close enough that Surreal could see his eyes were still glazed, and his lips were curved in that brutal, chilling smile. He was still in a cold rage, still riding the killing edge. If anyone pushed him now…

Lucivar shifted, drawing Daemon's attention.

"Still pissed off?" Lucivar asked.

"Not anymore," Daemon replied. "At least, for now." Those glazed eyes fixed on Zhara. "But if anyone from Dhemlan ever tries to hurt my Queen again, I'll kill you all."

As Daemon turned and walked away, Zhara slowly sank to the ground.

Not hurt, Surreal decided, just… shocked. Seeing Daemon as the Sadist for the first time had that effect on most people.

Lucivar wrapped a hand around her arm and pulled her away. "He'll head back to the family town house now to have the quiet he needs to step back from the killing edge. We should be there."

She didn't want to be anywhere near Daemon right now, but Lucivar was right. Even if there was nothing they could do for Sadi, they could stand as a buffer between him and the rest of the Blood until the cold rage passed.

"Do you think he could do that?" Surreal asked. "Do you think something could provoke him enough that he'd really kill everyone in Dhemlan?"

Lucivar muttered, "He's his father's mirror." Then he added, "Let's hope we never have a reason to find out."

Sixteen

Daemon waited until the following evening before he returned to the Hall. After a long night's sleep, the cold rage had thawed, but he hadn't been able to sheath his temper quite enough to face the "talk" with Jaenelle. So he'd stayed in his room most of the day, letting Surreal and Lucivar deal with the visitors who timidly knocked on the town house door.

He'd known the moment Zhara had stepped into the town house. Even Lucivar's efforts to shield him from the other visitors' shrill emotions hadn't been enough to keep him from sensing Zhara's spikes of fear. His warning had been found: two bodies, completely untouched by the witchfire that had consumed everything else in Lektra's house. As powerful as he was, his venom didn't offer a kind death, and the fact that he'd made sure there was no way to mistake how they'd died had chilled the aristo Blood in the city. So now the Queen of Amdarh knew what so many witches in Terreille had learned, although usually too late: The Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince who was called the Sadist had no mercy for anyone he considered an enemy. They wouldn't forget the warning because he wouldn't let them forget. The Black Jewels would be in evidence whenever he walked through the streets of Amdarh, and the Blood would understand that their continued survival depended on Jaenelle's compassion, not his. As long as she held the leash, the Sadist would yield to his Queen. If anyone tried to break that leash…

But there was someone who might break that leash…and she was waiting for him on the other side of the sitting room door.

When he walked into the room, he saw her standing at the window. It was too dark to see the garden, so he wondered what held her attention.

"Is it done?" Jaenelle asked.

"It's done."

"The debt is paid to your satisfaction?"

"It's paid." He couldn't sense her mood, and that frightened him. "Jaenelle…"

She held up her left hand, commanding silence. He felt sick relief when he saw she still wore her wedding ring. "I am what I am," he said.

Nodding, she turned to face him. "A Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince who grew up in a brutal training ground. That shaped what you are when you become a weapon. But that's only one side of you. The other side is a warm, caring man with a sharp sense of humor and more tolerance for the foolishness of others than you'll ever admit to having. I can accept the Sadist as well as Daemon Sadi. The question is, can you accept me?"

"I do." He took a step toward her. "I always have."

Jaenelle shook her head. "I'm no longer stronger than you. I no longer wear a Jewel that eclipses your power."

"I know that." He raked his fingers through his hair. "You lost…"

"Nothing. Until you can accept that, you'll keep stumbling over this." She tapped a finger against Twilight's Dawn. Then she held out her hand. "There's something you need to see."

He slipped his hand into hers. One moment they were standing in their sitting room. The next moment, he was standing in a mist-filled place in the abyss. He'd been in the Misty Place twice before…and he wondered why Jaenelle had brought him here now.

The mist retreated, forming a circular boundary. Almost circular. Straight ahead of him there was clear ground. *Jaenelle?* No answer. Since there was something she wanted him to see, he moved forward cautiously until he came to the edge and could look down into a vast chasm.

But it was the huge, spiraling web filling the chasm that took his breath away. Anchored to the Misty Place, it curved until it touched the other side of the chasm, then curved again, gently spiraling, going so deep into the abyss he couldn't see the end of it.

As he studied it, trying to understand, he felt a shiver of power far, far, far below him at the same moment he heard the quiet click of hoof on stone. Turning, he saw her step out of the mist. Here, her true nature wasn't hidden beneath human flesh. Here, she looked like what she was…a living myth, dreams made flesh. The same face and a mostly human body, but a tiny spiral horn rose from her forehead, her fingers had retractable claws, and she stood on delicate hooves instead of human feet. Witch.

She watched him with those ancient sapphire eyes. And waited. Turning back to study the web, he suddenly understood what he was looking at…a web made out of power. Somehow, the Ebony-Jeweled power she used to wield was being transformed into this web instead of filling a vessel of human flesh. Since it was tied to the Misty Place, surely there was a way for her to regain that power if she…

He remembered Jaenelle as a child…a girl who felt the distance between herself and other people because of the Black power that was her Birthright, a girl whose family had never accepted her because she was different. He thought about the Queen who could have destroyed them all if that had been in her nature, a Queen so strong her power was a deep chasm that separated her from the rest of the Blood…even someone as strong as a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince.

*You didn't want it,* he said, staggered by the strength of that conviction.

*No,* Witch said, *I didn't want it. Why would I want power so great I could destroy the Realms but couldn't do what almost every Blood child can do because I was so powerful?* She looked away, and added softly, *I never wanted a formal court, never wanted to rule, never wanted more power than I already had with the Black. But I made the Offering to the Darkness and formed my court to prevent the Dark Council from destroying the kindred and taking their lands. I needed that power to defend Kaeleer and be a weapon to stop a war, but I never wanted it for myself.*

He moved closer to her, wanting to hold her, wanting to offer comfort, but he wasn't sure she would accept it yet.

*How did you do it?* he asked. *How did you separate the power that was part of the dreams that made you without destroying who you are?*

She let out a pained little laugh. *I dreamed I wasn't so different from the rest of the Blood…a dream I've had all of my life. That desire was strong enough that the Weaver of Dreams added it to the web… and this is the result.*

Daemon studied Witch, who looked sad and vulnerable. People had turned away from her before because she was so powerful. Now she wondered if the friends she loved might always feel uncomfortable with the fact that she wasn't so powerful. He didn't think the coven and the boyos would turn away from her, and once they realized she still was who and what she had always been, and was truly happy, they wouldn't care what Jewel she wore.

Wrapping his arms around her, he fit his body to hers. *This is really what you want for yourself, isn't it? An extraordinary ordinary life.*

*Yes, it is.*

*Then that's what I want for you.* He kissed her softly. *For both of us.* Closing his eyes, he kissed her again.

When he shifted to nuzzle her neck, she said, "Are you sure, Daemon?"

He opened his eyes and raised his head. They were back in the sitting room.

"I want to be with you for as many years as life grants us," he said. "I want to be the warm, caring man you see in me and let the Sadist sleep."

Jaenelle brushed his hair back. "He'll never really sleep. The Sadist is a part of who you are, and he'll always be there, just under the surface… and that's the way it should be."

He never loved her more than he did at that moment when her acceptance quieted the volatile nature of a Warlord Prince.

Scooping her up, he held her close to his chest. "What do you say to locking the doors, going to bed, and making love for the rest of the night?"

"Is that going to be the extraordinary or ordinary part of our life? she asked, laughter and love dancing in her sapphire eyes.

He grinned. "Both."

Seventeen

Too edgy to stay still, Daemon prowled the room that opened onto the flagstone terrace at the back of the Hall. It wasn't unusual for a man to have pre-wedding jitters, even if he was already married to the woman he loved. Besides, how many men had their marriage vows witnessed by fire-breathing dragons and man-eating cats?

Although, he probably shouldn't have snarled at Jaenelle when she suggested that he take off his wedding ring so that she could give it back to him. Guests be damned, he wasn't giving up his ring.

"Would you like some brandy?" Saetan asked, his bland tone accenting his amusement.

"No," Daemon snarled.

"A sedative?"

"No."

"A whack upside the head?"

Daemon glared at his father. "You're finding this too amusing."

"Oh, I think I'm entitled," Saetan replied dryly.

Suddenly feeling as if the ground was about to get yanked out from under him, Daemon stopped moving.

"Anything you want to tell me?" Saetan asked.

"No," he said, feeling wary.

"In that case, since the guests are all assembled and Jaenelle will be own at any moment, let's go out and get you married. Again."

Daemon winced. "It's not that we didn't…I mean, I meant to tell you before…Ah, Hell's fire."

Saetan laughed. "It's just as well you are married already. If your nerves don't settle, you're going to be useless tonight."

"Thank you. I so appreciate your confidence in me."

Saetan's amusement faded. "I do have confidence in you, Prince. More than you realize." He walked over to the glass doors.

"Wait." He crossed the room to stand next to his father. "There are a couple of things I wanted to tell you." He hesitated, not sure how to begin. "Lady Zhara came to see me last week, on behalf of all the Queens in Dhemlan. They asked me to rule as the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan." He snorted softly. "I suspect they're asking out of fear rather than any real desire to have me rule…"

"But?"

Daemon looked out the door. The Queens who ruled the other Territories were out there, laughing and talking. The strongest Warlord Princes in the Realm were out there. All of them were connected to each other by the woman who was Kaeleer's Heart. Just as he was connected to all of them because of her. "But that was your place," he said.

"That is correct. It was my place." Saetan paused. "Is it going to be yours? Are you going to accept?"

"I told Zhara I would consider it, but I wouldn't make any decision until after Jaenelle and I returned from our honeymoon."

"Are you going to accept?"

He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Yes, I'm going to accept. It… feels right."

Saetan rested a hand on Daemon's shoulder. "I think it is the right choice. For you…and for Dhemlan. Just don't expect Jaenelle to be cheerful whenever she has to dress up for a formal occasion."

"She's already explained that."

After giving Daemon a sympathetic pat, Saetan stepped back. "What's the second thing?"

This was harder. If Jaenelle had wanted everyone to know why she no longer wore Ebony Jewels, she would have told her friends and family.

Maybe it was fear on her part that if they knew it was possible for her to be exactly like she'd been, they'd want it so much, she'd give in to their desire instead of holding on to her own. But Saetan needed to know. At least, enough to let go of any regrets.

"It's about Twilight's Dawn," Daemon said carefully.

"A Jewel for Kaeleer's Heart," Saetan replied just as carefully.

"She is what she wants to be."

"And has lost nothing she regrets losing?"

Daemon nodded. A cautious dance of words, so that neither of them would break faith with their Queen. "She's dreamed of having an extraordinary, ordinary life. Wearing Ebony Jewels, she could only have half of that. With Twilight's Dawn, she'll have all of it."

"Do you know that for certain, Prince?"

"Yes, High Lord. I know that for certain."

They smiled at each other.

"There is one more thing," Saetan said, calling in a folded piece of parchment and handing it to Daemon. "It isn't what you had originally intended, but I think it will do."

Daemon unfolded the parchment and studied the words in the Old Tongue.

A light brush against his inner barriers. He opened the first barrier, and his father's deep voice rolled through his mind as Saetan spoke those fluid words.

Suddenly he was a child again, listening to that voice teaching him phrases in the Old Tongue in exactly the same way. He thought he'd learned the language from the scholars, but they'd only awakened the memories of what he'd learned from the man standing before him.

He said the words over and over, until he wasn't sure if he was hearing his father's voice or his own.

Another light brush against his mind, and Saetan withdrew.

Folding the parchment, Daemon tucked it in his jacket pocket. "What does it mean?"

" 'You are my breath, my life, my heart.' " Saetan smiled. "Does that say enough?"

Tears stung his eyes. "That says everything."

Saetan kissed him. "Your Lady is waiting for you."

They opened the glass doors and walked across the terrace, side by side. Then Saetan stepped back and he was alone, walking the rest of the way across the grass to where his finest dreams waited for him to begin the next season of their lives.