Shalador's Lady

CHAPTER 7

*Cassie? Cassie! Are you allowed to do that?*

Cassidy closed her eyes and counted to ten to stop herself from throwing the weeding claw at the Sceltie. All she wanted was an hour to work in the garden while she answered some of Reyhana’s questions. “Yes, Vae. I’m allowed to do this. I’m fine.”

*Gray? Is Cassie allowed to do that?*

“Isn’t she supposed to listen to you?” Reyhana whispered.

“She’s a Sceltie,” Cassidy grumped. “She doesn’t listen to anyone.”

“She listens to Prince Gray,” Reyhana pointed out.

And that particular alliance of Warlord Prince and Sceltie had been an unrelenting pain in the ass ever since Lucivar, Karla, and the rest of the Blood from Kaeleer left two days ago. The biggest difference between dog and man was that Vae never stopped yapping at her unless she was sitting or sleeping, and Gray wouldn’t speak to her. Hadn’t said one single word to her after Karla said she was well enough to leave her room in the boardinghouse. But he was always nearby, watching everything she did. Judging everything she did.

*Gray? Should I nip?*

“No,” Cassidy said, dropping the weeding claw and rising from the spot she and Reyhana had been weeding. “You should not nip. Gray, tell her!”

There was a wild look in Gray’s green eyes, a look that hadn’t been there before she collapsed. This wasn’t the boy who had been damaged by torture and frozen emotionally and mentally. And it was more than the man Gray had been becoming since she’d met him. This was a sharp-tempered stranger who was pissed off with her but refused to discuss the reason for his anger.

Well, fine.

No, not fine.

“Gray, I’d like a word with you,” Cassidy said, heading away from the rest of the men who were hovering in the garden, standing guard over her. When he didn’t move, she snarled, “Jared Blaed, attend!”

That got his attention. His eyes blazed hot as he strode to where she waited, and it took everything in her not to back down in the face of what was heading toward her.

Warlord Prince. Most of the time it was easy to forget Gray belonged to that caste of males. She never forgot what kind of man she was dealing with when she was around Theran or Talon or Ranon, but caste hadn’t been the dominant psychic scent when she was with Gray. Until now.

“Do you think using my real name is going to intimidate me into doing what you want?” Gray snapped. “I’m not a child, Cassidy.”

She glanced at the other men. They were all paying attention to this little drama, so she kept her voice low. “I made a mistake, an error in judgment. It happens. I’m sorry it upset you—”

“An error in judgment.” His voice was hard as stone. “You almost kill yourself for no reason, and you think it’s nothing more than an error?”

He started to walk away. She grabbed his arm—then jerked her hand away in shock when he snarled at her.

“Gray, talk to me,” she pleaded.

“I have nothing to say.”

Her temper snapped. She could feel the heat of it rising through her body until she was sure her hair was going to stand on end like a fan of fire.

“If you’re not going to talk to me, then you damn well better talk to somebody because I’ve had enough of your temper and your silence.”

“Fine. I’ll do that.” As he walked away from her, Gray shouted, “Vae! You’re with me.”

“At least that will get both of you out of my hair,” Cassidy muttered as she stomped back to the garden.

Reyhana looked away, wrestled with a weed, and swore politely when the top of the plant broke off, leaving the tap root.

“You can’t pull the tap roots of those weeds out unless you do it after a soaking rain,” Cassidy said, kneeling beside the younger woman. “But you can use Craft to create a slick shaft around the root so you can pull it out.”

“Can you show me?” Reyhana asked.

“I can show you,” Cassidy replied, then added silently, Without those two yapping at me.

Ranon watched Gray head right for him. Prudence and training told him he should shield when another warrior came toward him in a way that screamed aggression. But this was Gray, so he held his ground until the other man took that last step and grabbed a fistful of his shirt.

“You guard her, Ranon,” Gray said, his voice so rough it was hardly recognizable. “You hear me? First Escort or not, Theran doesn’t care enough about her to do what’s right, so you guard her until I get back.”

“Where are you going?” Ranon asked.

Gray’s smile was razor-sharp. “I’m following my Queen’s command. I’m going to talk to somebody.”

*I will take care of Gray,* Vae said, using a private psychic thread aimed at him.

Ranon waited until Gray rounded the corner of the house. Then he rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. After days of observing Gray and Cassidy’s silent argument, he wanted to talk to someone too. But he’d have to wait until Gray returned—or until Talon rose this evening and could take over the watch. Then he would go to his grandfather’s house, and Yairen would make a brew of spiced whiskey and coffee, a drink the old man only made when men needed to speak to other men about difficult matters.

He had no right to interfere between a man and a woman, but Cassidy was also his Queen, and he needed guidance in order to walk this particular knife’s edge.

He crossed the yard and knelt on the other side of Cassidy, who ignored him and continued to explain to Reyhana something about drawing out the full root of a weed.

“Look,” Ranon said quietly, “you probably don’t want anyone with a cock within twenty paces of you right now.”

“That is correct,” Cassidy said, still not looking at him.

“If you promise that you’ll do nothing to hurt yourself because you’re upset with Gray, I’ll leave you in peace.” Soon after she’d come to Dena Nehele, she’d worked her hands into a bloody mess because she was distraught over something Theran had done. The court had learned a hard lesson that day, and he wasn’t about to let it happen again. “Cassidy?”

“Why would she hurt herself over a man?” Reyhana said, bristling with challenge.

His temper sharpened. Reyhana wore Purple Dusk; he wore Opal. He couldn’t allow a challenge to go unanswered, even if the girl was a Queen. Especially because the girl was a Queen.

“Sister, you’re being disrespectful,” Cassidy said.

“But—”

“No,” Cassidy said. “Prince Ranon has reason to ask the question, and as one of my First Circle, he is within his rights to challenge me if he believes I am acting in a way that will cause me harm.”

“Oh,” Reyhana said in a small voice.

“Are you asking as one of my First Circle?” Cassidy asked, finally looking at him.

He shook his head. “I’m asking as a friend.”

Emotions flashed in her hazel eyes, which turned tear-bright for a moment—and he wondered if anyone in her previous court had given her more than duty.

“In that case, I give you my word as a friend that I won’t act imprudently because of this quarrel with Gray.” She hesitated, then added on a psychic thread. *This quarrel with Gray upsets me, but it hasn’t hurt me.*

He nodded to indicate he understood the difference. “Then I’ll leave you Ladies to your work.”

When he turned toward the boardinghouse, he froze for a moment before he strode across the lawn. With the exception of Talon and Theran, the rest of the First Circle was waiting for him.

“Is the Queen all right?” Powell asked when he joined them.

Ranon nodded.

“Is there anything we should do?” Archerr asked. “Powell, you’ve read those Protocol books more thoroughly than the rest of us. What do you say?”

“She gave her word that she wouldn’t do anything to hurt herself,” Ranon said quietly—and felt some of the tension ease in the other men.

“Can we scrounge a couple of chairs and a small table from somewhere?” Shaddo asked.

“For what?” Archerr asked.

“I noticed flagstones under the big tree,” Shaddo said. “They’re grown over some, but I think that area used to be a place for people to sit out under the shade.”

“Ah.” Powell smiled. “Chairs, a small table, cold drinks, and something to nibble. A subtle invitation to balance work and rest.”

“If we start cleaning up the flagstones and hauling furniture out to the tree, won’t it be obvious what we’re doing—and why?” Archerr asked.

“Yes,” Ranon said. “But sometimes a suggestion made by actions instead of words is more easily heard—and also less likely to offend.”

*High Lord? High Lord!*

“Now what?” Saetan muttered. Setting aside the book and just-warmed glass of yarbarah, he pushed out of the comfortable stuffed chair. Didn’t anyone remember that he had retired from the living Realms? “Come.”

But it was Gray, not Vae, who walked into the room. One look at the young Warlord Prince’s face, and Saetan knew the reason for this particular visit.

“Lady Cassidy said I need to talk to someone,” Gray said.

I’ll bet she did, Saetan thought. Noticing the way Gray eyed the furniture and seemed ready to burst, he sent a thought to Draca, the Keep’s Seneschal. *I need some firewood in one of the courtyards now and refreshments in about thirty minutes.*

*I thought ass much,* Draca replied. *It iss already prepared.*

*You don’t have to sound so amused,* Saetan grumbled. Taking Gray’s arm, he said, “We will talk, but first things first.”

Sun and shade, Saetan thought as he marched Gray out to the courtyard. Being in sunlight would have given him a vicious headache this late in the morning, but staying in the shade would give him enough time to deal with Gray before he needed to retire.

“Watch,” Saetan said. He picked up a piece of the firewood, held it over a large, wooden half barrel, released one tiny blast of Red power through his hands—and turned a piece of firewood as big as his thigh into wood chips.

Gray looked inside the barrel and frowned.

“Now you do it,” Saetan said.

“Why?”

He stared at the youngster until Gray picked up a piece of firewood.

“I don’t know how to do that,” Gray said.

Yes, you do. Placing his hands below Gray’s, he taught the boy how to destroy an object using power. Nothing Gray couldn’t do just by following instinct. But unleashing power and letting it destroy whatever was in its path wasn’t the same as unleashing it with control and purpose.

Once Gray had the sense of how much Purple Dusk power to use in order to blast the firewood into wood chips of an acceptable size, Saetan settled in the shade and watched Gray drain away the anger that had grown to the point of needing a target.

The barrel was half-filled with wood chips before Gray paused and said, “Why am I doing this?”

“Can you afford to replace furniture if you blast it into pieces?” Saetan asked mildly.

“No.”

“That’s why you’re doing this. Chopping wood and using muscle instead of Craft works too, as long as you remember to shield before you pick up the ax. There is no reason to be careless or stupid just because your mind is chewing on a problem. In this case, you’re working off some temper by changing firewood into wood chips.” Saetan paused, then added, “Which, I’m told, are an excellent mulch in a garden.”

Gray’s mouth fell open. Then he began sputtering. “Garden? I’m making mulch for a garden?”

“Ironic, isn’t it?”

Gray huffed. He paced. He blasted a few more pieces of firewood into wood chips.

Finally he growled, “I guess Cassie is going to have plenty of mulch for her gardens.”

“I know several Queens who always have plenty of mulch for their gardens,” Saetan said.

Gray stared at the barrel and sighed, the sign Saetan had been waiting for to indicate that enough of the boy’s temper was spent.

“There’s some water on the table over there,” Saetan said. “Pour a glass for yourself. You could use it by now.”

There was more than water on the table. There was a basin of warm water, soap, and a towel; a plate of fruit, cheese, and small sandwiches; and a ravenglass goblet filled with yarbarah.

He watched Gray as the boy washed up before pouring a glass of water and drinking it. Strength and scars—and the temper that made a Warlord Prince a law unto himself. And a little something more.

Gray refilled the water glass, hesitated a moment over the plate of food, then picked up the yarbarah and brought it to him.

A simple choice, but it confirmed for him why Jared Blaed Grayhaven had made the journey from Dena Nehele to the Keep in Kaeleer in order to talk to him instead of talking to Talon or anyone else in Cassie’s court.

Gray had come for the same reason Khardeen, Aaron, Chaosti, and Elan had come to him when they needed to talk out frustration caused by a woman who was a lover as well as a Queen. He had been the Dark Court’s honorary uncle as well as the Steward, even before the court had officially formed. Those young men had come to him because they trusted his advice. They hadn’t always liked it, but they knew they could trust it.

Using Craft, Saetan floated the plate of food over to the bench where Gray sat, drinking water and staring at the flagstones.

“Do you want to talk or listen?” Saetan asked.

Gray shrugged.

Not a surprising response. Now that the anger had dimmed, unhappiness was settling in.

“Everything is supposed to be fine now,” Gray muttered.

“In other words, Cassidy is tired of you being angry with her.”

“Yeah. So I’m not supposed to be angry anymore.” Gray’s hand tightened around the glass. “Well, I am angry.”

“You’re entitled to your anger,” Saetan said quietly. “And it’s your choice how long you hold on to it. But people make mistakes. Most of the time, mistakes can be forgiven. Some mistakes do enough harm to break what two people feel for each other. Sometimes the anger doesn’t go away, and that means you need to walk away.”

“Walk away from Cassie?” Gray looked shocked. “No!”

“Then you have to accept that she made an error in judgment.”

“Because she doesn’t care enough about us to take care of herself.” Saetan drank the yarbarah and let chilling silence fill the courtyard. Gray eyed him and wisely offered no other comment.

“She cares, Prince,” Saetan said. “If you think otherwise, then you haven’t been paying attention.”

Gray hung his head. “I know she does. I just don’t understand why she let the Craft go on so long that she hurt herself.”

“The whip that drives Cassie was shaped before she arrived in Dena Nehele. It left scars.”

Gray raised his head and looked at him.

No, Saetan thought, not Gray. Jared Blaed. Two sides of one person. Gray was the man who loved Cassie and gardens. Jared Blaed was the Warlord Prince committed to his Queen.

“Who?” Jared Blaed asked too softly.

“She’s of no importance,” Saetan replied. “Neither are the men who chose her over Cassidy. What is important is that the hurt still festers inside Cassidy.”

“She’s trying to prove to us that she has something to offer?”

“I think so. That’s why a simple thing that Queens do all the time in Kaeleer almost turned into a tragic error.”

“Just a mistake,” Gray said softly.

“Yes.”

“Because she cares so much.”

“Yes.”

Gray sighed.

Crisis over, Saetan thought, draining the goblet. Until the next time. “Eat. Then go home and smooth things over with Cassie.”

Gray gave him a sideways look. Assessing. Measuring. “It would smooth things over a lot faster if Cassie and I could have sex.”

Saetan said dryly, “Boyo, we’re pretty sure Marian is pregnant, and she’s very queasy today. Daemonar senses there is something wrong with his mama and is acting out, and Lucivar is ready to chew stone trying to deal with his misbehaving boy. Today is not the day to ask him about sex.”

A pause. “If we had your permission . . .”

He laughed softly. “Not a chance, puppy. Lucivar had good reasons for setting firm boundaries for what you and Cassie can and can’t do, and he’ll be the one who decides when you’re ready for the next stage.” It didn’t sound like Gray needed as much emotional protection as he’d needed a few weeks ago, but that didn’t mean he had the maturity yet to be a Queen’s lover.

Still, the fact that the boy was starting to question those boundaries was a good sign that Gray was growing into a healthy man instead of remaining a wounded boy. Knowing how firmly the leash needed to be held while a young Warlord Prince made the transition to adult male, Saetan added, “And from where I’m sitting, boyo, those reasons still apply.”

“Oh.” Gray looked disappointed, but only for a moment. Then he gave his attention to the plate floating beside him and ate every bit of food with a young man’s enthusiasm.

Vae appeared on the edge of the courtyard. *Gray? Gray! Draca says it is time to go home. The High Lord will open the Gate for you. Then he needs to sleep because this is his sleep time.*

Gray sprang to his feet. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to keep you from your rest.”

Saetan hesitated. In some ways, what he was about to do was a small thing, a simple choice. But the offer, and all of its underlying significance, would ripple through Dena Nehele if it was accepted. “You can call me Uncle Saetan, if you like.”

The words were absorbed. The significance was understood. And one more inner layer of defense that had protected Gray the boy but hobbled Jared Blaed the man was sloughed off.

On the walk through the Keep to the Dark Altar and the Gate, Gray talked about the Shalador village and the people he’d met there. It was clear that Ranon was becoming a good friend and that he and Gray were settling into a working relationship that was typical of a strong, healthy court where the males liked and respected each other—the kind of working relationship he’d seen in the Dark Court.

What wasn’t clear was how Theran was responding to any of the drama taking place in Eyota.

Theran tried to ignore the sick feeling in his gut—and tried not to think about the last time Gray had disappeared. Judging by the tight expression on his face and the grim look in his eyes, Talon was trying not to think about that too.

“You’re sure he’s not in the village?” Talon asked for the third time.

Ranon shook his head. “We’ve looked. I even checked the house that accommodates unattached males. He’s not here.”

Mother Night. “Should one of us go back to Grayhaven?” Theran asked. “That’s the only place he knows in Dena Nehele.”

“He might have gone back to the rogue camps in the Tamanara Mountains,” Talon said.

“Maybe,” Theran said. “But he couldn’t have gone alone.”

“He didn’t,” Ranon said. “He took Vae with him.”

As if speaking the name had conjured the dog, Vae rounded the corner of the boardinghouse and bounded over to them.

*Where is Cassie?* Vae asked. *Gray is looking for her.*

“And I’m looking for Gray,” Talon growled.

Vae’s tail stopped moving midwag. She spun around to face the way she had come. *Gray? Gray! Talon is looking for you!* Then she trotted off as if she had no more time for humans.

Gray rounded the corner, looking more relaxed than he had since Cassidy’s collapse. Maybe he had gone to that house for sex.

Now that he knew Gray was safe, worry gave way to temper. Theran shouted, “Where in the name of Hell have you been?”

Gray didn’t flinch, just gave him a steely look before focusing on Talon.

“We’ve been worried about you, boy,” Talon said with strained control. “Where have you been?”

“I needed to talk to someone about Cassie,” Gray said. “So I went to the Keep to talk to Uncle Saetan.”

Ranon’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.

The words felt like icy claws ripping up Theran’s spine. Uncle Saetan? Uncle Saetan?

He glanced at Talon, not sure how to read the older man’s expression. “I see,” Talon said quietly. “It would have been courteous to tell someone where you were going. These are still uneasy times. A man shouldn’t go off alone without leaving a direction to follow.”

“In case you need to search,” Gray said just as quietly.

Talon nodded.

“My apologies, sir. I was angry and didn’t think of that.”

“You were all right riding the Winds?” Talon asked.

Gray nodded. “I asked Vae to go with me and show me which radial and tether lines to ride on the Purple Dusk Wind in order to reach the Keep from here.”

“That’s good.”

Good? Theran stared at Talon. What was going on? Sure, they had to be careful. A few harsh words was all it took to have Gray whimpering in a corner, but Talon should be ripping his ass for all the hours the court had spent scrambling to find Gray while concealing his disappearance from Cassidy. Instead, Talon was almost respectful and that wasn’t right. Hell’s fire, Talon had raised the two of them, taught them, protected them.

Ranon turned his head, everything about the man on alert for a moment before he relaxed. “Cassidy, Shira, and Reyhana are back from their walk.”

“Please ask Lady Shira to convey my request for an audience with the Queen,” Gray said.

Already feeling off balance, Theran rocked back on his heels and wondered if the man standing in front of them really was his cousin Gray. A good illusion spell could fool the eye. Hell’s fire, they had lost enough men to that kind of trickery—which should have proved that the twisted Queens who were allied with Dorothea SaDiablo had Black Widows serving in their courts.

“Lady Cassidy will meet you under the tree,” Ranon said a moment later.

Gray looked at the tree and smiled. “You cleaned up that sitting area.”

Ranon shrugged. “It was a way to stay close but not underfoot.”

Gray shifted, as if he was about to walk away. Then he looked at Talon. “I’m sorry I worried you and the rest of the court.”

“Most times it’s the Steward or the Master of the Guard who is informed, but anyone in the First Circle would do,” Talon said.

“Yes, sir.” Gray walked over to the tree to wait for Cassidy.

All three men watched him. Then Talon rubbed his hands over his face. “Mother Night.”

Turning his back on Gray and struggling to keep his voice low, Theran fixed his anger on Talon. “We spent half the day searching this village for him, and you’re polite when he comes strolling back? Why?”

“Two words,” Talon replied. “ ‘Uncle Saetan.’ ”

Ranon huffed out a breath. “Yeah, that changes a few things, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Talon agreed.

“Changes what?” Theran demanded.

“Gray is not a boy anymore,” Talon said. “I taught him what I could. Now the High Lord of Hell will teach him the rest. Theran, no one would call that man ‘uncle’ without being invited to do so. And the simple truth is, he understands Gray better than I do.”

“Then let him go looking the next time Gray acts like an ass,” Theran snapped.

He walked away. Had to. Nothing was the way he’d hoped it would be. This visit to Eyota had shown him just how unsuitable Cassidy was to rule Dena Nehele. She had no sense of style, no sense of decorum, no sense. She was a handyman’s daughter who, through some freak combination of bloodlines, happened to be a Queen.

He had promised to try to be a good First Escort, but every day the court had spent here had made it harder to keep that promise.

The problem was there wasn’t any other choice.

She was wearing a hat. So were Shira and Reyhana, even though their skin wouldn’t burn in the sun the way Cassie’s did.

She removed the hat and vanished it the moment she reached the shade under the tree, which made him grin.

“You requested an audience, Prince?” Cassie said.

Still bitchy. Well, he probably deserved that.

“Does turning firewood into wood chip mulch work for female temper or just male?” he asked.

“What?” A moment’s puzzlement. Then her eyes widened as if the question suddenly made sense. “Gray, exactly where did you go today?”

“I went to see—” Uncle Saetan. Saying that to Talon was a message. Saying it to Cassie might be bragging. “—the High Lord.”

“Why?”

“You told me to talk to someone.”

“I know, but . . .” She stuttered over to a chair and sat down. “What did he say?” She raised a hand. “No. Don’t answer. What is said between you is private.”

He was glad she appreciated that a man needed to keep some thoughts and feelings private—even from the woman he loved.

“He didn’t say much,” he offered, taking the other chair. “Mostly he taught me how to use Craft and power to change firewood into wood chip mulch.”

Cassidy looked around. Then she shook her head. “SaDiablo Hall has acres of gardens and interior courtyards, and they all had this woody mulch I thought was wonderful. I remember asking Tarl, the head gardener, where I could find some for my mother’s garden, and he asked if I had a brother. But he never explained further. You don’t think . . . ?”

Gray snorted. “I filled half a barrel before the High Lord decided I had worked out enough of the temper. I think he’s a practical man whose groundskeepers get a lot of help for free.”

She laughed, and the sound of it eased something inside him.

“Do you want to yell at me?” he asked. He saw warmth and humor in those wonderful hazel eyes.

“I’m thinking about it,” she replied.

A ritual question and answer, something that belonged to them.

He held out his hand. She slipped her hand into his without hesitation.

“We’re heading back to Grayhaven tomorrow?” he asked.

Cassie nodded. “It’s time. Powell will send some of the Protocol books so Reyhana, Janos, and a few others can start learning the basics.”

“Janos? I thought he’d be more interested in weapons than books.”

“He is.” Cassie’s smile widened. “But he has an older brother who has decided that he will learn Protocol—or else.”

“Ranon’s going to be at Grayhaven,” Gray pointed out. “Easy enough to forget about the books when the older brother isn’t breathing down your neck.”

“Harder to forget the books when he’ll be tested the next time I come to visit and his ability will determine whether or not he’ll be Reyhana’s escort, since she’ll also come back to visit.”

“Ah. Bribery.” He looked at the boardinghouse. It needed attention, but he felt good in this house, in this village. As if he belonged. “So we’ll be coming back to visit?”

Cassie nodded. “Hopefully I’ll have a chance to meet some of the other Queens who survived the witch storm and are ruling pieces of Dena Nehele. If they don’t know about siphoning power into the land, it’s something I can teach them. Carefully.”

A psychic tap on the shoulder had him looking toward the house. “Ranon’s signaling. I guess it’s time for dinner.”

“I guess it is.”

They walked into the dining room hand in hand. Gray noticed how every man in the First Circle deliberately moved to catch his eye and offer him a nod or a smile.

Every man except Theran.

The study door opened without a knock or any other kind of request to enter.

Mildly annoyed at the intrusion, Daemon looked up—and annoyance gave way to warm pleasure. He pushed away from the desk and glided to the spot where Surreal waited for him.

“Welcome back,” Daemon said, kissing her cheek.

“It’s good to be back,” she replied, hooking her long black hair behind one delicately pointed ear. “Although I may have caused a small domestic crisis.”

“Oh?” Daemon raised one eyebrow. Since no one had come pounding into the study to report on the crisis, it couldn’t be that bad.

“The Dea al Mon have very . . . fluid . . . ideas about what kind of greenery belongs inside their homes. When Beale escorted me up to my suite here a few minutes ago, I got so excited about not having a tree growing in the middle of my bedroom . . . Well, I hugged him.”

Daemon laughed. “He’ll survive. And under the circumstances, I think Mrs. Beale will forgive you.”

“If she doesn’t, I’m standing behind you.”

Not likely. Surreal tended to fight her own battles. A feminine body that looked delicate but had sinewy strength. A lovely face and sun-kissed skin. Black hair. Gold-green eyes. And those delicately pointed ears. She got her coloring from her Hayllian sire, but her looks came from her mother’s people and were all Dea al Mon.

“Jaenelle is in Halaway with Sylvia, Tersa, and Rainier. Mikal is performing in a music recital, and they’re all attending,” Daemon said.

“And you got out of attending by . . . ?”

“Listening to Mikal’s rehearsals and figuring out twenty-seven ways of saying ‘that was good but it still needs work.’ I sent Rainier as my representative so there would be a male presence—and I promised my wife outstanding sex tonight if I could skip the festivities.”

She laughed. “Don’t you give your wife outstanding sex every night?”

“Yes, but outstanding is a bit more special on some nights,” he purred.

She blinked. Swallowed hard. “Shit, I don’t even want to think about that without a tub full of cold water nearby.”

He kept a straight face, but it took effort. He’d been worried about her. Being trapped in that damn spooky house last autumn and the time it had taken for her to recover from the injuries she had sustained—and the fact that Rainier never would fully recover from his own injuries—had left emotional wounds.

Her time with the Dea al Mon had done her good. Physically, she looked to be in glowing health. Emotionally, he had the sense that some rough edges had been smoothed out. And there was something else about her now. Something more.

“Do you want to sit down?” He indicated the informal side of the study. “I’ll ask Beale to bring in a tray unless you want a more substantial meal.”

“We have something to discuss.” Surreal tipped her head to indicate the blackwood desk. “But over there. Refreshments can wait.”

Daemon looked at the blackwood desk, then at Surreal. “All right.” He took his seat behind the desk, crossed his legs at the knees, and steepled his fingers, resting the forefingers against his chin. He watched her settle into the chair on the other side of the desk.

Formal. Official. Whatever she wanted to say would be said to the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, not Daemon Sadi.

They sat quietly, studying each other, both comfortable with the silence. Both aware of the tension building in the room.

“Years ago, when you found me again after Titian was killed, you arranged for me to train in a Red Moon house,” Surreal said.

He swallowed the anger now as he’d swallowed it then. “You were little more than a child, and you were whoring on the streets to stay alive. That wasn’t the place for you. I had no right to dictate your choice of profession, but I had the means of providing you with an education that would give you more choices—and a better living.”

“I wouldn’t have accepted your friendship or assistance if you had tried to impose your will over mine.”

He’d known that.

“The reason you gave for helping me was that my dual bloodline meant I’d live for centuries. Two thousand years. Maybe more. That might be half the usual lifetime of the long-lived races, but it’s a very long time compared to everyone else.” She shifted in her seat. “That didn’t have much significance for me because I kept traveling all around Terreille, working in Red Moon houses and honing my skills as an assassin. It might be a decade or more before I circled back to a particular city. I saw young men who counted me as their first experience with sex turn into old men. Didn’t mean much. They were a passing moment in my life.”

She was working up to something, so he waited, saying nothing.

“These weeks I’ve spent with the Dea al Mon . . .” Surreal sighed. “Hell’s fire, Sadi. I was having breakfast one morning with Grandmammy Teele, and I realized she was an old woman. Then I looked at Gabrielle—a beautiful, vibrant Queen in her late twenties—and I knew the day would come when I’d be visiting her and see an old woman. And Chaosti. Powerful. Virile. Guarding his land, his people, and his Queen. Loving his wife and son. They aren’t temporary people in my life. They’re the other side of my family, and I’ll see them grow old. I’ll see them die. And even if they become demon-dead for a while, most likely they’ll no longer be a part of my life.”

There was a lump clogging Daemon’s throat. He swallowed it before he could speak. “What’s your point?”

“The visit with my mother’s people helped me decide what I’m going to do with the next few decades of my life.”

He raised an eyebrow as a silent question.

“I’m going to work for you.”

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this. “Why?”

“Because you don’t have time to waste,” Surreal said quietly.

The truth of those words jabbed his heart.

“Daemon, you waited seventeen hundred years for a dream. You’ve got, at best, a few decades to be with the love of your life. Whether you admit it or not, there must be an hourglass inside your head, and every day that ends is one more grain of sand falling to the bottom half of the glass.”

“Don’t,” he whispered.

“You don’t have time to investigate minor problems reported by Province Queens or District Queens—or time for petty shit like the game Vulchera tried to play.” She smiled coldly. “For a people who keep themselves isolated, the Dea al Mon are surprisingly well informed when they choose to be. So I did hear about the party at Lady Rhea’s country house and how Vulchera foolishly tried to ensnare the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan in a bit of sexual blackmail.”

Did you also hear how the High Lord of Hell killed her?“What are you proposing?”

“I’m going to be your second-in-command.” Something fierce and feral flashed in those gold-green eyes. “A second-in-command you can trust to guard your back.”

They didn’t speak the name. They didn’t need to.

“I figure I’ll work from the town house in Amdarh at least half the time.”

“Missed being in a city?” Daemon asked mildly.

“Hell’s fire, yes. Taking a bath under a canopy of leafy vines is romantic in its own way—until a large bug falls off a leaf and into the bathwater.”

It was tempting to tease her and ask if it was a beetle, but that would have been unkind, and he understood the generosity of the offer she was making. He needed to work, needed the challenge of taking care of the SaDiablo family’s estates and fortune, needed the demands of ruling Dhemlan. If he spent his time and strength on nothing but Jaenelle, he would smother her and give her no opportunity for a life beyond what they shared. But letting someone else take the burden of routine visits to the Province Queens meant being able to spend time at Jaenelle’s house in Scelt—and spend time with the friends who would be only memories a century from now.

“I also plan to look for a residence here in Halaway,” Surreal said. “Maybe see if Rainier would like to share a house.”

Daemon narrowed his eyes. “There is plenty of room here at the Hall. And wings far enough from the family suites that they would qualify as a separate residence.”

“For a man who buys property all the time, you’re being dense. I want a place of my own. I want a place that doesn’t belong to the SaDiablo family or you. I want a place that has my name on the deed. Since I hired Lord Marcus to be my man of business because he is yours, I figure you know well enough that I can afford just about any kind of house I want.”

“Marcus would never reveal confidential or privileged information,” he said with a warning bite in his voice.

“To anyone else? No, he never would,” Surreal agreed. “Would he refuse to answer any question from you?” She shook her head. “That’s like thinking that the firm who handles the family’s investments wouldn’t answer a question from Uncle Saetan about any member of this family.”

True, but he wasn’t going to acknowledge it out loud.

“So you know I can afford my own residence,” Surreal said. “Besides, you’re going to pay me an outrageously generous salary.”

“I am?”

“You are.”

They smiled at each other. Then Daemon’s smile faded. “You’ve told me what I’m going to get out of this—and I’m grateful. What do you get out of this arrangement besides an outrageously generous salary?”

Her smile faded too. “I miss Rainier,” she said.

“Surreal . . .”

She laughed quietly. “Relax. I know he’d rather flirt with you than with me, except he doesn’t have a death wish. But he’s a friend unlike any other. And love isn’t always about sex. Talking to Karla about the family she formed with her adopted daughter and her Master of the Guard helped me see that. Rainier matters to me, Daemon.”

“If you set up your own residence, you’ll hire servants?” Daemon asked.

She snorted. “Damn right I’ll hire servants. I don’t want to do the cooking and cleaning by myself.”

“Good. Then Mrs. Beale and Helene won’t be complaining about you the way they complain about him.”

“Why are they complaining about Rainier?”

“Because he keeps a room at one of the inns in the village instead of having a suite here at the Hall. Which means he isn’t being looked after properly. They won’t go so far as to actually criticize the cook or housekeeper at the inn since these are women they socialize with; they simply insist that it is inappropriate for the secretary of the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan to be making do with a room at an inn instead of having a proper residence and servants to look after him.”

“Does he need looking after?”

He heard the concern in her voice and made a rude noise. “No more than you do, but real need is never the point of these conversations.”

Her expression changed from concern to cautious delight. “Just how often do you get pinned to the wall because Rainier obstinately refuses to recognize this particular duty?”

“Weekly. So if you’re serious about being my second-in-command, you’re shouldering this particular nuisance.”

Laughing, she rose and stepped up to the desk. “Done.” Then she pressed her hands on the blackwood and leaned toward him, that fierce and feral something back in her eyes.

“One question. Does Lucivar have to worry about Falonar coming up behind him in any way?”

Ice ran in his blood, and he knew his gold eyes had turned glazed and sleepy. No one else had dared ask that question. Not even Lucivar. A few weeks ago, before she spent time with the Dea al Mon, Surreal wouldn’t have dared ask that question either.

He smiled at her—a cold, brutally gentle smile—and the Sadist said too softly, “No one has to worry about Falonar anymore.”