The Queen's Price

NINETEEN

Lucivar prowled one of the sitting rooms near the Queen’s part of the Keep, working to keep his temper leashed.

Children made mistakes. They were children, after all. But for this mistake? He needed to wrap a hammer in velvet in order to deliver the correct blow for this child.

He felt the presence of the Black, knew the moment Sadi set the Coach on the landing web closest to that part of the Keep.

*Bastard?* he called on a spear thread.

*Prick?*

*The Queen wants to see Daemonar first. But I want a word with the boy before he stands before her.* He waited a beat before adding, *I’ll deal with my daughter my way.*

He felt Daemon’s hesitation, and appreciated that his brother wanted to soften the blow heading toward the family’s sensitive child. Then something changed—and a chill filled the link between them.

*Yes,* Daemon purred, *better if you deal with her.*

Daemon broke the link.

Lucivar continued prowling the sitting room. Before leaving the Hall, Daemon had contacted him on an Ebon-gray psychic thread and told him Titian had crossed a line and had behaved in a way that wouldn’t be tolerated in an actual court, and Daemonar was hurting because of it. That told him enough, especially since Daemon was coldly displeased with Titian.

Daemon arrived a few minutes later, escorting all the troublesome children into the room.

Zoey and Titian took the chairs nearest the door. Tigre and tiger moved to the far side of the room, close to the windows. A way to escape if things soured.

Hope soiled by the expectation of pain. That was what he picked up in the Tigre witch’s psychic scent. But there was hope in that girl. He and Daemon could work with that.

First things first.

“Prince Yaslana, with me.” Lucivar walked out of the room, leaving Daemon to enforce civility among the girls.

He didn’t bother going to another sitting room. After stepping into the corridor and closing the door, he faced his son and asked one question. “Were you wrong?”

A thoughtful silence rather than a hesitation. Finally, Daemonar said, “I may have been too harsh in what I said to Lady Zoela in order to get her to leave and let Lord Beale and me deal with Lady Grizande. But I wasn’t wrong.”

Titles. Formality. The boy’s use of both told him where Daemonar had drawn the line.

“All right,” Lucivar said. “The Lady wants a word. You know the way.”

“Yes, sir.”

Unhappy and heart bruised. Well, his first-born wouldn’t be the only one feeling that way today.

Lucivar tracked Daemonar’s progress through the Keep until the boy’s Green power disappeared beyond the ornate metal gate that separated the Queen’s residence from the rest of the Keep. Then he went back to the sitting room to summon his daughter.

Daemonar approached Witch, stopped at the correct distance for a member of the Queen’s Triangle, and bowed. “Lady.”

Witch closed the distance between them. Those ancient, haunted sapphire eyes looked through him, into him, seeing . . . Well, she was Witch. Who knew what she saw?

Her hands rested on his shoulders. She leaned in and kissed his cheek. The feel of her lips against his skin startled and soothed.

She eased back and smiled. “I’m proud of you, boyo. Even though it cost you, you did what was right.”

“She needs help, Auntie J.,” he said. “They need help.”

“I know. Are you comfortable with providing some of that help?”

“Yes.” Daemonar smiled. “If nothing else, I can be an alternative to Liath when it comes to the kitten learning Craft and . . . boy stuff.”

“Well, it will be better for all of you if a tiger doesn’t grow up thinking he’s a Sceltie,” Witch said dryly.

Daemonar choked. “Hell’s fire.” When he caught his breath, he added, “At least the kitten doesn’t have a herding instinct.”

“No, but he does have the Warlord Prince bossiness and an instinct to pounce.” She gave Daemonar a bright, bright smile.

“You are not helping.” Or was she giving him a friendly warning based on experience?

His auntie just looked at him. The amusement and hint of mischief in her eyes lightened his heart—and terrified him a little bit.

She approved of the choices he’d made, and that was all he needed to know.

As he walked back to the sitting room, he wondered if there was anything to eat.

Lucivar sat across from Titian. This sitting room was smaller than the one on the other side of the corridor. Almost intimate—or claustrophobic, depending on who was in the room with you.

“Tell me what you witnessed in the great hall when Zoey and Daemonar had that clash of wills,” Lucivar said.

Titian sat forward. “Zoey said—”

“I didn’t ask what Zoey said. She only knows her side of it. I asked what you witnessed.”

She blinked. Hesitated. “I wasn’t there, but Zoey—”

“Either didn’t understand what was really happening in the great hall when that girl arrived, or she chose to ignore what was happening for her own gain.”

As he expected, the choice of words pricked enough that Titian leaped to defend her friend.

“She was just trying to help,” Titian insisted.

“Was she? She put herself in danger, and she put Grizande in danger. How was that helping?” He kept his voice quiet and even. He wanted his girl to think, not crumble.

“Danger?” She didn’t sound sure anymore.

“Beale had two conflicting duties,” Lucivar explained. “The first was to keep you all safe. The second was to assist a girl who had come to the Hall for help. Zoey trying to push in and take charge put both girls at risk—and she showed a blatant disregard for Beale’s authority as a Red-Jeweled Warlord standing in for your uncle. Do you recall someone else who challenged Beale’s authority because he was only the butler? You should remember. It wasn’t that long ago.”

Titian looked horrified. “It wasn’t like that! Zoey wasn’t doing what Jaenelle Saetien had done.”

“From where I’m sitting, witchling, Zoey tried to do exactly the same thing that Saetien had done. The reason might have been different, but the result could have been Zoey or Grizande dying because Zoey didn’t listen. Beale told her he would take care of it. Daemonar told her they would take care of it. What part of those words didn’t she understand?”

“But—”

“Did Zoey tell you that Grizande has no liking for Queens, that she viewed Zoey’s presence as a threat? Did Zoey tell you Grizande had been tortured more than once, most likely at the orders of a Queen? Do you want me to take off my shirt and show you my back so you get an idea of what was done to that girl?” Quiet voice, but the words were a hammer.

“The moment Daemonar saw Grizande’s reaction to Zoey’s presence, he knew Zoey had to get out of the great hall, had to get out of sight,” Lucivar continued. “She wouldn’t listen to the courteous words, so he gave her a verbal punch designed to drive her away. Did she tell you any of that?”

Tears filled Titian’s eyes and ran down her cheeks.

“And what did you do when Zoey returned to her room upset because Daemonar had been mean to her? Probably comforted your friend, which is understandable even if you didn’t know what was going on. Then you lashed out at your brother because he’d taken a stand to protect Zoey as well as Grizande. If you’d wanted to know what happened, you could have told him that Zoey was upset and asked him politely to explain why he had done what he’d done. He would have told you, just like any First Circle Warlord Prince would have told you. But, my darling, if this had been a real court and you’d lashed out that way at a Warlord Prince who wasn’t your brother? He would have slapped you down so hard you would have needed help getting off the ground.”

Lucivar sat back, offering no sympathy or comfort while she cried. It ripped at his heart, but he wasn’t going to let Titian shift the blame because she wanted Zoey to be right.

“If Grizande is so dangerous . . . ,” she began.

“No,” he said sharply. “You will not blame someone else for Zoey’s mistake. And now is the time for you to understand that loving someone doesn’t mean blindly thinking they’re always right. People make mistakes, Titian. Even Queens. And sometimes loving someone means being willing to fight them into the ground if they’re putting themselves in danger or doing something wrong.”

“What if the person wouldn’t forgive you for not taking her side?” Titian’s voice was a pained whisper.

“Everything has a price,” he replied softly. “You take the chance of learning that the person wasn’t worthy of your loyalty or your love.”

He wondered if Zoey expected blind loyalty, or if this was an unfounded fear of Titian’s and just something each person learned at some point—the cost of making the choice between being loyal and doing what was right.

“Papa.” A little girl’s plea.

Lucivar stood and opened his arms, gathering her to him.

“I’m s-sorry.”

“I know, witchling.” He kissed the top of her head. “Make things right with your brother. You hurt him.”

He held her while she cried. She’d be heartsore as she worked things out for herself, but she would work things out.

*Prick?*

*Bastard?*

*I’m taking Grizande and the kitten for their audience with the Queen. Zoey will be alone in the sitting room.*

*Daemonar?*

Amusement. *I think your boy was waylaid by the scent of food.*

*He must be feeling better.*

*It would seem so.*

When Daemon broke the link, Lucivar said, “Come on, witchling. There’s a washroom attached to that other sitting room. You can tidy up there.”

After leading Titian back to the sitting room and pointing to the washroom door, Lucivar looked at Zoey and saw a scared young girl who was trying to be brave but was starting to wonder if she had been wrong.

Wondering was good.

This wasn’t the best way for Zoey to meet Witch, but he was sure it was a meeting the young Queen would never forget.

Daemon walked into the sitting room that was opposite the Queen’s and Consort’s suites in Witch’s part of the Keep. Grizande trailed behind him with the kitten following her.

As he approached his Queen and bowed, he wondered about the change in her dress. This dress was black and sleeveless, as usual, but instead of ending around midthigh, it fell to her ankles—or hocks—revealing the hooves. He doubted she was as calm as she looked, but she stood absolutely still while the girl approached, step by trembling step.

What do you see, Jaenelle? What do you want me to do with this Sapphire-Jeweled witch who came seeking help?

He knew what he wanted to do, what everything in him demanded he do. But Witch’s will was his life, and he would obey.

Daemon called in two sheets of paper. “Lady Grizande brought her bloodlines, as well as the bloodlines for Prince Jaalan.”

“I don’t need to see them.” Witch’s haunted sapphire eyes focused on the girl. Then she smiled. “Blood sings to blood, and I can hear a little of my friends’ song in the blood that runs in your veins.”

He wondered if she was being poetic or literal. With Witch it was hard to tell.

Witch held out a fair-skinned hand and flexed her fingers, revealing the retractable claws. “Your people were among the dreamers.”

Grizande raised her hand—tawny skin with dark stripes—and flexed her fingers, revealing claws. Common ground.

The look in the eyes of a girl who had already seen too much was also common ground.

“The Keep is important as a sanctuary and as a place of learning, and it is my home, but it is not the best place for a witch your age to spend a lot of time,” Witch said. “If you are willing and comfortable being there, I suggest that you stay at SaDiablo Hall, where you can meet a variety of people and receive an education in many areas that will be useful, including improving your command of the common tongue.”

Grizande looked ashamed and lowered her eyes.

“It’s foolish to feel ashamed simply because you didn’t have the opportunity to learn something.” The sudden anger in Witch’s voice was a distant thunder that warned of a rising storm. “It’s even more foolish to let anyone try to make you feel ashamed. Some will. Take note of them. They are not worthy of your time.”

Grizande looked up—and Daemon wondered how many people had tried to make her feel ashamed as a way to control a witch whose power would have few equals when she came of age.

“You and Lady Zoela did not start out on easy ground, but I would like you to consider residing in a room in the same square in the Hall. There are seven young women in that square, and occasionally Lady Karla. You may like some of those women or none of them, but those rooms are close to Prince Sadi’s suite as well as Prince Yaslana’s, so the men would be in easy reach if you needed help.” Witch waited until it was clear the girl wasn’t going to respond. “Or you can reside in another square of rooms, where you wouldn’t have to deal with the other people who live at the Hall. I ask that you try to live among the others before choosing solitude. I think in many ways you’ve been alone too long already.”

“Jaalan?” Grizande asked, lowering her hand to touch the kitten’s head.

“He has lived with you?” Witch asked.

Grizande nodded.

“He is an orphan?”

The girl touched her chest. “We . . . orphan.”

“Then he will stay with you and learn the rules of the house and receive his own training.”

Grizande looked wary. “Liath?”

“Among others.”

Big sigh. “Liath. Bossy stern teeth.”

Witch’s silvery, velvet-coated laugh filled the room. “Well, you’ve already learned that much.”

Grizande nodded—but for the first time, Daemon saw a hint of amusement in the girl’s green eyes. Then the amusement faded.

“I live around Queen,” Grizande said. “Must . . . obey?”

“You answer to no other Queen than me.” Amusement forgotten. The distant storm was rising again. Getting closer. “However, at the Hall, you are under Prince Sadi’s hand, and I expect you to obey him. Usually.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow.

Witch shrugged. “No one is obeyed all the time. Even Saetan didn’t expect that.”

“Saetan was dealing with you when you were Grizande’s age,” Daemon said sweetly.

“Exactly.” She gave him a bright smile before turning back to Grizande. “Can you agree to that?”

“I live at Hall?” Grizande asked. “Learn?”

“Yes,” Witch replied.

“Jaalan too?”

“Yes.”

The girl said something in her own language, which Daemon assumed indicated agreement. Grizande was surprised when Witch responded in the same language. He didn’t understand what was said, but the rhythm of the Queen’s words held a formality that resonated through him. Ritual. Protocol. The claim Witch made just now put Grizande beyond the reach of everyone except those who also served the Queen.

Daemon opened the sitting room door and, with a graceful move of his hand, indicated that Grizande and Jaalan were to leave.

“Wait for me,” he told them. “I’ll escort you back to the other room in a minute.”

Closing the door, he returned to Witch.

“You’ll teach her?” Witch asked.

“I will teach her. And I’ll keep her safe.”

Jaenelle suddenly took great interest in the carpet’s pattern. “A tiger needs to learn how to hunt like a tiger.”

“So . . . ?” Easy enough to guess what was coming. Daemon tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. Less temptation to try to strangle her. Not that he’d succeed. Her form was a shadow, an illusion made of Craft and power.

“You do have access to a tiger. An appropriate one, considering Jaalan’s bloodlines.”

“You want a shadow of Prince Jaal to teach that kitten how to hunt?”

“Can you think of anyone better?”

Daemon stared at her. She smiled at him. Bright, bright smile.

Pick your battles, old son. You’ve already lost this one. He sighed—and surrendered. “Fine. Maybe shadow Jaal will balance what the kitten learns from Liath.”

He took a step closer. “You asked Grizande if she was willing to do this. You didn’t formally ask me.”

Witch laid a hand against his cheek. “I didn’t have to ask. I saw the look in your eyes when you walked in the room. You’d already decided to protect them before you arrived at the Keep. I simply acknowledged your choice—and gave Grizande a way to be around Queens without feeling threatened.”

“A witch her age who wears Sapphire needs careful handling.”

“And the rough-and-tumble handling of an Eyrien boy and Scelties, along with adult supervision and encouragement to learn the things that will help her. She will be formidable and dangerous.”

“She already is those things,” Daemon replied.

“Yes.” She lowered her hand, let it rest on his chest for a moment.

“We’ll all be going to Lucivar’s eyrie, but I’ll be staying at the Keep tonight. When I return, I need to talk to you about Saetien.”

“All right.” Witch stepped back. “I think Lady Zoela has had enough time to stew—don’t you?”

“I’ll bring her to you.”

Daemon almost escorted Grizande and Jaalan back to the sitting room where the others waited, but Daemonar suddenly appeared in another doorway holding a plate with a huge piece of steak and ale pie.

“There’s more.” Daemonar waved a fork at something over his shoulder as he looked at Grizande. “You want some?” Then he looked at the kitten and growled, “No pouncing.”

Grizande glanced at Daemon.

“Go ahead,” he said, keeping his voice mild. He stared at his nephew. “Just remember that your mother expects you at dinner, so don’t stuff yourself.”

The boy snorted and stepped back. As soon as Grizande had walked past him and couldn’t see, Daemonar winked at his uncle before returning to the table filled with what Daemon hoped was enough food for the three of them.

Zoey didn’t know what to expect as Prince Sadi led her past an ornate metal gate and opened the door to a room.

She hesitated. “You’re not coming in?”

“No,” he replied. “This is between you and Witch.”

Mother Night.

She walked into the empty room. Prince Sadi closed the door.

The room turned cold and was no longer empty. What stood before her . . .

Human. But not human. Delicately pointed ears. A tiny spiral horn in the center of her forehead. A gold mane that wasn’t quite hair and wasn’t quite fur. Hands that had retractable claws instead of fingernails. Hooves. And sapphire eyes that looked like a window into a place that held so much power, a person couldn’t hope to survive there.

Couldn’t hope to survive her.

I’m a Queen, Zoey thought desperately. I. Am. A. Queen.

“There’s something you want to discuss with me?” Her voice shook. So much for bravado.

“Yes, there is.” A midnight voice. “I want to discuss how a Queen could reach your age without any education or training in the workings of a court—and without any knowledge of the basic Protocol you should have begun learning as soon as you acquired your Birthright Jewel.”

Zoey blinked. “What?”

Witch stepped closer. Her fury became a smothering storm. “How dare you challenge Lord Beale’s authority? He wears the Red; you wear Opal. How dare you ignore an order from him and put yourself and another girl at risk?”

“I—I didn’t!”

“Did you learn nothing from what happened at that house party when Saetien overruled Beale?”

“This wasn’t the same,” Zoey cried.

“How do you know?” Witch demanded. “You’re a Queen in training. That means there are a great many things you don’t know. What if that girl had been sent to kill you, or any of the Queens in residence?”

“But she wasn’t!”

“How did you know? She could have been hired by one of the families who would like to blame you for their offspring being executed. When Daemon is conveniently absent, a stranger comes to the Hall, asking for help, for sanctuary. Maybe the need is sincere. Maybe it’s a way to get inside.”

“But—”

“Maybe you should ask Lady Surreal how she got into places when she was hired as an assassin. You might find it illuminating.”

“I was trying to help!” The words came out as a plea.

“Beale told you he would take care of it. Daemonar told you they would take care of it. If you don’t understand what that phrase means within a court, then you have missed an important lesson.”

“But the Hall isn’t a court.”

“Child, what do you think it is? It’s a training ground, no different than if you were apprenticing in another Queen’s court. The senior staff at the Hall should be considered the equivalent of a First Circle. They are adults. Their experience counts. You tried to blunder in for who knows what reason and could have gotten yourself and that girl killed. She wears Sapphire. You wear Opal. You would stand no chance against her in a fight.”

Zoey’s legs trembled. She wished she were allowed to sit down.

She wished she had the courage to ask if she could.

“But let’s suppose that Beale had abandoned all sense of duty and allowed you to have your way, and let’s suppose a witch like Grizande, who loathes Queens, wouldn’t have eviscerated you as soon as she got close enough. What were you going to do? A powerful witch arrived at the Hall, exhausted and frightened because of what she’s endured. What were you going to do? Invite her to your square of rooms, where she could sit quietly and have some food? Sit quietly with you? Only you?”

Zoey didn’t answer. Didn’t know how to answer.

“Or would you have invited Titian to meet a girl who is just learning the common tongue and feels self-conscious about the struggle to communicate? Now there are two girls trying to be friendly. Talking and talking. And the rest of your coven? If they became curious about someone from a people that has rarely been seen in centuries? Would you have told them they had to stay away? They’re all friendly, too, aren’t they? Would you, having taken responsibility for this girl’s well-being, to say nothing of a young tiger who would be uneasy around strangers, have done your duty as a Queen and told your friends to stay away? Even Titian? Even if they pushed to meet the girl? Would you have stood for her as a Queen, disappointing your friends?”

“I didn’t think . . .” Tears ran down Zoey’s face.

“No,” Witch said gently, “you didn’t think. You followed the instincts of a Queen, and usually there is nothing wrong with that. But in this case you chose to ignore the experience of two men who understood the dangers and needed you to leave so that they could help the girl without compromising your safety and the safety of everyone else in the Hall. The moment Beale said he would take care of it, you should have retreated. If you wanted information, there are ways to ask for it—and Beale would have come to you when everything was settled and answered your questions. As it was, you put Daemonar and Beale in a difficult position. While your intentions weren’t the same, your attitude about Beale’s authority was not that different from Saetien’s—and look at the price so many paid for that. Including you.”

Zoey called in a handkerchief and cried as quietly as possible. She wanted to wail, but she wasn’t a child anymore.

“You probably never did anything wrong,” she said in a small voice.

A silvery, velvet-coated laugh filled a room that suddenly warmed. “Oh, I sat across from my father more times than I want to count, receiving a sharply worded lecture on why a Queen doesn’t do whatever it was I did. Although sometimes I—and other members of the coven—sat across from him and tried to explain something like a spell that had gone wrong, which was difficult since we were usually summoned to his study before we’d figured out that part.”

Zoey wiped her nose and vanished the handkerchief.

“A natural Healer instinctively knows how to do some things, how to heal some wounds. She still needs training. The same is true for a Queen. A good Queen—a potentially great Queen—needs to harness instinct to training and experience. You have the instinct, Zoela. You’re just beginning to acquire the training and experience. You’ll make mistakes—and you’ll face consequences. That’s part of the experience. And if someone is trusted to stand for you and protect you, don’t ignore what they’re telling you.”

She sighed. “The other girls were jabbing at me for being treated like I’m special.”

“You are special,” Witch said quietly. “You survived.”

You survived. Two words that encompassed physical pain and still-recurring nightmares.

“Fortunately, you have a friend who isn’t going to hesitate to slap you down if you get stupid.”

Zoey looked into those sapphire eyes and knew that something even more terrible than what she’d endured had happened to this Queen. “Did you have a friend like that?”

Witch gave her a dry smile. “If you think Daemonar can be a prick about things, you should try tangling with Lucivar.”

Zoey responded to the smile. “Training and experience?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Mother Night.”

“And may the Darkness be merciful.”

She sighed. “I owe Daemonar an apology. And Lord Beale.”

“Yes, you do.” A beat of silence. “Grizande and Jaalan will have a room in the same square as you and your coven. She is not yours to command. She is mine, Zoela. She may never be easy around other Queens, but it is important for her to become acquainted with other people.”

“I’ll try not to be a Sceltie.”

“Liath has already filled that position.”

“Oh.” Zoey wrinkled her face in sympathy. “Is that a good idea?”

“Do you want to tell him he’s not going to help teach the kitten?”

“Noooo.”

“Which indicates you are at least as intelligent as everyone else at the Hall, because no one else is going to tell him.”

The sitting room door opened. Prince Sadi stood in the corridor, waiting.

Zoey hesitated. “Can I still have the lessons?”

“Yes, you can.”

She bowed. “Lady.”

“Little Sister.”

Zoey walked out of the sitting room. The door closed. Prince Sadi said nothing.

“I got scolded,” Zoey finally said.

“Did you think you wouldn’t?” he asked mildly.

“She’s . . .” Terrifying. And yet . . .

“Yes, she is.”

As they walked back to the sitting room where the rest of their group waited, it occurred to Zoey that Witch was the Queen of Ebon Askavi—and Daemon Sadi had been married to her.

If he could be married to her . . .

She began to appreciate just how dangerous he was.