The Queen's Price

TWENTY

Daemonar landed in the flagstone courtyard outside his family’s eyrie. He appreciated not being stuck in the Coach with the girls, especially since Grizande was the only one who didn’t look ready to fall on him weeping and wailing. Lucivar was acting as the barrier between the girls on the short trip from the Keep to the eyrie—and may the Darkness have mercy on any girl who crossed him.

“Mother?” Daemonar called as soon as he walked into the eyrie’s large front room. “Mother?”

His brother Andulvar would be in school for another hour or so. It was possible Marian was in Riada doing some extra shopping to accommodate guests tonight.

Had anyone told her about the tiger?

*I’m getting the guest rooms ready,* Marian said before Daemonar released a Green psychic probe to locate her. Women, including mothers, could get fairly exercised about having a male track them down when they wanted some privacy.

Boyo, unless there’s a reason to assume she’s in trouble, give your mother a minute to respond. And if you’re going to use Craft to locate her, be subtle about it or risk getting whacked upside the head.

His mother wore Purple Dusk; he wore Green. Even so, it had taken him a while—and a few whacks—to figure out how to be subtle.

He headed for the part of the eyrie that held the guest rooms. He found her in the best guest room, smoothing the covers on the bed.

“Uncle Daemon said he’s staying at the Keep tonight,” Daemonar said.

“So I was told,” Marian replied.

He frowned at the bed. “You’re giving Zoey the best room?”

“Zoey is staying in the guest room close to Titian’s room, where the children’s guests usually stay.”

If Zoey and Titian weren’t romantic, a cot would have been set up in Titian’s room so the girls could stay together. But romance—and sex—had strict rules, at least within the family, so Zoey slept in her own room.

“You’re giving this room to Grizande?”

Marian gave him a look that had a sharp edge. “You have some objection to that?”

“None at all.” A challenge. His mother was a bit riled about something. “Did Father mention the tiger kitten?”

“He did.” Marian stared at him. “No guest will be made to feel unwelcome in our home.”

Whoa. Seriously riled.

He suddenly stood on slippery ground and had no idea why.

Daemonar blew out a breath. “I like her. I like them. I have no quarrel with Grizande and Jaalan.”

Marian sighed, walked up to him, and kissed his cheek. “My apologies. Some things stir up old memories.” She hesitated. “Old wounds. When I first arrived in Kaeleer, someone made me feel unwelcome, encouraged me to feel inferior. Unworthy of time and attention even though I deserved both.”

Daemonar put his arms around her. “What can I do?”

She hugged him hard, then eased back and smiled. “Just be your father’s son.”

As soon as Daemon set the Coach down on the landing web below the eyrie, Lucivar opened the door and gave Titian and Zoey permission to leave. They pelted up the stairs, not giving Grizande a backward glance.

He approached the Tigre girl and the kitten from the back of the Coach. Daemon stepped out of the driver’s compartment and approached from the front. Realizing she was caught between two powerful Warlord Princes, Grizande slowly rose to her feet while Jaalan pressed against her legs.

She would fight. Even knowing she couldn’t win, she would fight—because she just might last long enough to get away. Maybe that’s how she survived whatever had happened in Tigrelan.

The girl had backbone. He approved.

“I have noisy children,” Lucivar said. “There are only three of them. . . .”

“Who sometimes sound like three dozen,” Daemon added dryly.

Lucivar nodded. “If you need some quiet time, you let us know. That goes for the kitten too.”

He watched the way she looked at him, then at Daemon. Thinking. Reassessing. Gambling that they could be trusted.

“I say if noisy too big,” she said.

“Okay. Then let’s go up to the eyrie.” Lucivar walked out of the Coach.

“Do you fear heights?” Daemon asked Grizande.

“Heights?” She stepped out of the Coach. Her eyes widened as she looked around and saw the valley below them.

“High places,” Daemon said. “Allow me.” He wrapped a hand around one of her arms and pointed to the stairs with the other. “Lucivar’s home is up there.”

The kitten seemed frozen in the doorway of the Coach. Too many changes for one so young?

Rather than have Jaalan bolt and take a tumble on the mountain, Lucivar grabbed the kitten and settled him in his arms like some oversized, furry baby. Either the kitten was too startled to object or he was used to being held this way, even if the person now holding him was a stranger.

Lucivar reached the flagstone courtyard and was about to put Jaalan down when Andulvar flew in at a reckless speed. Daemon held the girl. Lucivar held the kitten and watched his youngest barely manage to backwing and land without ending up in a heap.

“Is that a cat?” Andulvar asked, his eyes on the kitten. “I saw you arrive when I left the school eyrie.”

Well, that explained the boy’s hurry to get home.

“Can you say hello to our guests?” Lucivar said.

“Hello.” That aimed at the kitten.

“The other guests?”

Andulvar blinked, then turned his head. “Hi, Uncle Daemon.” He gave more of his attention to Grizande as he reached for Jaalan. “Who are you? Is this your cat?”

“Boyo, you’re fondling the tail of a Warlord Prince,” Lucivar said.

“Huh?”

“This is Lady Grizande,” Daemon said. “That is Prince Jaalan.”

The titles seeped into his boy’s brain. “They’re Blood?”

“They are Blood,” Lucivar agreed. Then he sighed. The boy was focused on the cat. The kitten was focused on the boy’s wings. “Come on.”

Lucivar led his guests and son into the eyrie, then turned and took the kitten through the glass doors that led to the play yard. He set Jaalan on the grass and gave boy and kitten a stern look. “No teeth, no claws, no fists. Play nice or you won’t be allowed to play together. Understood?”

“Yes, Papa,” Andulvar said.

Lucivar wasn’t sure how much the kitten understood, but the adults would soon find out. “All right. Go play.” He walked back into the eyrie and looked at Grizande, who watched the kitten bound after the boy. “There are shields around the yard to keep them from falling off the mountain. They’ll be all right.” More or less.

“Big noisy stay outside?” Grizande asked.

Daemon chuckled.

Lucivar grinned. “Yeah. Until the big noisy is tired enough to be quiet.” He sensed Marian’s presence a moment before she entered the front room. “Marian, this is Grizande. Witchling, this is my wife, Marian.”

He felt Grizande brace for an attack.

Marian walked up to Daemon first and gave him a kiss on the cheek before turning to the girl. “Welcome, Grizande. I have a room ready for you, if you’d like to see it.” She frowned. “Where is . . . ?”

A happy shout coming from the play yard.

“Oh,” Marian said. “Well, they can’t get into too much trouble out there.”

“One Warlord Prince is Lucivar’s son and the other is a tiger kitten,” Daemon said in a tone that sounded insincerely helpful. “How much trouble can they be?”

Marian smacked Daemon’s arm and huffed while she tried not to laugh.

Grizande blinked.

“I’ll keep an eye on them.” Daemon sounded chastened—and amused.

Grizande blinked again.

And so your education begins, witchling, Lucivar thought.

“I’ll show you to your room,” Marian said, focusing on Grizande. She looked at the men. “You two do whatever you’re supposed to do.”

“Well, that put you in your place,” Daemon said when the women headed into the warren of rooms that made up the eyrie.

“You’re one of the two, old son,” Lucivar replied. He watched Andulvar and Jaalan for a minute. “The girl is fairly easy with Warlord Princes but struggles with other women.”

“I noticed. But she trusted a Black Widow enough to leave everything she knew and come to the Hall.”

“If the girl is being hunted, do you think that Black Widow is still alive?”

The air chilled. “I’ll ask some of the demon-dead to keep watch for any Tigre witches arriving in the Dark Realm. If something happened to the people who helped Grizande get away, I’ll know soon enough.”

You’ll know when they die. But if they’re captured and tortured, who can say how long they’ll endure before you have an answer?

“Tigrelan is not our Territory, Prick. There’s nothing we can do.”

“I know. But that girl isn’t in Tigrelan anymore.”

“No,” Daemon said too softly. “She’s under my hand now.”

Protected by the High Lord of Hell. And Witch.

Grizande followed the female Lucivar called wife. Same as mate?

As they walked through wide corridors carved from the living mountain, she looked for cages and traps. For betrayal.

Marian opened a door and walked into a room that held a large bed and small bedside tables, a wardrobe and dresser, a chair and floor lamp. A window without bars, but shields could also make a prison. This witch didn’t have that kind of power, but if she wanted it to be so, would Prince Lucivar use his Ebon-gray to create a cage?

“This room is closer to our bedroom, in case you have any questions or wake up uneasy,” Marian said. “The bathroom is just down the corridor. I’ll show you.” A hesitation. “Did anyone at the Hall ask you about moontime supplies? Do you need some? Or any other supplies?”

Kindness. Caring. Grizande looked around the room. Simple. Clean. But the quilt on the bed, in colors of the forest . . .

When she pressed her hand against it, she could pick up some of Marian’s psychic scent. Too much scent for just handling. Scent held over from the making? “Beautiful,” she said softly.

“Thank you.”

“You make?”

“Yes, I did.”

Memories almost forgotten out of necessity rose and raked Grizande’s heart.

“Grizande?” Marian sounded concerned, as if feelings mattered.

How to explain to this woman when she didn’t have the words anyone here would understand? “Mother.” She waved a hand to indicate the room and what its clean simplicity meant.

“This reminds you of her?” Marian asked.

She nodded. “Dead long time.”

“Ah.” A pause. “Would you like a hug?”

“Hug?”

Marian opened her arms. An invitation.

The Hourglass had raised her, protected her, trained her in basic Craft, because of her bloodline. But they had kept their distance from her. It hurt now to be held by a woman, by a mother. It hurt—but it also felt good. Felt safe in a way her mind barely remembered but her body did.

“You’ve had an eventful couple of days,” Marian said. “Would you like to stay in your room and rest or come out and join us?”

“Join big noisy.”

Marian laughed. “Come on, then.”

When they reached the large front room, Marian stopped and looked around. “I guess we’re on our own. Oh! Daemon.”

Prince Sadi appeared in an archway. “Darling, do you mind if Grizande and I use your kitchen table?”

“I don’t mind as long as you don’t get in the way of me making dinner,” she replied.

“I would never get in the way of dinner preparations,” he said dryly. “Not with your hoard.”

Grizande followed them into the kitchen. Marian pulled food out of a cold box and set bowls and other tools on the counter. Humming a tune that sounded bittersweet, she began her work.

Prince Sadi took a seat at the table and indicated that Grizande should sit beside him. He placed a sheet of paper and a writing tool in front of her. He picked up another writing tool, and on the paper in front of him made careful shapes. Then he pointed to the paper in front of her. “Now you try.”

She studied the shapes on his paper, picked up her writing tool, and copied them.

The Prince nodded. “That is your name. That is how ‘Grizande’ looks in the common tongue.” He looked at her. “In Tigre?”

She wrote her name in the language of her people. He studied it, copied what she’d done, then asked, “Is that correct?”

“Yes.” Her name. The Hourglass had taught her what they could of the common tongue, but they hadn’t known this.

The Prince drew more symbols below her name. “Daemon.”

She copied that name—and the ones that followed. Daemonar. Lucivar. Andulvar. Jaalan. Marian. Titian. Zoela. Helene. Nadene. Beale. Mrs. Beale. Holt. Raine.

When it seemed like he wasn’t going to write any more, she wrote a word in her language and looked at him. When he didn’t seem to understand, she pointed in the direction of the Black Mountain. “Her?”

“Witch?”

She nodded.

He wrote the word for the Queen who was more than a Queen. Who was myth and dreams. One name for her, anyway. She copied the word.

Smiling, the Prince called in a strange book of empty lined paper. “This is what students use for their studies. You write in it.”

“Write important . . .” How to ask?

He seemed to know. “Whatever you want. Words you want to know. Things you want to remember. Questions you want to ask. And these”—he called in printed books and set them in front of her—“are how our young learn to read the common tongue. I think they will be a useful way to begin the lessons.”

“Lessons?”

“With me. I’ll be teaching you Craft and Protocol with some of the other girls. The lessons in the common tongue will be with me or with Prince Raine.”

“Daemonar?”

“He can help you learn the common tongue and help you practice the lessons you learn from me.” The Prince paused. “And I’m sure Liath will help too.”

Grizande sighed. “Prince Bossy Stern Teeth.”

Marian let out a hoot of laughter and stopped chopping vegetables. “Who is this Liath?”

The Prince cleared his throat. “A Sceltie Warlord Prince who wears a Green Jewel.”

“Oh, Daemon,” Marian said. “You didn’t.”

“I repeat: Sceltie Warlord Prince who wears a Green Jewel. What makes you think I had any say in this?”

“You own the Hall?” Marian replied.

“You wear Black,” Grizande said, then braced for a slap. She hadn’t been told she could speak.

The Prince looked at Marian, then at Grizande. “I own the Hall, and I wear the Black. Not everyone who lives or works at the Hall is impressed by those truths.”

The tone was dry as dust, but his gold eyes were filled with humor.

Prince Lucivar stood in the archway and looked at the Prince. “You done with her?”

“For the moment,” he replied.

“Good. Come on, witchling. I’ll get you started learning the sparring warm-up.”

Grizande looked at the Prince, not sure who she should obey.

“I thought you were going to help me fix dinner,” Marian said.

“You have him,” Prince Lucivar replied, tipping his head toward the Prince.

“Go on,” the Prince said quietly. “You should learn from the best.”

Grizande vanished the items she’d been given, then followed Prince Lucivar to the large front room.

Daemonar handed her a long, thick stick. “An Eyrien sparring stick.” He took up a position on one side of her.

Prince Lucivar took up a position on the other side. “This is how you begin.”

Daemon had known Marian for centuries, had loved her for being his brother’s wife and also loved her for being Marian. He knew her moods almost as well as Lucivar did.

“Something on your mind?” he asked as he kneaded the dough for the biscuits.

“You are going to help that girl.” It wasn’t a question.

“I am. I’ll keep her safe, Marian, along with the other girls.”

“Are there Tigre in Hell?”

“Why do you ask?”

“She said her mother died a long time ago, but she’s from a short-lived race and she’s young, so it can’t be that many years.”

Daemon continued to knead the dough while he considered how to answer. “If it was a hard death . . .”

“The girl doesn’t need to see the mother, although she desperately needs some affection. But I think Grizande’s mother would appreciate knowing her daughter is safe. Especially if hers was a hard death.”

“The Tigre are almost as reclusive a race as the Dea al Mon. We don’t know what happened in that Territory that has left the descendant of a powerful Queen orphaned and uneducated—and at risk.” He put the dough in a bowl and covered it to let it rise. “I’ll look for Grizande’s family. If any of them are still in the Dark Realm, I will let them know she is safe.”

He washed his hands and didn’t look at her when he asked, “Are you all right with her being here?”

“Don’t be insulting, Daemon,” Marian replied, her voice sharp.

Hit a nerve, he thought. “My apologies, Marian. I wasn’t implying that you wouldn’t welcome—”

“My father sold me to pay off some gambling debts. Did Lucivar ever tell you that? Did Jaenelle?”

“Stop. Please.” He struggled to keep the Sadist from slipping the leash in response to her words. It wouldn’t do any of them any good to have that side of him here tonight.

She ignored the warning. “Sold me to five Warlords so that they could rape me and kill me. For sport.”

“Marian. Please.”

He heard Daemonar talking Grizande through the moves with the stick. He felt Lucivar at his back. Watchful. Wary.

Marian breathed out slowly, but she couldn’t stop. “Titian. Zoey. Grizande. Two have been cherished since birth. One was deemed unimportant—and expendable. Maybe that’s not true. Some of her people made an effort to protect her as best they could. But this stirred up memories. I want to help her heal, Daemon. I want to help her the way Jaenelle and your father helped me. The way Lucivar helped me.”

He gathered her in his arms and swayed gently. “You will help. We all will. Shh, darling. It’s all right.”

Even centuries of being loved couldn’t prevent an old heart wound from opening again and feeling as painful as when the wound had been delivered.

A brush of Ebon-gray power against his first inner barrier.

*You won’t find her father among the living,* Lucivar said. *And you won’t find him in Hell. Saetan made sure the debt Marian’s father owed our family was paid in full.*

*And the rest of Marian’s family?*

*I don’t know. As long as they don’t come here, I won’t ask.*

*Then I won’t actively hunt. But should our paths cross, whatever debt they owe will be paid in full.*

*Thank you, High Lord.* Lucivar cleared his throat. “You going to cuddle my wife all evening, or are we going to get some dinner?”

“Take a piss in the wind, Prick,” Daemon said.

Marian stepped back and patted the skin under her eyes. “Behave. Both of you.”

Lucivar returned to the front room. Marian finished preparing the stew and put the pot on the heat to cook.

“I’ll take care of the biscuits once the dough rises,” Daemon said. “Why don’t you spend a little time in your garden?”

“Are you trying to Sceltie me?”

“No, I was making a suggestion. A Sceltie would have issued a statement and then blocked any attempt you made to do something different.”

A small laugh, but it was a laugh. “Very well. Since you’re suggesting, I would like a little time in the garden.”

After Marian went out to her garden, Daemon waited for Lucivar to join him.

“Problem?” Lucivar asked.

“I have business in Scelt that shouldn’t be delayed, but I don’t want to leave Grizande on her own at the Hall until I have a chance to see how the other girls will react—and how she’ll react to them.”

“She can stay here for a couple of days.”

A tempting solution to one problem. But . . . “Surreal is at the Hall, keeping an eye on things.”

Lucivar stared at him. “You left Surreal with a pack of adolescent girls?”

“She does have that sanctuary now.”

“She deals with girls who have been broken, not with girls who feel entitled because of their caste or because their families are aristo. And after getting the girls to safety, she doesn’t deal with them all that much. At least, that’s my understanding.”

He couldn’t deny the truth of that. Or the niggling worry about her wading into what she’d called “the bitch drama-trauma.” “I had intended to be back tomorrow. I told her that she didn’t have to interact with any of the youngsters, but she had other thoughts.”

“Hell’s fire,” Lucivar said. “All right, I’ll take the children back to the Hall and spend a couple of days there. That way Surreal can leave, or we can have one of our bracing discussions.”

“Thank you.” Daemon hesitated, reluctant to scrape Lucivar’s temper but feeling the need to explain. “Saetien wants to go to Scelt to find out about Wilhelmina Benedict.”

Lucivar’s silence took on the weight of stone. “You agreed to that?”

“If I can make some particular arrangements for her to stay in Maghre, then yes, I’ll agree to it.”

“Will Witch?”

“That’s what the Lady and I will discuss tonight.”

Zoey and Titian had spent the afternoon in Titian’s room. Hiding. She’d been hiding; Titian had stayed with her. No one had demanded that they come out and be friendly with the Tigre witch. No one had seemed to notice that they hadn’t participated in whatever everyone else had done that afternoon.

Had anyone even remembered that they were there?

She didn’t want to be noticed—but she did want to be noticed. Unless it would get her into more trouble. She didn’t like being in trouble.

What had the other girls thought about her leaving with Prince Sadi this morning? Her friends had been concerned that she’d been summoned to the Keep. Did the rest of the girls know where she’d gone? Dinah would be envious and make more sly remarks about why Zoey was favored by the SaDiablo family.

She’d been friends with Saetien since they were young girls. She’d been hurt during the house party Delora had tricked Saetien into having at the Hall a few months ago. Her grandmother was friends with the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan. Those were the reasons she was more familiar with Prince Sadi than the other girls.

Now she had to figure out how to be friendly with someone who didn’t want to be friendly, because she and this Tigre girl would be living in the same square of rooms and would be crossing paths in the communal rooms and in their classes.

Why hadn’t she listened to Beale? Had she really crossed the same line that Saetien had crossed at the house party? Saetien, who was Prince Sadi’s daughter, had been banished for crossing that line.

“What if I’m not allowed to stay at the Hall anymore?” Zoey whispered, wrapping her arms around her knees. “What if I’m banished like Saetien?”

“You didn’t do anything that bad,” Titian replied. “We’ll be friendly but not pouncy friendly.”

“Pouncy friendly?” That made her smile. Then she sighed. “Being around other Queens. It feels like we’re in a competition, but I don’t know what we’re competing for. It will be ages before any of us are old enough to form a court, and Queens are supposed to work together for the good of the Territory. Aren’t they?”

“Kathlene’s nice. So is Azara. And Felisha.” Titian made a face. “But Dinah is a b-i-t-c-h.”

“She was on the list of Queens who were targeted by Delora and the coven of malice,” Zoey pointed out. “Delora wouldn’t have done that if Dinah was too b-i-t-c-h.”

Titian shrugged.

A quick knock on the door.

“Yes?” Titian said.

The door opened enough for Daemonar to lean into the room. “Mother wants the two of you to come out and help set the table. Dinner is almost ready.”

Titian scrambled to her feet. “Daemonar . . .”

He gave his sister a long look. “Apology accepted. We can talk later if you want to talk.”

They made their way to the kitchen. The Tigre girl was already there, watching Marian.

“We’re eating in the dining room this evening,” Marian said as she started handing out stacks of plates to the girls. “Titian, you show the others where to go and how to set up the table.”

When they reached the dining room, Zoey looked at Grizande and was determined to say something friendly but not pouncy. Except . . . The look in the girl’s eyes. Distrust. Loathing. As if everything Zoey might say was a trick or a lie. As if everything she might do was a trap that would cause pain.

That’s not what Queens are supposed to be, Zoey thought.

Prince Sadi walked in, carrying stemmed wineglasses for the adults. Daemonar followed him with water goblets for the non-adults.

Four wineglasses. Four water goblets.

Zoey felt an odd jolt as she realized the significance. Daemonar was an adult. She didn’t think of him that way. He was Titian’s brother. He attended classes.

He also taught sparring and the first level of training in weapons.

Adult. Not all the way. Not until he made the Offering to the Darkness, but the simple fact of who had what glass suddenly made the line so clear—and made clear how much his experience and training outstripped hers.

Painfully aware that Prince Sadi was still in the room, Zoey turned to Grizande. “My apologies if I made you uncomfortable yesterday. It was not my intention. I wanted to make you feel welcome, but I didn’t do it the correct way.”

“Not your place to welcome.” The words came out slowly, as if each had to be found.

“No, it wasn’t, but I didn’t think about that.”

Prince Sadi glided past Grizande on his way to the door and said softly, “She, too, has much to learn.” Then he was gone.

Grizande stared at Zoey, a feral look in those green eyes—a look that gradually faded. “We will learn.”

“And one thing we learn,” Daemonar said as he walked out of the room, “is not to delay getting the food on the table.”

Daemonar wasn’t sure what had gotten the girls all stirred up, but they seemed to have called a truce.

He picked up the bowl of lightly dressed greens, then handed the basket of biscuits to Grizande.

“Jaalan?” she asked, glancing toward the glass doors where Lucivar stood whistling for boy and kitten to come in for dinner.

“We have a bowl of food for him,” Daemonar replied as Andulvar and Jaalan entered the eyrie and pelted toward the kitchen.

“Wash up before you eat,” Lucivar said, his voice thundering enough to stop the boy.

The kitten wasn’t quite as quick to give up on a possible meal, but he did stop before he entered the kitchen.

“But . . . Papa,” Andulvar said, “we’re hungry.”

“And you’ll stay hungry until your mother says your hands are clean enough for you to sit at her table.”

Head down, shoulders rounded, the picture of a dejected boy, Andulvar shuffled toward the bedrooms and bathrooms. Jaalan, observant and learning from his new friend . . . Head down, tail down, the picture of a dejected kitten shuffling after the boy.

Daemonar didn’t dare look at Grizande. “Kindred are very impressionable at that age. I learned that from the Scelties.”

“Are you two going to stand there, or are you going to get the food to the table?” Daemon asked from behind them.

Daemonar led the way, but he was close enough to hear his father laughing when Lucivar went into the kitchen to wash his hands.

“Jaalan. Andulvar. It . . . funny,” Grizande said, smiling.

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed, grinning.

It became funnier when Marian stopped boy and kitten at the dining room doorway and said, “Let’s see the hands.”

Andulvar raised his hands palm out for his mother’s inspection. She held his hands, turning them to inspect both sides—and the fingernails—before saying, “Clean hands. Good job.” She ran a hand over his hair and kissed his forehead.

Then she looked at Jaalan. The kitten looked at her.

“Psst.” Andulvar made little up-and-down motions with his hands.

Settling on his haunches, Jaalan lifted his front legs and showed Marian his paws.

She gave the paws the same careful inspection and said, “Clean paws. Good job.” Then she ran a hand over the kitten’s head and gave him a quick kiss on the nose. “Now we can eat.”

Andulvar took his place at the table. Jaalan was shown the bowls of meat and water that were placed where he wouldn’t trip anyone or get stepped on but could still see Grizande.

“We’ve done this before,” Daemon said as he passed the basket of biscuits to Grizande.

She sat between Lucivar at the head of the table and Daemon on her right. Daemonar and Andulvar sat across from her, effectively forming a barricade around Grizande, while Titian and Zoey sat at the other end of the table with Marian. Daemonar’s little brother looked like he couldn’t decide whether to pounce on his food like some ravenous beast, which would earn a scolding from Marian, or pounce on Grizande with questions about tigers in general and Jaalan in particular.

Probably best that students and kitten were going back to the Hall tomorrow. Kindred wolves who were descended from Tassle still lived on the mountain and came to the eyrie to visit, but they were familiar and, therefore, not as interesting. Give Andulvar another day of playing with a tiger and he might work up to asking if they could have one come live with them.

Of course, if the boy started by asking if a Sceltie could live with them, he might wear the parents down to agreeing to a tiger as a less formidable companion.

Zoey usually relaxed and enjoyed the sensation of Titian brushing her hair, but tonight she couldn’t relax, her mind too full of the things she’d heard at dinner. “Do they always do that when they’re together?”

“Do what?” Titian asked in turn.

“Tell stories about the Dark Court. About the . . . Queen.” How did a person reconcile the stories—especially the amusing stories—with the being who had stared at her with those sapphire eyes?

“Sometimes.” Titian continued to brush Zoey’s hair. “Maybe a lot. They don’t talk about things that happened before they came to Kaeleer. At least, not at the dinner table and not in front of guests. There are private talks, things they tell us about living in Terreille when they feel we’re old enough to understand at least some of what they’re saying. That’s why Daemonar, being older, knows lots more than I do.”

“About things like what the girls at the Amdarh school said about Lady Surreal being a”—she ended with a whisper—“whore?”

“I guess. Mother and Father, Uncle Daemon, and Auntie Surreal tell stories about the Dark Court and the Lady when we gather during Winsol, because stories about the Dark Court are also the family stories.”

“But you looked like you’d never heard these stories before.”

“Saetien didn’t like hearing about the Queen, so she would push for the two of us to leave and do something in another room.” Titian put the brush on the dresser and looked at Zoey in the mirror. “Did you see Grizande’s face?”

“No. I was sitting on the same side of the table, and Prince Sadi was sitting between us,” Zoey replied.

“I think they told those particular stories tonight because it was a way to tell Grizande about her bloodline, about the Queen she was named after and the Warlord Prince who was that Grizande’s Consort and husband. I think it was a way to tell stories about kindred that we all might find useful. Her face tonight . . .” Titian blinked back tears. “It was like seeing someone receive a gift so wonderful it was painful.”

She understood that feeling. She’d felt that way years ago when she’d sent Prince Sadi her first report and received a reply. A brief reply, to be sure, but an acknowledgment of her duty as a Queen. She’d received support from her grandparents all the time and training from her grandmother, who was the Queen of Amdarh, but that hadn’t felt the same as receiving that first letter from the Prince.

“We should try to be Grizande’s friends,” Zoey said.

Titian kissed Zoey’s cheek. “We will. As much as she’ll let us, we will.”

A kiss on the lips might have turned into something much warmer if there hadn’t been two sharp raps on the bedroom door—Lucivar’s warning that it was time for everyone to settle down in their own rooms.

Zoey didn’t see Lucivar when Titian opened the door and slipped out of the room, but she knew he was there.

She got into bed. The book she’d chosen couldn’t distract her enough from the worry about what she would face when she returned to the Hall. At the school in Amdarh she hadn’t noticed the opinions of the other students, except to be aware that Delora was someone she didn’t like and didn’t trust. She’d been content with her small group of friends—and her romantic friendship with Titian. Now she felt vulnerable, and she wondered if she would always feel that way.