The Queen's Price

TWENTY-SEVEN

Daemon set the Coach down on the village’s landing web long enough to inform the guards on duty of his presence. Then, using Craft, he floated the Coach a hand span above the road, as if it were a wheeled Craft-powered coach, and guided it to the family estate.

He and Brenda had talked during the first part of the trip. He’d told her about the Hall and the young witches who were there for court training and also for protection in case Delora’s coven of malice wasn’t the only threat to the well-being of the Queens, Black Widows, Healers, and other strong witches who would eventually come into power in Dhemlan. He told her about the young men who were there for training, including five Warlord Princes. And he told her about the other instructors—and admitted that he wasn’t sure how many would still be there after dealing with Surreal and Lucivar for a few days.

She thought he was joking. That told him she’d never met Lucivar. Or Surreal.

In her turn, she told him about the skills she had and what she could offer his young charges as well as the staff at the Hall.

Bracing. That’s how he would describe Lady Brenda, assuming anyone needed any comments from him after spending five minutes with her. He had a feeling she could out-Sceltie a Sceltie—and may the Darkness have mercy on all of them. He just hoped she never turned that focus on him.

And he wondered if that strength was the reason she’d wanted to get away from Scelt in order to heal a bruised heart.

She’d fallen asleep, giving him time to think about another girl and how he should handle this permission to make a heart quest, as Eileen had called it.

How would Lucivar handle it? Yaslana would state the terms and draw the line, and then wouldn’t budge. His way or nothing.

Did Lucivar lie awake some nights wondering if his way was the wrong way? Probably not.

When they arrived at the estate, he set the Coach down near the house and touched Brenda’s arm.

“Are we here, then?” she asked, blinking at him.

“Actually, we’re at one of the SaDiablo estates,” he replied. “I have some business to take care of here. It shouldn’t take long. You can come into the house with me, stretch your legs and get something to eat. Or you can stay tucked in here and sleep.”

She blinked again and straightened in her seat. “I need to use a toilet before I embarrass both of us, so I’ll come out with you. Besides, I’m wondering what a Dhemlan estate looks like. Are you raising cattle or sheep here?”

“Mostly they raise grapes here.”

“Not much herding required, then.”

“Not on the estate.” The sanctuary was entirely another matter. Fortunately, the girls at the sanctuary kept the Scelties who were living there sufficiently busy that they hadn’t expanded their help to the villagers—yet.

Daemon led Brenda to the door of the Coach and offered a hand to help her step down.

He looked at her, amused, recognizing her desire to be independent and step down—or jump down—on her own.

She looked at him, amused, recognizing that the gesture of offering his hand was part of the dance between distaff and spear—and something he would not surrender.

She took his hand and stepped out of the Coach.

After introducing Brenda to the housekeeper and leaving the Scelt witch in the other woman’s hands, Daemon used a psychic thread to tap Jillian and Saetien, informing them that he was at the estate and expected them within the hour. Then he reached for Beale on a Red psychic thread and informed the Hall’s butler that he was bringing another instructor with him, a witch from Scelt. And she would be accompanied by a kindred friend who would need a box stall in the stables.

After receiving assurances that accommodations would be ready for the Lady and her friend, Daemon settled in the sitting room he’d occupied a few days ago and reviewed the papers and reports the estate’s manager brought in with a pot of coffee and breakfast sandwiches.

Jillian walked into the smaller sitting room, then retreated a step when she saw the unknown Green-Jeweled witch who was already in the room—an instinctive reaction, since Purple Dusk couldn’t stand against Green in a fight. When nothing in the woman’s psychic scent indicated an adversary, Jillian took a moment to consider this stranger—and to remember that Prince Sadi was just across the hall and had to be aware of the Green’s presence. Rich brown hair with just enough curl to sensually frame a pretty face, green eyes that sparked with curiosity and energy, fair skin with a rose blush in the cheeks.

“It’s a grand morning, isn’t it?” the woman said cheerfully. “If you’re waiting for the Prince, he and his daughter are having a talk, so you might as well tuck in to a bit of breakfast. I’m Brenda, from the village of Maghre on the Isle of Scelt. You?”

“Jillian, from the valley of Ebon Rih in the Territory of Askavi.” The formal identification seemed odd, but saying less would feel rude. She sat in a chair on the other side of the coffee table and looked at all the dishes that covered the surface. “How many people are they expecting to eat this?”

“Well now, there was me and now there is you.” Brenda grinned. “Maybe the girl, depending on how the talking goes. I didn’t see her when she arrived, but I’m thinking her idea of how things are going to go in Scelt is very different from how the Prince and my family intend for things to go.”

“Your family?” Jillian poured a mug of coffee for herself and made a selection from the various foods being offered.

“Aye. My brother, Kieran, is the Warlord of Maghre. The Prince’s girl will be staying with my parents. Strict rules, and no tolerance for someone putting on airs. I’m going to SaDiablo Hall to be an instructor. What brings you here this morning?”

“Lady Saetien is currently staying at the sanctuary Lady Surreal established for girls who were deliberately broken on their Virgin Night. Those girls need an escort when they leave the grounds, so I brought Saetien here.” Jillian bit into a sandwich triangle and studied Brenda. Then she added, “And I wanted to talk to Prince Sadi about a couple of concerns I have about my Virgin Night. Have you had yours?” Since Brenda was direct with lobbing questions at her, she didn’t see why she couldn’t be the same.

“I have. It was pleasant enough—or not unpleasant, at any rate—and I was relieved to have it done, and even more relieved that it had been done before I . . . Well, there was a man who was very good at hiding his true nature and true intentions. Never got past kisses and a bit of this and that with that one before his true nature collided with my true nature—and my fist.”

Jillian laughed. “I’ve used my fist a time or two to explain things.”

“Well then, you know how it goes. I did have a lover for a little while, and I enjoyed being with him. Was fairly on my way to falling in love and giving him my heart, and that’s the truth. Then I made the Offering and came away with the Green.”

“You were stronger than him?” she guessed.

“I was. I am. And suddenly the things he said he liked about me he started claiming were emasculating him, and he deserved better. ‘Better?’ said I. ‘Maybe so, but then, so do I.’ But there was some pressure from some of the Queens in Scelt for me to do a formal apprenticeship in one of their courts, and he was a favorite with some of those same Queens, and I didn’t need reminders. Then this opportunity to work at the Hall and get a kind of informal apprenticeship opened up, and that’s where I’m headed.”

“I’m a kind of counselor at the sanctuary—and I teach the girls how to fight.”

Brenda leaned closer, the sparkle in her eyes more intense. “I’ve heard Eyriens have those war blades they use on a killing field. Do you have one?”

Jillian called in her war blade. “It’s balanced to my hand and sharp enough that I can cut halfway through a person just by resting the blade against skin and relaxing my grip.”

“A warrior’s blade.”

“Yes.” She was a warrior in her own way. “There are other Eyrien weapons that are better suited for young women who want to be able to defend themselves. An Eyrien club, for example. And there are the sparring sticks. Those moves could be made with a broom as well. If you’re interested, you should talk to Daemonar Yaslana when you get to the Hall. He’s been teaching others how to use the Eyrien sparring sticks.”

Brenda jumped up. “Come on, then. Show me a couple of moves so I don’t feel like a complete fool when I get there.”

By the time Saetien joined them, they’d gone through the first moves of the warm-up a couple of times.

Saetien had barely been awake when her father had tapped her on a psychic thread and summoned her to the estate for this meeting. Now she sat in the same sitting room, even the same chair, where she’d made her request. Now she tried not to fidget, tried not to explode with a demand for an answer, as if getting an answer a minute from now would be different from getting an answer right now.

“I’ve made arrangements with Lord Kieran’s family for you to stay with them while you’re in Scelt,” Daemon said.

He was going to treat her like a baby? “You have a house in Maghre. Why can’t I stay there?”

“You’re not old enough to stay by yourself. Therefore, you’ll stay with Kieran’s family while you search for your answers.”

“What if I don’t like them?”

“Then Kieran will escort you back to the sanctuary here, and that will end your quest.”

“Your way or nothing?”

“Yes.”

Why was she fighting about this? Once she arrived in Scelt, she could do what she liked. “Can I have some money for new clothes?”

A beat of silence as the air in the room chilled, warning her that she had, once again, crossed a line with him. Sometimes it felt like she was in a bad play and fell into her part the moment she was with another actor. But she’d written this particular play and kept falling into the role she’d created. She just didn’t know anymore how to be someone else when she was around her father.

“No,” Daemon said softly. “Maghre is a country village. You have a wardrobe stuffed with clothes. I’m sure you already have anything you’ll need.”

“What about expenses?”

“The spending money I already provide is more than sufficient. You’ll be there a few days, a few weeks at the most.”

She didn’t want to arrive in Scelt like some child with a project. “I don’t need minding by some strangers.” Stop acting like a brat. Stop it.

“It’s been years since you were last in Scelt, so I suppose everyone in the village will be strangers. Whether you stay here or go is your choice—as long as you abide by my terms.”

“I could just go there on my own. How would you stop me?” She was playing to an audience that already hated her performance, but she couldn’t seem to hold back the words.

The room turned icy. His eyes glazed—and he smiled a cold, cruel smile. “If you’re gambling that I wouldn’t physically hurt you, then you’re probably right. But I could—and would—hurt anyone who helped you defy me, and everyone on Scelt knows that. Also, you would forfeit any additional funds that come from me. I wouldn’t strip you of the money already in your account, but that would be the end of it. Instead of having free time, you’d have to find work that would provide you with income for food and lodging.”

She did want to go to Scelt. Needed to go to Scelt. So she had to accept his terms.

“Fine,” Saetien said. “I’ll stay with this Kieran and his family.”

“I’m delighted,” Daemon replied, the words holding a sharp edge. “I’ll return in three days to pick you up and take you to Scelt.”

“I can—”

“Be ready first thing that morning. I’ll talk to Helene about sorting out some clothes that will be appropriate for a stay in Maghre—unless you would prefer to write to her and make that request.”

Having Helene and a maid going through her clothes to choose some outfits wasn’t any different than having a maid put clothes into her wardrobe and dressers after wash day, but it felt more intrusive somehow. But she was banned from the Hall, so she couldn’t go through the clothes there anyway, and if she sent a written request, she’d lose a day or more before Helene received the message.

“Thank you, Father. If you talk to Helene, that will give her time to find the proper outfits.”

She left the sitting room feeling churned up and unhappy instead of excited. And she knew without a doubt that she had brought that unhappiness on herself.

Daemon wanted nothing more than to collect Brenda and head to SaDiablo Hall. And Hell’s fire, he needed some sleep, but he had no idea what was happening at the Hall. Beale had been reticent about what had been going on, saying only that Lucivar was still in residence and Surreal was not. And one instructor had resigned, so it was fortunate he was bringing someone new.

One more to go, he thought as Jillian walked into the room.

She stared at him. He tried very hard not to stare at her short spiky black hair.

“Lady Karla?” Jillian’s wings flared to their full span before settling back to their usual position. “Free fall? What were you thinking?”

What was she talking about? “Free fall?”

“Karla. Virgin Night. Did Lucivar actually tell you about that night?”

“Well . . . no.” Maybe he should have asked Karla before he suggested she talk to Jillian.

He looked at her spiky hair. Maybe he should stop suggesting that Jillian talk to Karla. For his own sake.

“Fortunately, Brenda was more forthcoming about what to expect.”

Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. “Oh. Good. I’m delighted.” Daemon wanted to put some distance between himself and this witch who was sounding a bit . . . exercised. But he was a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince, and backing down wasn’t an option.

“I think having the party the following evening would be sensible. Give me a little time to adjust. What do you think?”

“Quite sensible,” he agreed, grateful that she was back to sounding like the Jillian he knew. “Inform Surreal to send me the date you’ll be going through this rite of passage, and Lucivar and I will arrange to have a party at the town house the next evening.”

“Nothing big. Just family and a few good friends. I’d like Brenda to come, if she’s interested and can get away for an evening. And Stefan, of course.”

“Of course. We’ll take care of it.”

Jillian gave him a bright smile. “I’d better get Saetien back to the sanctuary, or she’ll be late for her morning classes.”

“You do that.”

Daemon waited until Jillian left the room. Waited until he was sure no one else was going to come bouncing into the room with other thoughts, demands, opinions. Then he scrubbed his hands over his face and muttered, “Jillian and Brenda. May the Darkness have mercy on me.”