The Queen's Price

SIXTY-NINE

Bracketed by Jhett and Arlene, Zoey waited for the other Queens to arrive.

Azara arrived first, red faced and sweaty. Grizande looked invigorated.

Not being a Sceltie, at least Grizande didn’t nip to encourage her sheep to hurry up.

Kathlene and Felisha entered the social room together.

“I thought this meeting was only for the Queens,” Felisha said, looking a bit put out.

“Jhett and Arlene are part of this,” Zoey replied.

“Then Titian should be here too,” Kathlene said. “I’m sure she’s part of this—whatever this is.”

Before Zoey could think of a reply, Titian hurried into the social room, then stopped when she saw the other girls.

“Holt escorted me here,” Titian explained. “Said my presence was required. I expected to get a scold from my father.”

Kathlene looked at Zoey. “You weren’t sick, so where were you that everyone covered for you?”

Zoey swallowed hard. “Grizande drove the Coach, and we went to the Keep so that I could talk to Witch and ask her advice.”

The other Queens stared at her.

“What did she say?” Kathlene finally asked.

Zoey breathed in, breathed out. “What is the Queen’s purpose?” She waited.

“To be the moral center of her court and, by extension, all the people in her territory,” Kathlene replied.

“What is the Queen’s duty?”

“To rule with honor, strength, and compassion because her will is the law. To protect her court so that they, in turn, can protect the rest of her people,” Felisha replied.

Zoey asked the last question. “What is the Queen’s price?”

They stared at her just as she had stared at Witch, so she answered the question. “To stand against what you know is wrong, no matter who gives the command. To stand and fight, no matter the cost to your court or to you. Especially to you.”

“Prince Sadi is disappointed in us,” Titian said quietly. “We’re here so that he can protect us the same way his father protected Witch and her friends, but we didn’t go to him when that first extra order was added to the assignments.”

“Giving that order was wrong, but it seemed so . . . trivial,” Azara protested.

Zoey shivered, remembering the disappointment in Witch’s eyes. “Witch said there are no small wrongs when you’re a Queen, because that’s how the taint begins.”

“What do we do?” Felisha asked.

Kathlene looked at Zoey, then at Titian. “I didn’t burn today’s assignment. I believe Titian took it to Prince Sadi.”

Titian nodded.

“Why did you do that? We’ll be punished!” Azara cried.

“Then we’ll pay that price,” Kathlene replied, sounding firm. “And we’ll offer to help him find out who was slipping those extra orders into the envelope meant for whichever of us was the Territory Queen that day.”

“He already knows,” Jhett said. “Cara is the one who was slipping the paper into the envelopes, but I think the orders were coming from Dinah or one of her other friends. The Prince used a summoning spell to connect the extra orders with a letter that had arrived for Cara.” She looked at Kathlene, then at the rest of the girls. “Today the Queens were supposed to order three of their people to whip three people in a lesser Queen’s court—using a riding crop.”

Zoey gasped. How had it gone from a hand slap to a whipping so fast?

Kathlene brushed the sleeve of her shirt. “I’m Territory Queen today, so I’ll request a meeting with Prince Sadi and tell him what we know. Yes, I’m aware he already knows this—and probably knows more than we do—but I think it’s important that I report to him.” She hesitated, then pulled her shoulders back. “And I will request that Cara be expelled for her part in this . . . treachery . . . for the well-being of everyone else residing at the Hall.”

“You don’t have to go alone,” Zoey said. “We all had a chance to report this when it was our turn to be Territory Queen, and none of us did. Now we’ll go to him united and make this request.”

“Yes,” Felisha said.

Azara hesitated but finally nodded.

Kathlene sighed. “I guess we’ll pay a price for failing.”

Zoey smiled. “I told Witch everything that I knew, and she said we hadn’t failed yet.”

They moved through the corridors of the Hall the same way they would move through enemy territory. Liath, properly shielded, scouted ahead, reporting back to Daemonar through psychic communication about any humans he encountered. Most were servants who stepped aside—and probably reported to Beale that the Queens were heading for the High Lord’s study.

Daemonar had taken point. Lord Weston walked on one side of Zoey and Titian; Allis walked on the other side. Grizande had chosen Jhett and Arlene as the people she would defend—and Jaalan trotted with her. The other Warlord Princes studying at the Hall walked beside the Queens. And the Demon Prince guarded their backs.

By the time they reached the great hall, Beale stood at the door of the High Lord’s study. Holt, Brenda, and Raine stood between the front door and the students and other instructors gathering to find out what had happened.

Daemonar wasn’t sure what to do next. Hustle all the girls into the study and hold position? What about Zoey and Titian’s friends who were gathered with the rest of the students? Were they vulnerable?

“Queens only,” Lucivar said. “He’s waiting for you.”

Beale opened the study door and announced the Ladies Azara, Felisha, Kathlene, and Zoela.

Daemonar wasn’t sure who held Allis back, but the Sceltie’s sharp whine told everyone she was not a happy herder.

A light tap on his inner barriers before his father used a psychic link to show him the next step. Titian, Jhett, and Arlene to remain near the study door. Beale moving to help defend the great hall. He, along with the other human Warlord Princes and Weston, to form a half circle to prevent anyone from approaching the study until the meeting was done.

Once they had taken their positions, Daemonar watched Liath and Grizande—and the kitten—neatly extract the rest of Zoey’s friends from among the other students and deliver them to Brenda. Watched them separate the youngsters who were friends with Kathlene, then Felisha’s friends, then Azara’s, and bring them to Beale, to Holt, to Raine. Separating the herds—or the flocks.

And the Demon Prince, holding his war blade, stood in the great hall and watched them all.

Daemon listened to four young Queens stumble through an explanation of why they hadn’t challenged orders that they knew no Queen should ask of anyone in her court without good reason. Was there a reason? Were they told to punish someone who had done something wrong? To slap the hand of someone who was trying to take food from someone else’s dish? Who tried to take something that belonged to someone else? Who was abusing a servant? No?

Zoey looked exhausted and close to tears. Considering what she’d already done to find answers, that didn’t surprise him. Felisha and Azara? Shaken—and not as sure of the responsibilities that came with being a Queen. Kathlene. That girl already had steel in her spine. She acknowledged making a mistake by not coming to him sooner and . . .

“We talked it over, Prince,” Kathlene said, “and we respectfully ask that you expel Cara from the Hall. We feel she no longer deserves the privilege of being trained by you and the other people here.”

“That’s all you want?” he asked quietly. “To see her banished from the Hall?”

Kathlene hesitated. “I don’t think we’re entitled to ask for more than that. As the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan and the owner of the Hall, you may feel differently.”

“You are correct. In the current hierarchy, the four of you are not entitled to ask for more than that.” Daemon rose—and watched four girls flinch. Had Jaenelle ever flinched when Saetan was about to call in a debt? He doubted it. “You are also correct that I feel differently about this. Because of the order Lady Kathlene was given this morning, I feel very differently about this.”

He walked out of his study, trailed by the four Queens. Daemonar and Raeth stepped aside to let him pass, then closed ranks to protect the Queens.

Daemon walked up to Lucivar, called in the paper with that day’s orders, and held it out.

After reading it, the Demon Prince looked at the High Lord. *What do you want done?*

*A debt is owed to us and to everyone living at the Hall, but I think we should give this witch a choice of how to pay the debt.*

*What choice?* Lucivar asked.

Daemon smiled a cold, cruel smile. *The kind you and I do so well.*

Daemonar watched his father vanish the war blade, watched the way Lucivar and Daemon casually moved to the center of the great hall and began circling, maintaining a distance from each other that made Daemonar think they were performing the moves of a dance.

Then he considered what kind of dance the Demon Prince and High Lord might perform right now and thought, Mother Night.

Still circling, Lucivar called in a whip that wasn’t any longer than a man’s arm. Supple, like a thin branch of a young tree, and made of leather.

“There aren’t any riding crops here at the Hall, so this will have to do,” Lucivar said. He brushed one hand over the leather, calling attention to its length. “The bitches in Askavi Terreille used this kind of whip to punish those who wouldn’t obey orders that inflicted pain and suffering on other people. Even a light touch with this would produce welts. A man driven by the fear of having it used on him would wield it with enough force to tear through skin and muscle. I’ve used it a few times since coming to Kaeleer. The men deserved this form of execution, but it was brutal to perform and brutal to witness. Still . . .”

Daemonar guessed what was coming, but he still wasn’t prepared when Cara suddenly skidded across the floor and ended up in the center of that circle made of Black and Ebon-gray power and temper. Ice and fire—and no way to escape either.

Cara kept turning around, and the two men continued to circle, circle, circle as they watched her. Just watched her with an intensity that made Daemonar shiver.

Daemon said in that viciously civil voice, “Today’s orders were to give three people in each of the lesser courts ten strokes with a riding crop. Hard strokes. That was specified. But you already know that because you’re the one who slipped those orders into the Territory Queen’s envelope. So you will be the person who receives that punishment. I’ve seen Yaslana wield that whip, so I know what your back will look like when he’s done. That’s why we’re willing to give you a choice of how you will pay this debt to me, to him, and to all the people here at the Hall who were harmed by what you did. Your first choice: you can take the ten strokes of the whip. I’m sure Lady Nadene will be able to heal the wounds well enough that you won’t have any physical problems with your back—at least while you’re young—but the marks will show on your skin for the rest of your life, testimony that you crossed a line and betrayed the people around you. Your second choice: I can shatter your Birthright Jewel and break you back to basic Craft here and now. That will put an end to your ability to use power to further your ambitions. Your final choice: you can tell all of us why you participated in acts that were meant to harm other students, that were meant to inflict pain. Tell us who else was part of the game. Tell us why, and then I’ll decide on an appropriate reprimand that will not include a whip or a shattered Jewel.”

Daemon and Lucivar circled, circled, circled.

Daemonar saw desperate calculation in Cara’s eyes as she looked at the other students. The bitch was going to try to blame someone else—or at least claim she wasn’t the only one helping Dinah.

Crack!

Cara shrieked as part of her skirt hung from a slice made by the whip.

“That’s for thinking you could lie,” Lucivar said. “You’ll earn a stroke for every lie you tell, regardless of which punishment you choose.”

Cara scrambled away from Lucivar, but that brought her closer to Daemon.

Daemonar didn’t see Daemon’s hand move, but Cara leaped away from him as another slice appeared in her skirt, courtesy of the High Lord’s lethally sharp nails.

“Tell us why,” Daemon said too softly.

“The Queens gave the orders,” Cara cried, pointing at the girls standing behind Daemonar. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Is she saying it’s not wrong to whip someone for no reason?” Lucivar asked.

“It sounds that way,” Daemon replied.

Lucivar shrugged. “All right.”

Crack!

The lower part of the skirt fell to the floor, exposing Cara’s legs.

“Last chance to choose before we choose for you,” Daemon said.

Daemonar watched the way his father and uncle circled Cara. Circled and circled. There was something wrong with them. Something very wrong. It was like they were somewhere else, had slipped into some other time in their lives when they would have killed . . .

*Beale,* Daemonar called on a psychic thread. *Stop them. For their sakes, stop them.*

Beale looked at him, then took a step toward the circling men. “Gentlemen. That is enough.”

They stopped circling and turned toward Beale. Glazed eyes that warned of hot fury in one man and cold rage in the other. Both of them riding the killing edge.

One wrong word, one wrong move, and Cara would suffer a brutal death.

If it came to that, they would be lucky if she was the only person who died.

“Is it enough, Lord Beale?” the Sadist asked too softly.

“The Lady would not want you to do more,” Beale replied. “Banish the girl for the trouble she caused. Report her conduct to the Province and District Queens so that they will think long and hard before welcoming her into one of their courts. That mark on her reputation and honor will last as long as a scar on her back—and she will receive no sympathy for it.”

Daemonar held his breath. Please, he thought. Please. Whatever happened to the two of you once because some girl played this kind of game, please listen to Beale now.

Daemon looked at Lucivar.

Lucivar released a breath. “Her will is our life.”

Yes! As long as Daemon and Lucivar were thinking of what Witch would expect from them, they could step away from the scourge of memories.

“Very well.” Daemon exhaled slowly and looked at Cara. “You are banished from the Hall for your part in the harm done to other students. As recommended, I will send a report of your conduct to all the District and Province Queens in Dhemlan and make it clear that I will not look favorably on any Queen who allows you to serve in her First Circle. Lord Holt, Prince Liath, please escort Lady Cara to her room. Helene will help her pack. She leaves in two hours.”

“That’s it,” Jhett whispered, peering over Raeth’s shoulder as Cara was removed from the great hall.

Not yet, Daemonar thought as he watched his uncle.

“As for the rest of you,” Daemon said.

Everyone tensed.

“Every one of you should have come to me to question those orders,” he continued. “The fact that you didn’t makes me wonder if you’re ready for training that isn’t conventional. Therefore, the rest of you will leave after the midday meal. I don’t want to see or hear from any of you for a week. At the end of that time, you may choose to return and resume your training—or you can choose to study elsewhere. Malice isn’t always big and grand, children. Not when it begins. You all saw something wrong and accepted it without question, without challenge. And more than that, you did everything you could to keep it hidden.” He paused, then added, “I expected better from all of you. You disappoint me.”

Daemonar didn’t know what to think or what to say when Daemon walked across the great hall, then used Craft to nudge him out of the way in order to reach the study. The door opened and closed. The locks clicked into place. And the weight of the Black’s silence was hard to bear.

Lucivar vanished the whip and looked at Beale. “Tossing all of them out the door was different.” He studied the butler. “Wasn’t it?”

“Your father sent all the youngsters home at one point because they had done something that disappointed him,” Beale replied. “Since the staff didn’t have to clean up a mess or call in people to do repairs, I don’t know what the coven and boyos did to provoke that decision. But that temporary banishment never happened again.”

“Huh. Well, I’d better gather up my three and the kitten.”

Beale’s expression indicated interest. “Three?”

“Three,” Lucivar confirmed as he headed out of the great hall. “And the kitten.”

He didn’t know why the youngsters thought he’d be sympathetic, but they all wanted to cling to him like burs in fur, hoping he could somehow convince Daemon to let them stay.

How were they supposed to explain being sent home to their parents and the District Queens?

How in the name of Hell should he know? Admit to being stupid, take the scolding, and study the lessons. Then come back and be smarter.

His three didn’t have to worry about a District Queen, although he was certain that Marian would have a few things to say about this—and he figured Daemonar would want to have a chat with his auntie J.

“Why can’t Zoey come and stay with us?” Titian asked tearfully when he stopped at her room to make sure she was starting to pack.

“Because she has to discuss her actions with her grandmother,” Lucivar replied. “This isn’t a reward, witchling. It’s a reprimand. Zoey goes home.”

He found Daemonar with Grizande in her room. The girl was curled up on the floor with the kitten pushing at her hip while Daemonar knelt by her head.

“Father . . . ,” Daemonar began.

Lucivar knelt beside the girl. “You sick, witchling?”

“No,” she whispered. “I being punished?”

“Well, you can decide that once you find out what chores Marian assigns to you while you’re staying with us in Ebon Rih.”

Grizande stared at him. “Ebon Rih?”

“I told you nobody would make you go back to Tigrelan,” Daemonar said, sounding exasperated.

Lucivar wondered how many times the boy had said it since the children left the great hall. “Yes. You’re coming home with us. Jaalan is coming too.”

She uncurled. Daemonar gave her a brotherly shove to a sitting position.

“Now, pack up your things, including your lesson books.” He looked at her, then at Daemonar. “Both of you.”

“Yes, sir.” The words sounded solemn. The boy’s eyes danced with amusement. Then the amusement faded because Daemonar, unlike the other youngsters, understood what could have happened if the High Lord—or the Sadist—hadn’t already known the enemies’ names. What would have happened if Beale hadn’t reminded Daemon and Lucivar that they answered to Witch.

Daemon remained in his study while the Hall emptied of students and instructors. When he felt Lucivar leave with the horde heading for Ebon Rih, he summoned Beale and Holt.

He felt unnaturally calm, so he couldn’t tell which side of his temper was dominant until he watched Beale and Holt shudder.

Ah. The Sadist had come for this dance.

He smiled at the two men and said, “Tell me about Ida.”