Anne Bishop - Queen of Darkness

Surreal grabbed his muzzle. ”Hush. You’ll wake everyone.”

Ladvarian will be pleased.

”Great. I’m delighted.” Who in the name of Hell is Ladvarian? ”Let’s just go to sleep now, all right?” And since she didn’t know how she had made this link in the first place, how was she going to sever it so that her thoughts were private again?

She felt a gentle mental push, then, that odd brush again.

”Rrrf.”

”Thank you,” Surreal said weakly. In the morning, she thought as she snuggled back under the covers and felt Graysfang settle himself against her back. She’d think about this in the morn

Daemon carefully adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and jacket. He felt steadier that morning, but not rested. His sleep had been broken by vague dreams and flashes of memory, by the knowledge that nothing but a door separated his bedroom from Jaenelle’s, and by an aroused, restless body that knew quite fiercely what it wanted.

Slipping his hands into his trouser pockets made him aware of the Consort’s ring on his left hand. As if he hadn’t been aware of it from the moment he’d woken up. It wasn’t just the unfamiliar feel of a ring on that hand; it was the duties and responsibilities that came with that ring that made him uneasy. Oh, his body would perform its duties eagerly enough. At least, he thought it would. And that was the point, wasn’t it? He really didn’t know how he would respond when he met Jaenelle again. And he didn’t know how she would respond to him.

Finally aware that Jazen, his valet, was still dawdling through the morning tasks, Daemon studied the man.

”Did you get settled in all right last night?” Daemon asked.

Jazen made an effort to smile but didn’t look at him. ”The servants’ quarters here are very generous.”

”And the servants?”

”They’re… polite.”

Daemon felt the beginning chill of temper and reined it in, hard. Jazen had already endured enough. If he had to shake the Hall down to its foundation, he’d make sure the man’s life wasn’t made more difficult by servants who had no understanding of the brutality men faced in the Terreillean Territories under Dorothea’s control.

”I’m not sure what’s going to be required of me today.”

Jazen nodded. ”The other personal servants indicated that dress would be relaxed today since the First Circle will be assessing the new arrivals. Those who sit at the High Lord’s table do dress for dinner. Not formal dress,” he added when Daemon raised one eyebrow. ”But I gathered the Ladies are usually casual in their attire during the day.”

Daemon turned that bit of information over and over as he made his way through the corridors toward the dining room. Based on his experience in Terreillean courts, casual attire meant practical dresses made of fabrics only slightly less sumptuous than those worn to dinner.

Then he turned a corner and noticed the fair-skinned, red-haired witch coming toward him. She wore threadbare, dark-brown trousers and a long, baggy, heather-green sweater that was decoratively patched. There was approval in the fast assessment her green eyes made over his body but no active interest. ”Prince,” she said politely as she passed him.

”Lady,” he replied with equal politeness, wondering how such a stickler as he suspected Beale to be would allow a servant to dress like that. When he caught a whiff of her psychic scent, he spun around and stared at her until she turned the corner and disappeared.

A Queen. That woman was a Queen.

His stomach growled, which finally got him walking again.

A Queen. Well, if that was the Ladies’ idea of casual attire, he wholeheartedly approved of the High Lord’s insistence on dressing for dinner-a sentiment he strongly suspected he should keep to himself.

He had almost reached the dining room when he met up with Saetan.

”Prince Sadi, there’s something I need to discuss with you,” Saetan said quietly, but his expression was grim.

Saetan using the formal title caused a chill down Daemon’s spine.

”Then shall we get it over with?” Daemon replied as he followed Saetan to the High Lord’s official study. He felt one layer of tension ease when Saetan leaned against the front of the blackwood desk instead of sitting behind it.

”Are you aware that your valet is fully shaved?” Saetan asked softly, ominously.

”I’m aware of it,” Daemon replied with equal softness.

”There are very few of our laws that, when broken, justify that punishment. All of them are sexual.”

”Jazen didn’t do anything except be at the wrong place at the wrong time,” Daemon snarled. ”Dorothea did that to him to entertain her coven.”

”Are you sure of that?’

”I was there, High Lord. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do for him except slip past the drugs they’d given him to keep him aware and knock him out. His family took care of him for a while, but many of them are in personal service. Once the word got out-and Dorothea always made sure that it did-Jazen would have been considered tainted because, of course, it wouldn’t have happened to him if he hadn’t deserved it. If he had stayed with his family, they would have lost their positions as well. He’s a good man, and a loyal one. He deserved far better than what happened to him.”

”I see,” Saetan said quietly. He straightened up. ”I’ll explain the situation to Beale. He’ll take care of it.”

”How much will you have to tell him?” Daemon asked warily.

”Nothing more than that the maiming was unjustified.”

Daemon smiled bitterly. ”Do you really think that will change the other servants’ opinion of him? That they’ll believe it?”

”No, all it will do is suspend judgment until the Lady returns.” Saetan looked solemn. ”But you have to understand, Prince. If Jaenelle turns against him, there’s nothing you or I or anyone else can do or say that will make any difference. In Kaeleer, once you step outside of Little Terreille, Witch is the law. Her decisions are final.”

Daemon considered this, then nodded. ”I’ll accept the Lady’s judgment.” As he followed Saetan to the dining room, he kept hoping that the woman Jaenelle had become wasn’t too different from the child he remembered-and had loved.

Lord Jorval’s heart pounded as he returned to the room where the sandy-haired man with worried gray eyes waited. He sat down behind the desk and clasped his hands together to hide the tremors of excitement.

”Have you already found out where my niece has gone?” Philip Alexander asked.

”I have,” Jorval replied solemnly. ”When you explained the family connections, I had a suspicion of where to look.”

Philip gripped the arms of the chair hard enough to snap wood. ”Did she sign a contract with a court in Little Terreille?”

”Unfortunately, no,” Jorval said, struggling to put just the right amount of sympathy in his voice. ”You must understand, Prince Alexander. We had no way of knowing who she was. A couple of Council members remembered her saying that she was trying to find her sister, but they had assumed the sister had immigrated earlier-and in a sense, that is true. But the Dark Council was never provided with a record of where Jaenelle Angelline came from before the High Lord acquired guardianship over her. There was no reason for them to link the two women, and by the time they began to wonder about the significance of her inquiries, it was too late.”

”What do you mean, ’too late’?” Philip snapped.

”She was… persuaded … to sign a contract with the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih-and he is Lucivar Yaslana.”