Anne Bishop - Queen of Darkness

”And if obedience interferes with the first two laws?”

”Toss it out the window.”

Daemon blinked. ”You actually get away with that?”

Lucivar scratched the back of his head and looked thoughtful. ”It’s not so much a question of getting away with it. For Warlord Princes, it’s almost a requirement of court service. However, if you ignore an order from the Steward or the Master of the Guard, you’d better be sure you can justify your action and be willing to accept the consequences if they won’t accept it, which is rare. I got into more trouble with the High Lord as my father than as the Steward.”

Father. Steward. The ties of family and court.

”Why are you here, Prick?” Daemon asked warily. ”Why aren’t you at the practice field observing the warriors you selected?”

”I was looking for you because you didn’t show up at the practice field.” Lucivar shifted slightly, balancing his weight.

Not yet, Daemon thought. Not now. ”And because we have unfinished business,” he said slowly.

”And because we have unfinished business.” Lucivar took a deep breath, let it out slowly. ”I accused you of killing Jaenelle. I accused you of viler things than that. I was wrong, and it cost you your sanity and eight years of your life.”

Daemon looked away from the regret and sadness in Lucivar’s eyes. ”It wasn’t your fault,” he said softly. ”I was already fragile.”

”I know. I sensed that-and I used it as a weapon.”

Remembering the fight they’d had that night in Pruul, Daemon closed his eyes. Lucivar’s fury hadn’t hurt him as much as his own fear that the accusations might possibly be true. If he’d been sure of what had happened at Cassandra’s Altar, the fight would have ended differently. Lucivar wouldn’t have spent more years in the salt mines of Pruul, and he wouldn’t have spent eight years in the Twisted Kingdom.

Daemon opened his eyes and looked at his brother, finally understanding that Lucivar wasn’t offering to meet him on a killing field for something he had done, but as reparation for whatever pain he’d suffered in the Twisted Kingdom. Oh, Lucivar would fight, and fight hard because he had a wife and a young son to consider, but he wouldn’t hesitate if Daemon demanded it, even knowing what the outcome would be when Ebon-gray faced Black.

He also knew why Lucivar was forcing the issue. His brother didn’t want the wife and child weighed in the balance, didn’t want Daemon to have enough time to develop feelings for them before making this decision. Following the old ways of the Blood, if he forgave this debt now, he couldn’t demand reparation later. Otherwise, they would always be wary of each other, always feel the need to guard their backs while waiting for the unexpected strike.

And, in a way, hadn’t the debt already been paid? His years in the Twisted Kingdom balanced against Lucivar’s years in the salt mines of Pruul. His grief when he believed Lucivar was dead balanced against Lucivar’s grief over Jaenelle’s supposed death by Daemon’s hand. And if their positions had been reversed, would he have believed any differently or acted any differently?

”Is that the only unfinished business between us?” Daemon asked.

Lucivar nodded cautiously.

”Then let it go, Prick. I’ve already grieved for the loss of my brother once. I don’t want to do it again.”

They studied each other for a minute, weighing the things that went beyond words. Finally, Lucivar relaxed. His smile was lazy, arrogant, and so irritatingly familiar that Daemon smiled in return.

”In that case, Bastard, you’re late for practice,” Lucivar said, gesturing Daemon toward a door.

”Kiss my ass,” Daemon growled, falling into step.

”Not a good suggestion, old son. I have a tendency to bite, remember?” Smiling, Lucivar massaged his upper arm. ”So does Marian. She tends to get feisty when she’s riled.”

Seeing the warmth and pleasure in Lucivar’s eyes, Daemon ruthlessly suppressed a surge of envy.

Finally reaching an outside door, they headed for the Eyriens gathered at the far end of the expansive lawn.

”By the way,” Lucivar said, ”while you were brooding-”

”I wasn’t brooding,” Daemon snarled.

”-you missed the fun this morning.”

Daemon clenched his teeth. He wouldn’t ask. Wouldn’t. ”What fun?”

”See the embarrassed-looking wolf standing by himself?”

Daemon looked at the gray-furred animal watching a group of women going through some kind of exercise with Eyrien sticks. ”Yes.”

”Graysfang wants to be Surreal’s friend. He’s young and he doesn’t have much experience with humans, especially the females. Apparently, in an effort to strengthen that friendship and improve his understanding of females, he joined Surreal while she was taking a shower. Since her head was under the water at the moment, she didn’t realize he was there until he stuck his nose where he shouldn’t have.”

”That would have improved his understanding of females,” Daemon said dryly.

”Exactly. Then, when he whined that he had soap in his fur, she dragged him all the way into the shower and washed him. So now he smells like flowers.”

Daemon bit his lip. ”There’s an easy remedy for that.”

Lucivar cleared his throat. ”Well, there usually would be, but as soon as they got outside, she threatened to smack him if he got dirty.”

”Everything has a price,” Daemon said in a choked voice. Noticing the woman Surreal was talking to, he gave Lucivar a sharp nudge. ”Should Marian be doing something that strenuous during her moon time?”

Lucivar hissed. ”Don’t you start.” He stopped walking and studied the women through narrowed eyes. ”I told her she could do one round of the warmup drill. She’ll sneak a little more in under the guise of demonstrating the moves, but after that she’ll be content to rest.”

Daemon looked at the women and then at Lucivar. ”You told your wife how much she could do?”

”Of course I didn’t tell my wife,” Lucivar said indignantly. ”Do I look like a fool? The Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih told a witch who lives in his territory.”

”Ah. That’s different.”

”Damn right it is. If I told my wife, she would have tried to dent my head with a stick.”

Daemon laughed as they continued toward the Eyrien warriors. ”Now I am sorry I missed it.”

Lucivar focused his attention on Falonar and Rothvar, who had just stepped into the practice circle, while Daemon watched Surreal and Marian go through a couple of moves.

”Who is she?” Daemon asked when the spiky-haired witch joined the other women.

Lucivar glanced at the women, then turned his attention back to the Eyrien warriors. ”That’s Karla, the Queen of Glacia. She’s a Black Widow Queen and a Healer. One of three who have a triple gift.”

A triple gift and a big mouth, Daemon thought darkly.

”You’re excused from the practice today, but I’ll expect you to be on time tomorrow,” Lucivar said.

Daemon sputtered. ”I am not going to drill with sticks against Eyrien warriors.”

Lucivar snorted and looked at Daemon’s feet. ”I’ve got some boots that will fit you until you can get your own made.”

”I’m not doing this.”

”Until the official transfer is made, I own the contract you signed, old son. You’ve got no choice.”

Daemon swore quietly, viciously.

Lucivar started to step away from him to speak to Falonar.

”Give me one good reason why I should put myself through this,” Daemon demanded through clenched teeth.

Lucivar turned back to him. ”Do you understand how good I am with the Eyrien sticks?” he asked quietly.