Anne Bishop - Queen of Darkness

Surreal bit her lower lip. Well, getting all of them out in one piece might be a problem.

All right, so she’d think about it a little, work up some kind of plan. At least she was going to do something!

And maybe, while she was thinking, she would mention this little incident to Karla to see if the Black Widow still thought there was more going on than nothing.

By the time Daemon reached her workroom, the ice in Jaenelle’s eyes had shattered into razor-edged shards, and he saw something in them that terrified him: cold, undiluted hatred.

”What do you expect will happen now?” Jaenelle asked too calmly.

Daemon slipped his hands into his trouser pockets to hide the trembling. He quietly cleared his throat. ”I doubt anything more will happen until the messenger returns to Hayll and reports the delivery of the box. It’s almost midmorning now. They aren’t going to expect you to be capable of making any decisions immediately. So we’ve got a few hours. Maybe a little more than that.”

Jaenelle paced slowly. She seemed to be arguing with herself. Finally she sighed-as if she’d lost the argument- and looked at him. ”The Weaver of Dreams sent me a message. She said the triangle must remain together in order to survive, that the other two sides weren’t strong enough without the strength of the mirror-and the mirror would keep them all safe.”

”The mirror?” Daemon asked cautiously.

”You are your father’s mirror, Daemon. You’re one side of the triangle.”

The memory flashed in his mind of Tersa, years ago, tracing a triangle in the palm of his hand, over and over, while she had explained the mystery of the Blood’s four-sided triangle.

”Father, brother, lover,” he murmured. Three sides. And the fourth side was the triangle’s center, the one who ruled all three.

”Exactly,” Jaenelle replied.

”You want me to go to Hayll.”

”Yes.”

He nodded slowly, suddenly feeling like he was on a very thin, shaky footbridge, and one false step would send him plummeting into a chasm he would never escape. ”If I walked in to try another exchange of prisoners, that would buy a few more hours.”

”I never said anything about you handing yourself over to them,” Jaenelle snapped. Her face had been pale since she’d seen Saetan’s finger. Now it got paler. ”Daemon, I need seventy-two hours.”

”Sev-But everything is ready. All you would need to do is gather your strength and unleash it.”

”I need seventy-two hours.”

He stared at her, slowly coming to terms with what she was telling him. In a controlled dive into the abyss, he could descend to the level of his Black Jewels in a few minutes and gather his full strength. It was going to take her seventy-two hours to do the same thing.

Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.

But there was no way for him to …

He saw the knowledge in her eyes-and fought against the shame it produced in him. He should have known he couldn’t hide the Sadist from Witch. And he finally understood what she was asking of him.

Unable to meet her eyes anymore, he turned away and began his own slow prowl around the room.

It was just a game. A dirty, vicious game-the kind the Sadist had always played so well. As he gave that part of himself free rein, the plan took shape as easily as breathing.

But… Everything has a price. If he was going to lose the companionship of almost everyone he had ever cared about, the reward would have to justify the cost.

”I can do this,” he crooned, slowly circling around her. ”I can keep Dorothea and Hekatah off-balance enough to keep the others safe and also prevent those Ladies from giving the orders to send the Terreillean armies into Kaeleer. I can buy you seventy-two hours, Jaenelle. But it’s going to cost me because I’m going to do things I may never be forgiven for, so I want something in return.”

He could taste her slight bafflement before she said, ”All right.”

”I don’t want to wear the Consort’s ring anymore.”

A slash of pain, quickly stifled. ”All right.”

”I want a wedding ring in its place.”

A flash of joy, immediately followed by sorrow. She smiled at him at the same time her eyes filled with tears. ”It would be wonderful.”

She meant that. So why the sorrow, why the anguish? He would have to deal with that when he got back.

His temper was already getting edgy, dangerous. ”I’ll take that as a ’yes.’ There are things I’ll need that I can’t create well enough for this game.”

”Just tell me what you need, Daemon.”

He didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to go back to that kind of life, not even for seventy-two hours. He was going to mutilate the life he’d begun to build here, and the coven, the boyos, they would never-

”Do you trust me?” he snapped.

”Yes.”

No hesitation, no doubts.

He finally stopped moving and faced her. ”Do you know how desperately I love you?”

Her voice shook when she answered, ”As much as I love you?”

He held her, held on to her as his lifeline, his anchor. It would be all right. As long as he had her, it would be all right.

Finally, reluctantly, he eased back. ”Come on, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

”That’s the last of it,” Jaenelle said several hours later. She carefully packed the box that held all the spelled items she had created for him. ”Almost the last of it.”

Daemon sipped the coffee he had brewed strong enough to bite. Physically, he was tired. Mentally, he was reeling. As Jaenelle created each of the spells he had asked for, he’d had to learn how to use them-which meant she’d explained the process to him as she created one, then had him practice with it while she created the ones he would take with him. She’d reviewed his efforts, given more instructions on how to hone the effect-and never once asked him what he intended to do, for which he was grateful. Of course, he didn’t know exactly what she was going to do either. There were some things one Black Widow did not ask another.

Jaenelle held up a vial about the size of her index finger that was filled with dark powder. ”This is a stimulant. A strong one. One dose will keep you on your feet for about six hours. You can mix it with any kind of liquid-” She eyed the coffee. ”-but if you mix it with something brewed like that it’s going to have more kick.”

”That’s one dose?” Daemon asked. Then he bit his tongue to keep from laughing and wished he could have a picture of the look on her face.

”There are enough doses in here for the next three days and then some,” she said dryly.

”Well, I’d better find out what it does.” Daemon held out the mug of coffee.

She opened the vial, tapped it lightly over the mug. The sprinkle of powder dissolved instantly.

He took a sip. A little nutty, just a little sharp. Actually quite-

He wheezed. His body suddenly had a kind of battlefield alertness, a fierce need to move. His mind was no longer hazed by mental fatigue. After the first few explosive seconds, he felt himself settle down, but there remained that bright reservoir of energy.

He drained the mug, waited a few seconds. No physical changes, just the feeling that the reservoir got delightfully bigger.

Jaenelle carefully packed the vial into the box. ”Everything has a price, Daemon,” she said firmly. That sobered him. ”It’s addictive?” The look she gave him could have cut a man in half. ”No, it is not. I use this sometimes-which you will not mention to any of the family. They’d throw three kinds of fits if they knew. This will keep you going, even if you don’t get any food or sleep, but if you don’t renew the dose every six hours, your feet are going to go out from under you and you’d better be prepared to sleep for a day.”