Anne Bishop: Heir to the Shadows

We'll all break our necks trying to go down without lights.

The thought was barely completed when little sparkles embedded in the dark stone began to glow, growing brighter and brighter.

Like swirls of stars, Saetan thought, his breath catching. Like the poem Geoffrey quoted to him years ago, about the great dragons who had created the Blood. They spiral down into ebony, catching the stars with their tails.

Ebony had once been the poetic term for the Darkness.

Saetan froze, his foot suspended over the first step.

Was it still?

"Something wrong?" Lucivar whispered.

Saetan shook his head and slowly descended, grateful for the solid Eyrien strength on either side of him.

When he reached the bottom step, a second set of double doors swung inward. The midnight-black chamber slowly lightened, the dark giving way to the dawn. The light gradually spread from their end of the chamber to the other. But he noticed, as he moved forward, that it didn't illuminate the ceiling. At thrice his height, the light gave way to twilight, which, in its turn, yielded once again to the dark.

The back wall began to lighten from either side. Filling the wall, as high as the light reached, was a highly detailed bas-relief. A dreamscape, a nightscape, shapes rising up from and dissolving into others. Kindred shapes. Human shapes. Blending. Entwined. Fierce and beautiful. Ugly and gentle.

The light finally reached the center of the back wall and the Dark Throne. Three wide steps ran around the dais on three sides. On the dais itself was a simple blackwood chair with a high, carved back. Its simplicity said that the power that ruled here had no need for ornamentation or ostentation – especially when it was protected on the right-hand side by a huge dragon head coming out of the stone.

"Mother Night," Andulvar said in a hushed voice. "She created a sculpture of Lorn's head."

"Hell's fire," Lucivar whispered. "Where'd she find so many uncut Jewels to make the scales?"

Trembling, Saetan shook his head, unable to speak. Maybe Andulvar couldn't see the darkness beyond the lit bas-relief from where he stood, a darkness that suggested another large chamber beyond this one. Maybe he couldn't see the iridescent fire in the dragon's scales. Maybe he'd forgotten the sound of that ancient, powerful voice. Maybe. .

Eyelids slowly opened. Midnight eyes pinned them where they stood.

Geoffrey clutched Saetan's arm, his fingers digging in

hard enough to hurt. "Mother Night, Saetan," Geoffrey said, his breathing ragged. "The Keep is his lair. He's been here all the time."

He hadn't expected Lorn to be so big. If the body was in proportion to the head. .

Dragon scales. The Jewels were dragon scales somehow transformed into hard, translucent stones. Had there been dragons who matched the specific colors of the Jewels or had they all been that iridescent silver-gold, changing color to match the strength of the recipient?

Saetan gingerly touched the Black Jewel around his neck. His Birthright Red and the Black had been uncut Jewels. Were there two missing scales somewhere along the great body that must lie in the next chamber that would have matched his uncut Jewels?

Then he finally understood why there had been a hint of maleness in the uncut Jewels Jaenelle had been gifted with.

Lorn. The great Prince of the Dragons. The Guardian of the Keep.

Needing to get his mind focused on something other than the power that ancient body must contain, Saetan turned to Geoffrey. "His Queen. What was the name of his Queen?"

"Draca," said a sibilant voice behind them.

They turned and stared at the Keep's Seneschal.

Her lips curled in a tiny smile. "Her name wass Draca."

Looking into her eyes, Saetan wondered what subtle spell had been lifted that allowed him to see what he should have guessed long before. Her age, her strength, the uneasiness so many felt in her presence. Which made him think of something else. "Does Jaenelle know?"

Draca made a sound that might have been a laugh. "Sshe hass alwayss known, High Lord."

Saetan grimaced, then gave in as gracefully as he could. Even if he'd thought to ask, he doubted he'd have gotten an answer. Jaenelle was very good at keeping her own counsel.

"Are they relatives of yours?" Lucivar asked, indicating the Fyreborn dragons who were staring at Lorn.

"You are all relativess," Draca replied, looking pointedly at Lucivar's Ebon-gray Jewel. "We created the Blood. All

the Blood. Therefore, you are all dragonss under the sskin."

Saetan glanced at the kindred who were edging closer. "You, of course, would know." He saw amusement in Draca's eyes.

"It iss not I who ssayss sso, High Lord. Jaenelle ssayss sso." Draca looked past them to the Dark Throne.

As one, they turned.

Dressed in that cobwebby black gown and wearing Ebony Jewels, Jaenelle sat serenely in the blackwood chair. Her long golden hair was brushed away from the face that finally revealed its unique beauty.

"The time has come for me to take up my duties as the Queen of Ebon Askavi," Jaenelle said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried throughout the chamber. "The time has come for me to choose my court."

A breathless tension filled the chamber.

Saetan concentrated on breathing slowly, steadily. For days he'd been telling himself that court service was for the young and vigorous, that he'd never intended to serve formally, that the unspoken service he performed was enough, that he had experienced serving in the Dark Court at Ebon Askavi when he'd been Cassandra's Consort.

Except he hadn't, because, in a way he couldn't put into words, it hadn't really been the Dark Court. Not like this one.

And he suddenly understood why Cassandra had withdrawn from them.

This was the court he had waited to serve in. This was the court he'd always craved. He wanted to serve the daughter of his soul, who had finally come into her dark, glorious power.

Witch. The living myth. Dreams made flesh.

This had been his dream.

And Lucivar's, he realized, seeing the fire in his son's eyes. Yes, Lucivar would have craved a Queen who could meet his strength.

Jaenelle's voice pulled him back. "Prince Chaosti, will you serve in the First Circle?"

Gracefully, Chaosti knelt on one knee, a fisted hand over his heart. "I will serve."

Saetan frowned. How was Chaosti going to serve in Jaenelle's First Circle when he'd already accepted service in Gabrielle's First Circle?

"Prince Kaelas, will you serve in the First Circle?"

*I will serve.*

He became more and more puzzled as Jaenelle called out name after name. Mephis, Prothvar, Aaron, Khardeen, Sceron, Jonah, Morton, Elan. Ladvarian, Mistral, Smoke, Sundancer.

And then he, Andulvar, and Lucivar were the only males left standing, and everything in him waited for her next words.

"Lady Karla, will you serve in the First Circle?"

"I will serve."

Shock ripped through Saetan, quickly followed by pain so intense he didn't think it would be possible to survive it. She hadn't forgiven him. At least, not enough.

"Lady Moonshadow, will you serve hi the First Circle?"

*I will serve.*

He swallowed hard. He couldn't react, wouldn't let the others see the hurt. But if she was going to allow Mephis and Prothvar to serve, why not Andulvar? Why not Lucivar, who already served her?

He barely heard the other names being called out. Gabrielle, Morghann, Kalush, Grezande, Sabrina, Zylona, Katrine, Astar, Ash. On and on until all the witches had accepted a place in the court.

Draca and Geoffrey couldn't formally serve because they served the Keep itself. If there was comfort knowing that, it was a bitter brew.

He could feel Lucivar trembling beside him.