Anne Bishop - Heir to the Shadows

"No."

"Find some."

Mephis hesitated, then bowed. "As you wish, High Lord."

Silence. Brittle, brittle silence.

Oh, he understood exactly what she'd meant. Beware the golden spider who spins a tangled web. The Black Widow's web. Arachna's web. Beware the fair-haired Lady when she glides through the abyss clothed in spilled blood.

If the hunters never returned, nothing would happen. But they would return. Whoever they were, wherever they'd come from, they would return, and one kindred wolf would die and awaken the tangled web.

The hunters would still get their harvest, would still do the killing and the cutting and the skinning. Only one, confused and frightened, would leave with the bounty, and once he'd returned to wherever he'd come from, then, and only then, would the web release him and show him that the pelts he'd harvested didn't belong to wolf-kind.

Lord Jorval rubbed his hands gleefully. It was almost too good to be true. A scandal of this magnitude could topple anyone, even someone so firmly entrenched as the High Lord.

Remembering his new responsibilities, Jorval altered his expression to one more suitable to a member of the Dark Council.

This was a very serious charge, and the stranger with the maimed hands had admitted that he had no evidence except what he'd seen. After what the High Lord had done to the man's hands before dismissing him from service, it was understandable why he refused to stand before the Dark Council and testify against the High Lord in person. Still, something should be done about the girl.

A strong young Queen, the stranger had said. A Queen who could, with proper guidance, be a great asset to the Realm. All that glorious potential was being twisted by the High Lord's perversions, being forced to submit to…

Jorval jerked his thoughts away from those kinds of images.

The girl needed someone who could advise her and channel that power in the right direction. She needed someone she could depend on. And since she wasn't that young, maybe she needed more than that from her legal guardian. She might even expect, want, that kind of behavior. .

But getting the girl away from Saetan would require a delicate touch. And the stranger had warned him about moving too quickly. A Dhemlan Queen could officially protest the High Lord's treatment of the girl, but Jorval didn't know any of them except by name or reputation. No, somehow the Dark Council itself had to be pressured into calling the High Lord to account.

And they could, couldn't they? After all, the Dark Council had granted the High Lord guardianship, and no one had forgotten what he'd done to gain that guardianship. It wouldn't be unusual for the Council to express concern about the girl's welfare.

A few words here. A hesitant question there. Strenuous protests that it was only a foul, unsubstantiated rumor. By the time it finally reached Dhemlan and the High Lord, no one would have any idea where the rumor started. Then they would see if even Saetan could withstand the rage of all the Queens in Kaeleer.

And he, Lord Jorval of Goth, the capital of Little Terreille, would be ready to assume his new and greater responsibilities.

The pushing turned into a shove. "Wake up, SaDiablo."

Saetan tried to pull the covers over his bare shoulder and pushed his head deeper into the pillows. "Go away."

A fist punched his shoulder.

Snarling, he braced himself on one elbow as Andulvar tossed a pair of trousers and a dressing robe onto the bed.

"Hurry," Andulvar said. "Before it's gone."

Before what was gone?

Rubbing his eyes, Saetan wondered if he might be allowed to splash some water on his face to wake up, but he had the distinct impression that if he didn't dress quickly, Andulvar would drag him through the corridors wearing nothing but his skin.

"The sun's up," Saetan muttered as he pulled on his clothes. "You should have retired by now."

"You were the one who pointed out that Jaenelle's presence has altered the Hall so that demons aren't affected by daylight as long as we stay inside," Andulvar said as he led Saetan through the corridors.

"That's the last time I tell you anything," Saetan growled.

When they reached a second floor room at the front of the Hall, Andulvar cautiously parted the drapes. "Stop grumbling and look."

Giving his eyes a final rub, Saetan braced one hand against the window frame and peered through the opening in the drapes.

Early morning. Clear, sunny. The gravel drive was partially raked. The landing web was swept. But the work looked interrupted, as if something had caused the outdoor staff to withdraw. They were still outside, and he picked up their excitement despite their shields. It was as if they were trying, almost hopefully, to go undetected.

Frowning, Saetan looked toward the left and saw a white stallion grazing on the front lawn, its hindquarters facing the windows. Not plain white, Saetan decided. Cream, with a milk-white mane and tail.

"Where did he come from?" Saetan looked inquiringly at Andulvar.

Andulvar snorted softly. "Probably from Sceval."

"What?" Saetan looked outside again at the same moment the stallion raised his head and turned toward the Hall. "Mother Night," he whispered, clutching the drapes. "Mother Night."

The ivory horn rose from the majestic head. Around the horn's base, glinting in the morning sun, was a gold ring. Attached to the ring was an Opal Jewel.

"That's a Warlord Prince having breakfast on your front lawn," Andulvar said in a neutral voice.

Saetan stared at his friend in disbelief. True, Andulvar had seen the stallion first and had time to take in the wonder of it, but was he really so jaded that the wonder could pass so quickly? There was a unicorn on the front lawn! A… kindred Warlord Prince.

Saetan braced himself against the wall. "Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful."

"Think the waif knows about him?" Andulvar asked.

The question was answered by a wild, joyous whoop as Jaenelle sprinted across the gravel drive and slid to a stop a foot away from that magnificent, deadly horn.

The stallion arched his neck, raised his tail like a white silk banner, and danced around Jaenelle for a minute. Then he lowered his head and nuzzled her palms.

Saetan watched them, hoping nothing would disturb the lovely picture of a girl and unicorn meeting on a clear summer morning.

The picture shattered when Smoke streaked across the lawn.

The stallion knocked Jaenelle aside, laid his ears back, lowered that deadly horn, and began pawing the ground. Smoke skidded to a stop and bared his teeth in challenge.

Jaenelle grabbed a handful of the unicorn's mane and thrust out her other hand to stop Smoke. Whatever she said made the animals hesitate.

Finally, Smoke took a cautious step forward. The unicorn did the same. Muzzle touched muzzle.

Looking amused but exasperated, Jaenelle mounted the unicorn – and then scrambled to keep her seat when he took off at a gallop.

He stopped abruptly and looked back at her.

Jaenelle fluffed her hair and said something.

The stallion shook his head.

She became more emphatic.

The stallion shook his head and stamped one foot.

Finally, looking annoyed and embarrassed, she wrapped her hands in the long white mane and settled herself on his back.

The stallion walked away from the Hall, staying on the grass next to the drive. When they turned back toward the Hall, he changed to an easy canter. When they started the second loop, Smoke joined them.

"Come on," Saetan said.

He and Andulvar hurried to the great hall. Most of the house staff were pressed against the windows of the drawing rooms on either side of the hall, and Beale was peering through a crack in the front door.