FIVE
Surreal set two plates on the table, then poured two
cups of coffee and took a seat.
Rainier studied the
chunks of chicken and ham on top of a generous portion of
casserole. “Didn’t Merry serve this casserole for dinner last
night?”
“It has eggs, so
today it’s a breakfast casserole. Toast?” Her sharp smile told him
what he could do with his next comment about the
casserole.
He took a piece of
toast and dug in to his meal.
They’d gone down to
the coffee shop and bakery every morning, so having breakfast in
The Tavern’s main room felt strange. Then again, a lot of things
had felt strange lately. When Endar and the other Eyriens came to
see Rainier, she’d been ready to fight, almost needed to fight.
But there was no
reason to fight, because Endar, Hallevar, and the other men had
been making an effort to help Rainier, working with him, even being
protective of him as he began exercising the damaged
leg.
Feeling easier about
Rainier after that first workout, she thought she’d gotten over
whatever was riding her temper. Then Jillian showed up yesterday
morning. The teacher was sick. School was canceled. Lucivar let the
girl stay to be her partner with the sparring sticks, having Endar
stand as their instructor.
Nothing wrong with
Endar. He was a gentle man with an abundance of patience. But she
saw him raise a sparring stick and step toward Jillian—which was
what he was supposed to do because he’d been demonstrating a
move—and she almost attacked him, almost gutted him.
She’d have to talk to
Jaenelle before she did something that couldn’t be undone. It was
possible there was some unexpected residue from the poisoning.
Maybe the poison, and the illness that followed, had stirred up
memories that plagued her dreams but disappeared by morning,
leaving her feeling tired and vulnerable.
But today there were
simpler problems to face.
“I think we should
run The Tavern,” she said. “Merry is down with that stomach upset,
and Briggs bolted upstairs at the first whiff of
food.”
“You’re going to
cook?” Rainier asked. “Not that you can’t, but Merry usually makes
a significant amount of food for a day.”
“And we won’t. I’ll
see what’s left over from yesterday. We can make sandwiches, maybe
a soup. And serve drinks and coffee. Anyone who wants more can go
somewhere else. You could settle yourself on that stool Briggs
keeps behind the bar for the slow times. I’ll wait on the
tables.”
“We should check with
Lucivar.” Rainier glanced up as the door opened.
“Go away. We’re not
open yet,” Surreal snapped without looking around to see who had
come in.
“You’re not open
yet?” Lucivar asked as he walked up to
their table and looked at Rainier. “And what do you need to check
with me?”
Shit shit shit. “Merry and Briggs are down with
that disgusting stomach illness,” she said. “Instead of them losing
a day’s business as well as feeling miserable, I thought Rainier
and I could run the place for them.”
“Well, having the two
of you running things would either scare away all the customers or
bring in a crowd to watch the show,” Lucivar said.
Choosing to ignore
him because he was right, she ate a neat bite of her
breakfast.
“We could open late,
after the day’s training,” Rainier said.
“No training today,”
Lucivar said. “That’s what I came to tell you.”
“Is there a reason
for that?” Surreal asked.
“Yes, there
is.”
She glanced at
Rainier. Something going on here, and Rainier
knows what it is. Or at least knows some of it.
“Marian’s making a
couple of soups this morning,” Lucivar said. “If you bring a pot
and the supplies up to the eyrie, I think she’d be willing to make
a pot for you to serve here.”
“All
right.”
Rainier called in a
leather case similar to the ones Daemon and Lord Marcus, his man of
business, used when conveying documents.
“I reviewed them and
sorted them as you asked,” Rainier said. “And confirmed what you
already knew.”
“Thanks.” Lucivar
vanished the leather case and gave Rainier a sharp look. “Daemon
should be at the Keep by now. He and I have something to discuss.
Then he’ll be coming here to talk to you.”
“Why? I haven’t done
anything to annoy him.”
“I know you haven’t,”
Lucivar said.
“I haven’t done
anything either,” Surreal said primly.
“Don’t push your
luck. You, I’m not sure of.”
She laughed, more to
encourage him to leave than because she was amused.
The moment he did
leave, she leaned toward Rainier. “What’s going on? He’s been
flying all over the valley and hasn’t been focused on any of the
workouts except yours.”
“And yours,” Rainier
said. “He flies around the valley all the time, keeping tabs on the
Rihlander villages and the Eyrien camps.”
She shrugged that
off. “This is different. Obviously he asked you to do some
paperwork for him, quietly. And now Sadi has arrived for an
early-morning meeting—and Marian is making a lot of soup, which
means she wants something easy that she can offer to a lot of
guests.”
They studied each
other. She didn’t want him to break a confidence, but she’d seen
the same thing that he had during the workouts over the past couple
of days: The Eyrien males around Riada seemed to be dividing
between two leaders instead of understanding that there was one
leader and his second-in-command.
“Let’s just say, for
now, that it’s a good thing we’ll be running The Tavern for Merry
and Briggs,” Rainier said.
“So we’re all going
to find out today?”
“Yes.”
Well, won’t that be interesting?
Lucivar watched
Daemon tap the thick stack of contracts back into a neat pile.
“When it was just me and the Rihlanders, I knew what I was supposed
to be. I stood for Blood law and honor. I drew the line and
defended it. But this?” He blew out a breath. “I’m not sure about
this.”
Daemon poured himself
a cup of coffee from the pot Draca had provided. “You’re making
this difficult, Prick, when it’s really quite simple. You’re the
Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih. You rule this territory. And now you’re
going to fulfill one of your obligations to the Eyriens who live in
your territory by completing the last step in the service contracts
they signed with you. And Lucivar? You still stand for Blood law
and honor—and you’re still drawing the line and defending
it.”
“Even
today?”
“Especially today.
Once you make your announcement, you’ll have a good idea of who is
staying, who is going, who you can trust, and who should never see
your back. The ones who think you’re a good leader and want the
kind of life and community you’re offering will be pissed off when
you toss these papers at them. They’ll be the first to want to
talk, and they won’t be polite.”
“Eyriens rarely are,”
Lucivar said with a grim smile.
“That’s the first
group, the equivalent of your First Circle. The second group is
going to be shocked by the possibility that they’ll be cut loose
and might have to serve someone who isn’t Eyrien or go back to
Terreille. They’ll realize they do like it here and want to stay,
and they’ll make some effort to prove it to you. There also will be
the ones who aren’t ballsy enough to come to you personally but
will seek advice from someone you trust.
“The women will be
different,” Daemon continued. “They’ll come to your home when
they’re fairly sure that Marian will be around. Easier to talk to
you there. Again, the ones who want to stay will make an effort to
talk to you quickly. Even the ones who don’t want to work for you
but want to stay in Ebon Rih will come and talk soon.”
“If they want to live
here, why not work for me?”
Daemon looked amused
and exasperated. “Some of them might prefer to pay you a tithe and
run their own businesses—and possibly make a better income than
what you can provide. Do you resent Merry for running her own
business and paying a tithe instead of working for
you?”
“No. But she doesn’t
pay a tithe to me. She pays it to Lady Shayne’s
court.”
“The point,” Daemon
said pointedly, “is that Merry and Briggs don’t serve in anyone’s
court; they work for themselves, because that’s what they want to
do.”
When it was put that
way, he wondered how many of the Eyrien women had been waiting to
be safely cut loose in order to try out their own
ambitions.
“After my chat with
Rainier, I’ll come back to the Keep and be available if you need
any help.”
“Thanks.” Lucivar
blew out a breath. “Guess I’d best get on with it.”
“Good luck,
Prick.”
Leaving the Keep,
Lucivar flew to the communal eyrie. He’d spent the past couple of
days looking at the Eyrien camps or, in the case of the women, the
settlement tucked low in the mountains near Doun. He’d looked every
man in the eye as he would if he was deciding if a man was an ally
or an adversary. The women were harder, because most weren’t easy
around men, but he’d gotten a sense of them too. There were some
men he hoped would stay—and some he would encourage to leave Ebon
Rih and go all the way back to Terreille.
Rainier studied the
Warlord Prince of Dhemlan and wished he had some idea what Daemon
wanted to discuss.
Not much use to him, am I?
Daemon had been
paying for his living expenses since the night he’d been injured.
But he couldn’t expect Sadi to carry him forever. Didn’t
want to be supported forever. He just
didn’t know yet what he could do to earn a living.
“Lucivar says the leg
is healing,” Daemon said. “That’s good.”
“I guess it took me a
while to understand some things.” That pity
can be as crippling as a physical wound, for one thing. And after
being shown what he had survived, I understand why no one gets pity
from Lucivar.
“And now that you
understand those things, you’re ready to work on
healing?”
“Yes.”
“What about other
kinds of work?”
“I haven’t been
useful lately,” he admitted.
Daemon raised one
eyebrow. “Oh? Lucivar found your assistance very useful. There is
more than one kind of dancing, Rainier. You learned some of those
other steps while working with the coven and the High Lord. Now I’d
like you to consider using those skills for me.”
“Meaning?”
“I need a secretary,
someone I can trust with private matters.”
Anger flashed through
Rainier. “You’re offering me pity work?”
“In that Lord Marcus
asked me to take pity on him and hire a secretary, yes. You’re an
Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince. That alone gives you weight when
dealing with much of the Blood—enough weight to act as my
representative at the SaDiablo estates or the minor Dhemlan courts
in much the same way that Mephis represented my father. It would be
helpful to have you staying at the Hall or in Halaway a couple of
days a week to help with the paperwork there, but otherwise you
could reside in Amdarh, either at the family town house or in your
own apartment—although I would prefer that you work out of the
study in the town house.”
“May I think about
it?”
“Yes, but I’d like an
answer soon. I am going to oblige Marcus and get a secretary. If
not you, then someone else.”
Rainier studied
Daemon, who looked as sleek and elegant as usual, but also a little
uncomfortable.
“So you’re doing this
because Marcus asked you?”
A hesitation that was
too long for Sadi. “I owe him. He took a Sceltie puppy home for
Winsol.”
“Mother Night.
Couldn’t he sidestep taking the pup?”
“Not after I tied a
pretty ribbon around the puppy’s neck and gave her to Marcus’s
daughter to play with while he and I took care of some last-minute
business.”
When Rainier finally
stopped laughing, he agreed to take the job. He wasn’t sure what he
was agreeing to do, but he was damn sure his days would be
interesting.
Lucivar watched the
Eyriens as they entered the big front room of the communal eyrie.
Hallevar and Kohlvar entered first, followed by Rothvar, Zaranar,
Tamnar, and Endar. He’d excused Endar’s wife from this meeting,
asking her to help Jillian look after the children who had been
left at Nurian’s eyrie. After all, she’d hear about this from her
husband soon enough.
He picked up a sense
of puzzlement in Hallevar and his companions, especially after
Eyriens from the northern camps walked in, but there was no
wariness in the men he worked with the most, no worry that he’d
found out about some less-than-honorable activity.
Falonar came in with
Nurian. He was full of hot impatience and likely pissed off because
he knew no more than the others about why this meeting had been
called, despite being Lucivar’s second-in-command.
Nurian hurried up to
the table Lucivar had set up at the back of the room.
“Prince, am I really
needed for this meeting?” she asked. “There are still a lot of
people who have that stomach illness, and I promised the Riada
Healers that I would help them by making more of the
tonic.”
“This won’t take
long,” he said—and wondered if the tonic would be made after she
heard what he had to say.
The last group to
arrive were the women from the settlement near Doun. They hugged
the wall, watching the men from the northern camps with an
uneasiness that made Lucivar wonder if there had been “visits” he
should have known about or if this was just the fear that had come
with them from Terreille. He also noticed the way one of them gave
Kohlvar a timid smile of greeting—and the solemn, respectful way
the weapons master tipped his head in acknowledgment.
When the last man had
stepped into the room, Lucivar called in the leather case and took
out the papers. A few papers were placed on the right-hand side of
the table; the rest went on the left.
“It’s come to my
attention that many of you are no longer content to live in Ebon
Rih,” he said, using Craft to make sure his voice carried to
everyone in the room. “And I’ve been reminded lately that I’ve
neglected one duty as the Warlord Prince who rules
here.”
“More than one,”
someone muttered near the back of the room.
He ignored the
remark, but he caught Falonar’s quickly suppressed smile of
satisfaction.
That smile made him
choose words that would act as a fast, clean break. “Besides the
Eyriens who came to Ebon Rih last summer, there are a couple of you
who still have time to serve on the contracts you signed with me.
The rest of you have fulfilled the emigration requirement of
service and no longer have to serve me in order to remain in
Kaeleer. You are free to seek service in a Queen’s court or find
another kind of work. If you stay in Ebon Rih, you will be required
to pay the tithe in both labor and coin the same as anyone else who
lives here. If that is not acceptable to you, you’re free to leave.
You have seventy-two hours to tell me if you’re staying in the
valley I rule.”
“What about wages?”
one of the men from the northern camps asked.
“You’ll receive what
is due to you up to today,” Lucivar replied. “After that, my
financial duty to you is done. From now on, I only pay the people
who work for me. That’s all. You’re dismissed.”
Stunned
silence.
“What in the name of
Hell are you doing?” Falonar finally asked with lethal
control.
“What every other
ruler in Kaeleer has already done,” Lucivar replied. “What I didn’t
do and should have—released everyone who has fulfilled their
emigration contract.”
“You kept us on to
have cheap labor,” one of the men shouted.
“I kept you on
because I’d mistakenly thought you were content to live here,”
Lucivar snapped. “Since that’s not the case, there is no reason for
you to stay—and there is no reason for me to continue to support
you. And since you all did damn little to earn your keep, I
wouldn’t call you cheap labor.”
“You should have paid
us more,” the man argued. “We’re Eyriens, not some Rihlander
drudges.”
“Ebon Rih belongs to
the Keep, and it tithes to the Keep. As the ruler of Ebon Rih, I
receive part of that tithe, which I distributed to all of you
equally. What you got is the same as what I kept for myself. Are we
clear on that? I shared with you what came to me from this valley.
Since what I can give you isn’t enough, you need to look
elsewhere.”
“Look where?” Falonar
asked hotly. “Do you know how many Eyriens are struggling to
survive because the Queens severed those contracts ?”
“Probably every
Eyrien who had refused to see that the Shadow Realm is not Terreille, who refused to see that the Queens
are not going to bend for a race that is coming in from another
Realm. If you want to live here, you adapt to the way the Queens
rule Kaeleer—or you end up dead. The bitches you all ran from are
gone, purged from the Realms. If you don’t like it here, go back to
Terreille. If you don’t like the way I rule Ebon Rih, then
leave.”
Lucivar paused,
tightened the leash on his temper. “I’ve said all I have to say.
Now you all need to decide what you’re going to do.”
“I’m not going to pay
a tithe to that half-breed bastard,” a rough voice
said.
Lucivar focused on
the sound. The man thought he was hidden well enough by the crowd?
Fool.
“Pay him to live
here?” the man continued, laughing
harshly. “He should have been grateful that any of us were willing
to take a shit in his little valley.”
“That’s enough!”
Hallevar shouted.
No room to maneuver
for a one-on-one fight, and there were women in the room who could
get hurt. Not that there weren’t other ways to kill a man. One
blast of Ebon-gray power would burn out the bastard’s mind. But
that wasn’t the Eyrien way of meeting a challenger.
Lucivar whistled
sharply. “Yes, that’s enough.” He pointed at the man. “You. Get out
of my territory. And take everyone who feels the same way with
you.”
The man looked around
at his comrades. “You think you can take all of us?”
Lucivar laughed and
noticed that the men who had seen him fight turned pale. Falonar,
on the other hand, looked thoughtful, which was something he
wouldn’t forget.
His gold eyes swept
from one end of the room to the other, and he nodded as he saw what
some of those men no longer bothered to hide.
“I’ve marked you,” he
said softly. “You’re no longer welcome here. If you try to stay in
Ebon Rih, then you’re nothing but walking carrion—and you won’t be
walking long. Now. All of you. You’re
dismissed.”
The women from the
settlement fled. So did the men from the northern camps. Hallevar
and some of the other men who lived around Riada lingered until a
sharp look from Falonar made them retreat, taking Nurian with
them.
“Don’t you care at
all for the Eyrien people?” Falonar asked as soon as they were
alone.
“I care as much for
them as they care for me,” Lucivar replied.
“I don’t want to
stomach being your second-in-command if you’re going to rape Eyrien
traditions and then ignore what Eyriens need on top of
it.”
“Fine. You’re no
longer my second-in-command.”
He saw the shock in
Falonar’s eyes. Why the surprise? Falonar should know him well
enough not to call his bluff. He’d let the other Warlord Prince
assume the role of second-in-command because it was a duty worthy
of Falonar’s power and caste. And while it had often been useful,
he hadn’t needed someone to help him
rule the valley.
But if you accept the other duties Andulvar left on your
shoulders when he returned to the Darkness, you do need someone you
can trust to look after things here when you have to be
elsewhere—when you have to stand as the Warlord Prince of
Askavi.
Not something he
would say to Falonar. Not something he wanted to think about right
now. And nothing he wanted said out loud. Not yet. The day he
acknowledged that he was the Warlord
Prince of Askavi, that Andulvar had made it clear to the Queens in
Askavi that the Demon Prince had a successor, that the Ebon-gray
would continue to defend not just the Keep’s territory but all of
Askavi . . . The day he acknowledged that, there would be nowhere
in Askavi for the Eyriens who didn’t like him to go.
“Well?” Falonar said.
“Will you release me from my contract?”
“If you want to
return to Terreille, I can release you from the contract,” Lucivar
said. “If you want to remain in Kaeleer, you have three more years
to serve.”
“With
you.”
“A Queen who wears
darker Jewels than you could take the rest of the contract. There
is one Rihlander Queen who wears the Red. She’s the only other
choice if you want to stay in Askavi.” She had always been gracious
to him when he’d visited, but the Eyriens she had allowed to serve
in her court to fulfill emigration requirements had tested her
tolerance and her authority once too often.
And judging by the
look on his face, Falonar already knew enough about that Queen to
know she wasn’t going to offer another contract to any Eyrien.
“You’re going to
destroy us,” Falonar said.
“I didn’t ask you to
come here. I just offered you a place that was as close to the land
you left behind as you’ll find in Kaeleer. I told you two years ago
that if serving me was going to be a bone in your throat, you
should take one of the other offers you’d received. Sounds like
you’re choking on that bone, Falonar, but at this point you don’t
have many choices besides me. Not if you want to stay in
Kaeleer.”
Giving Lucivar a look
filled with bitter anger, Falonar turned and walked
away.
Lucivar waited a
minute to make sure he was alone and would be alone for a little
while. Then he rubbed his hands over his face.
*Bastard?*
*Prick? Are you
okay?*
Everything he needed
was in his brother’s voice—love, acceptance, and a willingness to
kick him in the ass when he needed a kick.
*Yeah, I’m okay. It
went as well as you’d expect. And there are a few Eyriens who may
be seeing Hell soon if they don’t get out of Ebon
Rih.*
*If it comes to that,
I’ll go with you to deal with them,* Daemon said. *I’d suggest
taking Surreal to watch your back, but I think she’s a little too
eager to use a knife right now.*
*You felt that
too?*
*Yes. I’m just not
sure why. I’ll ask Rainier. He might know.*
*Unless she attacks
someone, let it go for a day or two. I’ve already stirred up enough
people.*
*All right. I’ll be
at the Keep if you need me.*
Lucivar broke the
link between them. He’d stay at the communal eyrie for another hour
so he would be easy to find—if there was an Eyrien anywhere in Ebon
Rih who wanted to find him.
Falonar found Nurian
in her workroom. The ingredients and tools were set out on the
large table in preparation for making more of that damn tonic, but
she just stared at them.
“Do you see now?”
Falonar snarled. “Do you see what he’s really like? He doesn’t care
about the Eyrien people. He doesn’t care about our traditions. He
doesn’t care about anything but himself !”
“He cares about the
people in Ebon Rih,” Nurian said. “All of them. He doesn’t divide
people between those who have wings and those who don’t, like most
of you do.”
Falonar took a step
back. “Like most of us do? You’re
Eyrien too.”
She looked him in the
eyes. “But not like you, Falonar. I don’t think I’m the same kind
of Eyrien as you or those men who spoke out today.”
“They said a few
things that needed to be said,” he snapped.
“If you ruled this
valley, would you divide the tithe evenly among every adult
Eyrien?” she asked.
Of course he
wouldn’t. Couldn’t. But Yaslana’s
family had more wealth than even an aristo like him could imagine.
Lucivar could afford to be generous. Could have afforded to give
them all a bit more, even if it had meant tapping into the SaDiablo
family’s pockets.
“There’s no proof he
shared as much as he got,” Falonar argued.
“He said it. No other
proof is required.”
“You’re being a fool,
Nurian. We could be the dominating presence in this valley, the
same as we were in Terreille, but Yaslana keeps hamstringing us
with every decision he makes.”
“The Rihlanders were
here before us,” Nurian said. “You’re talking about doing the same
things we hated in Terreille, about becoming the same kind of
monster as Prythian and the Queens who fawned over
her.”
“How dare you?”
Remembering what it was like in Prythian’s court, he swung. He
tried to pull it back, and that took some of the force out of the
blow, but the flat of his hand cracked across Nurian’s
face.
They stared at each
other.
“Nurian . .
.”
“Get out of my home,”
she said quietly, “and don’t ever come back. You’re not welcome
here. Not in my home, and not in my bed.”
“Nurian . .
.”
“Stay away from me
and my sister. You stay away from us, Falonar.”
“Is that what this is
really about? That I strapped a little sense into your sister for
her own good?”
Nurian looked
sick.
Hell’s fire. It had
been only a couple of light blows. Just a warning. He’d told the
little bitch to keep silent. Looked like she had.
“Stay away from us!” Nurian screamed.
“Nurian?” Jillian
hovered in the doorway, with Dorian behind her.
He left. Wasn’t
anything he could do until Nurian calmed down enough to
listen.
Lucivar had hoped
Hallevar would return, but the first person to storm back into the
communal eyrie was Nurian.
He felt her anger and
distress as she strode toward him, and figured he was the cause of
both. Then he saw the mark on her face, and the heat of fury burned
over his skin. He swung around the table and headed for the door to
explain a couple of things to Falonar. Maybe the bastard wouldn’t
feel so much contempt for the Rihlanders when he had to ask one of
their Healers to set the broken bones in his hand.
“No!” Nurian made a
grab for him as he passed her, then skipped back a
step.
Stung by that
instinctive move of fear, he stopped and waited.
“You’re not going to
do anything about this,” she said, waving her hand at her
face.
“That will be true
when the sun shines in Hell,” he replied, trying not to snarl. A
woman who had been hit by a man didn’t need another one snarling at
her.
“I didn’t come here
for that. Let it go, Prince.”
He’d hit women, and
he’d killed women. But he’d never raised a hand to one unless she’d
hurt someone else first.
“Was this the only
time?” he asked.
She nodded. “And it
will be the last.”
He studied her.
Something there in her eyes. She might have forgiven Falonar for
one slap, especially today, but not more than one. And not . .
.
“Jillian?” he
asked.
There it was, that
flash of anger that told him what had pushed this woman to draw the
line.
“Strapped for her own
good,” Nurian said bitterly.
Maybe it’s the first time here, he thought,
but you’ve both felt the kiss of leather at
some point, haven’t you?
“You say what you
want to say, Nurian. Then I want Jillian to report to me here. Is
that understood?”
He saw her anger
crumbling. Not surprising. Healers didn’t look for a fight unless
they were fighting for someone they were healing.
“I knew my service
contract expired, and I should have said something.” Nurian’s voice
sped up so the words tumbled over one another. “But I thought,
since you didn’t say anything, that you were satisfied with my work
and the contract could just continue. All right, I know contracts
don’t just continue, but I wanted it to. I want to live here,
Prince. I want to work here. I can be the Healer for the Eyriens in
Ebon Rih and help the Riada Healers so that I do enough work to
earn my keep. And I want Jillian to live here. She can fly around
these mountains or go down to the village on her own and be safe. You don’t know how much that means to
me. How much that means to her. And I
know it’s because of the way you rule this valley. I don’t
much care about Eyrien traditions. I want what is here for my
sister. I want it for me. And I want Jillian to have the weapons
training. She’s always been intrigued by weapons, she’s always
tried to imitate the moves she saw the men
performing—”
And gotten strapped for it? Lucivar
wondered.
“—and now she has a
chance to learn.” Nurian raised her chin and almost looked him in
the eyes. “And I want to learn too.”
Surprised, he rocked
back on his heels. “Why?”
She blushed and no
longer even tried to meet his eyes. “Your wife is graceful,” she
mumbled.
“I think so. What’s
that got to do with weapons?”
“It’s the way she
moves, the way the training . . .”
Hallevar would shit
rocks if he heard that a woman wanted to learn to use the sparring
sticks in order to be more graceful. On the other hand, Eyrien
warriors were graceful, more so than
most of the Eyrien women. He’d initially insisted that the women
learn to use weapons so that they could defend themselves
sufficiently until help could arrive. He’d eventually stopped
insisting after so many of them whined about handling weapons that
shouldn’t be used by anyone but an Eyrien warrior.
Personally, he didn’t
care why they wanted to learn as long as it helped the women
acquire skills to protect themselves. Convincing the other men to
accept this renewed female interest in weapons might be a bit more
difficult.
“You want to work for
me?” he asked.
“Yes.”
No hesitation from
her, but he felt a slight hesitation
that compelled him to say, “You working for me won’t sit well with
Falonar. Not after today.”
She looked sad,
confused, sorry. “I love him. I do. But he comes from an aristo
family, and I don’t—and that seems to matter to him more and more.
I don’t know what he wants from his life, but I’m sure he and I
don’t want the same things anymore.”
“All right,” he said
gently. “Once I know who’s staying, we’ll figure things out. Until
then, get some rest.”
She sniffled once,
then squared her shoulders. “I have some tonics to
make.”
He waited until she
reached the door. “Send Jillian to me.” Seeing the momentary slump
of her shoulders before she hurried out, he smiled grimly and
thought, Hoped I would forget, didn’t you,
witchling?
Then Hallevar,
Kohlvar, Rothvar, and Zaranar walked in, and it was time for the
next dance.
A shadow. A flutter
of air. The sound of boots behind him.
Startled, Rainier
stopped his careful walk down the street so that he wouldn’t take a
misstep.
“Prince
Rainier?”
Leaning on his cane,
he looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Lord Endar.”
“Could I talk to
you?”
“I need to walk to
the end of the street to fulfill the day’s exertions. I could meet
you back at The Tavern when I’m done or at that coffee shop across
the street.”
“I don’t mind
walking.”
A few minutes is too long to wait? “All
right.”
It took a few steps
before Endar matched his pace to Rainier’s careful walk. Then,
“Have you heard what happened? Yaslana cut us all loose. We’ve got
nothing. I have two children, and now we have nothing. I’m not sure
if we’re still allowed to live in our eyrie, or if we have to leave
because all the eyries belong to him.”
Wondering whom the
young Warlord had been talking to, Rainier said, “The way I
understand it, the emigration contracts were finite, a set time to
prove that the person coming to Kaeleer could adjust to living in
the Shadow Realm. Just like any other contract, each side fulfilled
the length of time and the terms. Then the contract ended. You all
knew this day was coming. That’s not the same as being cut loose,
Endar. When a contract ends, a man is free to negotiate another one
with the same person or head out and try something new somewhere
else. Maybe you’re used to staying with one court forever, but I
know plenty of young men who take short contracts and then move on
to another court or even another Territory. They gain polish and
experience and spend a few years looking around while they decide
what they want to do.”
“But I’m Eyrien, and
Dorian and I don’t want to live somewhere else. We like it
here!”
“Then talk to Prince
Yaslana. Tell him you’d like to stay in Ebon Rih. If you’re
interested in working for him, tell him that too.”
“But . . .” Endar
said nothing until they reached the end of the street. “Every
Eyrien male is trained to fight, but not all of us are good at
it.”
And those of you who aren’t good at it are usually the
first to die on the killing field, Rainier thought.
Not an easy truth for a man who loves his wife
and children.
“I’m pretty sure
Rothvar and Zaranar want to stay, and if they do, Yaslana won’t
want to hire someone like me as a guard. Not when he could have
them.”
“Then offer to do
some other kind of work,” Rainier said. He stood at the corner,
debating with himself if he wanted to cross the street and go up to
the coffee shop or just turn around and go back to The Tavern.
Coffee and sweet pastries or soup?
I’ll have the soup later.
As he shifted his
weight to take the first step into the street, Endar said, “Take my
arm to steady yourself. Despite what some people say, there is no shame in accepting
help.”
“There’s no shame in
being something besides a guard,” Rainier said
quietly.
“What else could I
be?”
Does their thinking get stagnant because they’re a
long-lived race and have so many years ahead of them? “I
don’t know, but I’ve heard Yaslana is looking for a teacher for the
Eyrien children—someone who has the education to teach them the
basics as well as Eyrien history.”
“Eyrien
history.”
The words were barely
loud enough for Rainier to hear, but that didn’t diminish the
excitement in Endar’s voice.
“I’ve also heard that
an Eyrien historian storyteller has recently come to the Dark Realm
and is willing to teach someone what he knows before he becomes a
whisper in the Darkness,” Rainier continued.
There was so much
wanting in Endar’s face it was painful
to look at him.
“I’m not old enough,”
Endar said. “And I’m sound, so—”
“I don’t recall
Yaslana mentioning anything about age as a requirement, only a
specific amount of education,” Rainier said tartly. “And I don’t
recall him saying a man had to be lame in order to teach. If
anything, I would think you’d need some speed and agility to keep
up with the children. Lucivar isn’t chained to traditions that
don’t suit this territory or this Realm. If you want to pass up
work you’d enjoy because you’re young and sound, that’s your
choice. But Lucivar is going to get a teacher for the children, and
he’s going to give someone the opportunity to learn from that
historian storyteller. You have to decide if that person is going
to be you.”
They stopped in front
of the coffee shop. Endar stared at him. Then the Eyrien Warlord
smiled.
“Will you be all
right finishing your walk alone?” Endar asked.
“I’ll be fine. What
about you? Will you be fine?”
The smile brightened.
“I think so. I have to talk to Dorian, but I think we’ll all be
fine.”
A two-fingered
salute. Then Endar stepped into the street, spread his dark wings,
and flew home.
Rainier watched the
Eyrien and began to understand what Daemon meant about a different
kind of dance.
*Lucivar?*
*Rainier.*
*Endar needs a little
time to talk things over with his wife, but I think you’ll have
your teacher.*
One more down,
Lucivar thought as he leaned against the table and watched Jillian
shuffle toward him. He’d ask Daemon to go over Endar’s credentials
and suggest what the Warlord needed to add to his own education to
fulfill the requirements of the new position. If Rainier’s
impression was correct and Endar had more book learning than most
Eyriens, the man would suit the job, at least in terms of
temperament. He’d confirmed that when he’d had Endar act as
instructor to Surreal and Jillian.
He pointed to a spot
in front of him that, to a young girl’s eye, would look like she
was out of reach. She wouldn’t be, not with his speed and reflexes,
but he thought she’d feel more comfortable with a little distance
between them.
He closed his hands
over the edge of the table and waited until she stood in the
required spot.
“You got strapped,”
he said.
“Yes, sir,” she
mumbled.
“When?”
“Couple days
ago.”
“How
bad?”
She
shrugged.
“You didn’t let your
sister check your back for injuries?”
She shook her
head.
“Did you go to
another Healer in Riada?”
Another headshake.
“Wasn’t supposed to tell.”
“Then you
don’t know if you’re all
right.”
She squirmed and kept
her eyes focused on his boots. “Tamnar looked at my back. He said
it wasn’t bad, and none of the marks were close to my wings. He
said he’d gotten worse.”
Something Lucivar
would discuss with Hallevar. As far as he knew, the old arms master
was still giving out the slaps that were meant to sting pride
rather than injure flesh. He’d gotten his fair share of those in
his youth, so he had no problem with that bit of discipline. But if
someone else had been doing more here, in his valley . .
.
“Did you deserve the
strapping?” Lucivar asked mildly.
“He said I did.”
His breath caught.
That tone of voice should not come from
a girl Jillian’s age. That level of hatred should not be in a girl Jillian’s age. She should not have
experienced anything that would put a knife-edge in her
voice.
Because he knew two
women whose voices sometimes took that same edge, and because he
knew why that edge was there, he had to
ask.
“Jillian, are you a
virgin?”
Her mouth fell open
in shock, and because of her silence, the word rape hung in the air between them. She hadn’t been
broken. He was sure of that. Jaenelle and Surreal hadn’t been
broken either by the violence of rape, but they both carried
emotional scars.
“Jillian?”
She didn’t answer.
Then she jumped when the wood cracked under his hands.
“I am,” she said
quickly. “I am!”
He released the table
and stood up. “If I ask a Healer to look at you, will she tell me
the same thing?”
“Yes,
sir.”
Thank the Darkness
for that.
He’d been rising to
the killing edge, and he took a moment to pull back and regain
control.
“All right,
witchling. Listen up.You are going to school. Maybe with the
Rihlander children, maybe not, but you are going to school. Weapons
training will be considered an extra. As long as you keep up with
your studies, I will see that you get training in bow, sticks, and
knives. You shrug off one, you lose the privilege of the other. We
clear on that?”
“Yes,
sir!”
“Next, you do not get
strapped by anyone but me. Ever. If someone thinks you’ve
misbehaved to the point of deserving it, the charge will be brought
to me. If I decide you do deserve that punishment, I will wield the
leather. We clear on that too?”
“Yes,
sir.”
“If someone else
tries to strap you or hurt you in any way, what are you going to
do?”
“Kick him in the
balls.”
Lucivar blinked.
Swallowed a tickle in his throat. Damn tickle. Felt like a laugh.
“After that.”
Jillian pondered for
a moment. “Come to you?”
“That’s right.
Although you might consider just getting away and coming to me
first. If he deserves it, I will hold him while you kick him in the
balls.”
She gave him a bright
smile. Probably thought he was teasing her. Probably just as well
to let her think that.
“Anything else I
should know?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Does this mean Nurian and I can stay in Ebon Rih?”
“That’s what it
means. She’s going to work for me as a Healer, and—”
“And I can work for
you by helping Marian take care of Daemonar.”
He laughed. “Fair
enough. Now get home before your sister frets about this
chat.”
“Yes,
sir.”
A bright smile. Clear
eyes. Didn’t take much to set Jillian’s world right and give her a
sweet wind under her wings.
He would do his best
to make sure things stayed that way.
Surreal cleared the
table and stacked the dishes on a tray. The Tavern didn’t open
until late morning, but apparently these two men came in once a
week at this time to have a quiet breakfast of whatever was
available while they talked business for an hour. They’d been
startled to find her instead of Merry, but they were quite happy
with the casserole, chicken, and coffee she put on the table. And
even though they kept a running tab here, they’d left a generous
tip. She wasn’t sure whether that was to thank her for letting them
have the breakfast or for not tossing them out in the
snow.
Smiling, she set the
tray on the bar, took a step back, and extended her
arms.
Her body flowed, slow
and easy, in a series of moves she’d seen Jaenelle make with
practice sticks no longer than her arm. This wasn’t training for an
Eyrien weapon. These moves belonged to the Dea al Mon.
As she completed the
last turn, she saw Falonar watching her from the
doorway.
What was he doing at
The Tavern? He knew she was staying here, so unless he was looking
for a ripping fight, why in the name of Hell would he come to see
her?
“Every time you pick
up an Eyrien weapon, you mock my race,” he said.
My skill with weapons was one of the things that used to
intrigue you. At least until we got better acquainted. “And
here I thought I was just honing my skill with a knife. Besides,
those moves weren’t created for an Eyrien weapon.” She swung
herself over the bar. “We’re not officially open yet, but I can
give you a cup of coffee.”
He walked up to the
bar. “I suppose you’re pleased with what happened
today.”
She filled two mugs
with coffee. “The gossip hasn’t reached me yet, so I don’t know if
I’m pleased or not.”
“Lucivar is pushing
the Eyriens out of Ebon Rih.”
“All of them, or just
the ones who think having a cock entitles them to food, shelter,
and sex whenever they want it?”
Anger flashed in his
eyes.
She sipped her coffee
and watched him. She had been attracted to the arrogant Eyrien
Warlord Prince who had shown some respect for her skills—attracted
enough to let her heart as well as her body get tangled up with
him. But the Falonar she’d first known wasn’t the same man as the
one staring at her now. She wouldn’t have slept with this man unless she was planning to drive a knife
between his ribs while he came.
She assessed him as a
client. As prey. A man could hide his true nature—and true
feelings—for only so long, and she was finally seeing what
desperation and ambition had hidden for almost two
years.
Falonar hadn’t
changed because living in the Shadow Realm had soured him somehow;
he’d just gotten comfortable enough to slip back into being what he
had been before coming to
Kaeleer.
“I’m trying to
remember that you’re not tainted,” she said quietly.
“What?”
“You survived the
purge two years ago, so whatever corruption is in you didn’t come
from your association with Prythian or Dorothea or Hekatah. Maybe
it’s simply what you are because you’re an Eyrien
aristo.”
“I don’t know what
you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” She set
her coffee aside and leaned on the bar, looking friendly and
vulnerable. She was neither. “It must have pissed you off when you
came strutting into the hunting camp as a boy and realized there
was a half-breed bastard there who was stronger and better than
anything you could ever be. He should have groveled in front of
you, grateful to lick your boots. Instead he looked you in the eyes
and not only told you he was better than all of you; he
showed you he was better. Must have
choked you to have to compete with him and never win—at least not
fairly.”
“I never cheated in a
competition,” Falonar snarled.
“No, you probably
didn’t. But that doesn’t mean you weren’t pleased when someone else
did something that pushed the odds in your favor.” She leaned a
little more, showing more cleavage—and watched the way his eyes
lingered a moment too long.
“You finished your
training and were no longer in Yaslana’s shadow because he defied
Prythian and ended up a slave being controlled by a Ring of
Obedience, while you ended up an aristo male moving in court
circles, serving a bitch you hated, but you were always careful not
to step too close to a line that might be seen as a challenge. And
there was Lucivar, who, despite being a slave, was always crossing
those lines and growing into the most lethal and feared warrior in
the Realm of Terreille.”
She felt pressure on
her first inner barrier. Not an actual attempt to force open the
first level of her mind, more like someone leaning against a door
to push it open just a crack and find out what was on the other
side while claiming that he didn’t do
anything.
A man could find out
a lot of useful information while not doing anything. And
maybe—maybe—because it was a passive
move, it wouldn’t be considered a breach of the Blood’s code of
honor.
She usually wore her
Birthright Green Jewels, just like today, but she no longer hid the
fact that the Gray was her Jewel of rank. Had he forgotten that?
Was he actually hoping that she’d be lax about maintaining the
barriers that protected her mind from the rest of the Blood? Was he
that much of a fool?
“Skipping a few
centuries, the Realm of Terreille becomes a very bad place, and people are scrambling to get
away from the bitches who rule there,” she continued. “Among those
people is an Eyrien Warlord Prince who comes from an aristo family
and has significant social standing. And wearing Sapphire Jewels
means he is a powerful, dominant male—a leader other men obey
without question. No reason to think that will change. Aristo is
aristo; power is power.”
She drifted down into
the abyss until she reached the level of the Gray, then drifted
back up until she was under him. She reached up with one delicate
psychic tendril to get the honest flavor of his
emotions.
She didn’t like the
taste of those emotions. She didn’t like them at all. Apparently
the story she was weaving around the little she knew and the lot
she guessed based on knowing the two men was close to the
truth.
“And what happens?”
she said. “You come to Kaeleer with your credentials polished,
expecting the Queens to fight over who gets the privilege of having
you in her court, and there’s your old friend Lucivar, already here
before you. And he’s not only serving the Queen the rest of you
would give your balls to serve; he’s the ruler of the most prized
bit of land in Askavi. Not only that, he’s no longer a half-breed
bastard the rest of you can ignore. He comes from the most aristo family in the whole damn Realm. His
father and uncle are the most powerful
men in the whole damn Realm, not to mention being Witch’s Steward
and Master of the Guard, which gives them even more
status.”
“Just because they
acknowledged him doesn’t mean he actually carries the bloodlines,”
Falonar snapped.
“Blood sings to
blood—and blood doesn’t lie. Sure, there are generations between
Lucivar and Andulvar, but he is the High Lord’s son, and his mother
did come from Andulvar’s line. An aristo among aristos. And he
still doesn’t give a damn about any of that, does he? He’s just who
he’s always been—a warrior, a leader, a strong man. Except now all
the Eyriens who would have spit on him before have to walk softly
because one word from him—one word—and
that person gets tossed all the way back to Terreille. If the fool
isn’t killed first.”
“What does any of
this have to do with him gutting Eyrien culture and tradition?”
Falonar shouted.
“What goes on in Ebon
Rih is his version of Eyrien culture and tradition,” she replied
sweetly.
“His version?” Falonar paced away from the bar and back.
“You can’t have different versions and have the same
people!”
“Maybe that’s the
point. Maybe there needs to be a different version for the people
who would otherwise be excluded from Eyrien culture.”
“Like
who?”
“Besides Lucivar? How
about Endar and Dorian’s little girl? A Queen. But her hair has
curl. Not only is she not pure Eyrien; that curl proves she has a
bit of a bloodline that isn’t from any of the long-lived races.
What about Tamnar? He wouldn’t have had much of a future among your
people, which is probably why he risked the service fair in the
first place. Eyrien culture and tradition were already rooted here,
Falonar. It’s just not the same as what you left.”
Falonar’s mug
shattered. “Back in Askavi, if a bitch like you spoke to me like
that, I’d have you whipped.”
Surreal called in a
towel and tossed it on the bar to sop up the coffee. “Bitch like
me. Yes, let’s address that final topic before you go. Well, two
topics really, and that’s the second one. You know what none of you
big strong Eyriens have admitted? Except Lucivar. The man may be a
pain in the ass, but he does have brains. You all came to the
Shadow Realm expecting the other races to be cowed by a warrior
race. Because that’s what the Eyriens are, aren’t they? Warriors,
bred and trained. But no one was cowed by Eyriens because, in
Kaeleer, you are not the race that is feared.”
Surreal slowly
reached up and hooked her long black hair behind one delicately
pointed ear. “They are called the Dea al Mon. The Children of the
Wood. They know as much about fighting as you do. Maybe more, since
they have always followed the Old Ways of the Blood. Which brings
us to the last topic—my bloodlines.”
“You have no
bloodlines.” Falonar’s voice was harsh, and his hands were
clenched.
“On my sire’s side,
you’re probably right.”
“You have no
connection to the SaDiablos beyond what they give
you.”
“That’s true too. I
don’t have one drop of blood in common with Lucivar or Daemon or
the High Lord. I only used that name when I came to Kaeleer as a
way to spit in Dorothea SaDiablo’s face. But the High Lord decided
to let that claim stand and accepted me as family. So you’re
correct that calling myself a SaDiablo doesn’t give me the right to
call myself aristo. My mother, on the other hand ...” She brushed
her finger over the curve of her ear. “My mother was a Dea al Mon
Queen and Black Widow. If she hadn’t been broken by Dorothea’s son
and then murdered by one of the bitch’s assassins, she could have
been the Queen of the Dea al Mon’s Territory. As it was, when she
made the transition to demon-dead, she became the Queen of the
Harpies. So no matter how you turn it, my mother’s bloodline is
more than aristo enough to make up for any lack by the cock and
balls who sired me.”
She straightened up
and stared at him across a slab of wood that either of them could
destroy in a heartbeat.
She vanished her
Green Jewel and called in her Gray. Then gave him a moment to
remember just whom he’d been trying to play with.
“My mother and I
skinned my father and hung him up as meat for the Hell Hounds while
he was still alive. We soaked in a hot spring and listened to him
scream while they fed. So I think I come by my interest in, and
skill with, a knife honestly. Don’t you?”
He backed away from
her. Backed all the way to the door.
She waited until he
flew away before she used Craft to turn the physical lock. Then she
added a Green lock on the door.
She cleaned up the
coffee and broken mug, relieved that Briggs must have some kind of
shield on the wood to keep it from being damaged by
spills.
Then, having made her
decision, she sent a Gray psychic thread to a Black
mind.
*Sadi?*
*Surreal?*
*Are you
busy?*
*That depends on what
you want.*
She heard the
amusement in his voice and rolled her eyes. Maybe it was better if
he felt amused. *I’d like you to find out what you can about
Falonar’s bloodlines.*
Cold now shivered
along that psychic thread.
*Why?* he asked too
softly.
*I have a suspicion
that one of the things that bothers him the most about Lucivar—and
now me—is the realization that we come from families that are far
more aristo than his, and I’m curious why that matters so
much.*
*If you want this to
stay between the two of us, it will take a couple of days. You know
what Lucivar is like when he has to deal with paperwork, and I
think this particular deluge is going to test his self-control.
Besides, Father and I promised to work up a rough draft of a
contract for serving the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih.*
Yes, she knew what
Lucivar was like. A tiger with a sore paw was more agreeable than
Yaslana confronted with a stack of paperwork. *It can
wait.*
She broke the link
and went back to preparing The Tavern for business. A few minutes
later, Rainier tapped on the door. He had two loaves of
sweet-and-spice bread to serve with the soup, along with some
pastries just for her.
Pushing Falonar to
the back of her mind, she spent the rest of the day listening to
gossip and working with a man whose company she
enjoyed.