NINE
The birthing room was ready, the adjoining room where
the family could wait was ready, and the Healer and her assistant
had arrived.
Beale was guarding
the Hall’s front door from any premature well-wishers; Helene was
giving the family suite another quick cleaning and the crib a last
polish, and making sure there were plenty of linens, diapers,
blankets, towels, and whatever else a newborn might need. Holt was
sorting through the correspondence and business papers so that the
new father could make the most efficient use of his available time.
And he, the about-to-be new father, was apparently doing nothing
but being a pain in the ass.
“I don’t need to
sit,” Surreal snarled as she waddled around the birthing
room.
She most certainly
did need to sit, Daemon thought, but he couldn’t shove her into a
chair. Not in her condition. “You’re not comfortable standing,” he
pointed out in a soothing voice.
“Whose fault is
that?” She grabbed the back of a chair and pressed the other hand
to her belly, her face tight with pain.
“Remember what the
Healer said about breathing,” Daemon said.
“Go take a piss in
the wind.”
He slipped his hands
out of his trousers pockets and made an effort to unclench his
teeth as he took a step toward her, one hand extended. “Let me help
you.”
“You and your cock
have done quite enough already,” she snarled as she moved away from
him.
“Surreal . .
.”
Lucivar walked into
the room and gave Surreal a lazy, arrogant smile. “Want to shred
something, darling?”
“Yes,” she snapped,
“but since he likes his balls, I doubt he’d stand still for
it.”
“Surreal . . .,”
Daemon soothed.
“Stop hovering over
me!” she shouted. “This baby will come when it wants to come, and
your pushing at me isn’t going to make it come any
faster!”
“I’m not pushing. . .
.”
“You prick-assed son
of a bitch, get out of
here!”
Daemon looked at
Lucivar. “I was told she’d be bitchy, but is it normal for her to
sound insane?”
“Insane?” Surreal
shrieked. “You think I sound insane?”
“Yes,” Lucivar said
to Daemon. “Right now, she doesn’t like you much, old son, so come
into the next room and give her some peace.”
“Why are you taking
my side?” Surreal demanded.
“When Marian was in
labor with Daemonar, she wanted the birthing room clear of males on
occasion, and when I got stubborn about it, she threatened to cook
up the afterbirth and feed it to me.”
Daemon felt like
something stringy and greasy was stuck in his throat. He swallowed
hard and looked at Surreal.
She looked at him and
said, “I’ll stab you before I cook anything.”
“Thank you,” he said
faintly. “I appreciate it.”
“Then get
out!”
Lucivar hauled him
into the adjoining room, closing the door to the birthing room most
of the way. That gave Surreal sufficient privacy but made it easy
to hear her.
Daemon let out a
shaky sigh. “She’s hurting.”
“She’s in labor, old
son. Having a baby hurts like a wicked bitch. Or so I’ve been
told.”
“There has to be
something the Healer can do. Something I can do. Hell’s fire, Lucivar. If I can drain the
power from Surreal’s Jewels to make her more comfortable, why can’t
I take some of the pain?”
“The Healer has
spells to dull the pain. You have to let her take care of that
part,” Lucivar said. “You trust her, don’t you?”
“Yes, I trust her
but—” Daemon tensed as he heard another voice in the birthing
room.
“It’s Marian,”
Lucivar said. “She’ll keep Surreal company until your presence is
requested.”
“Will it be
requested?” Daemon asked softly. “She’s hurting, and it’s my fault.
She’s having my baby, and she kicked me out of the
room.”
“Like I said, she
doesn’t like you much right now and doesn’t want you around every
minute, but that doesn’t mean—”
“Sadi!” Surreal
shouted. “If you want to keep that overrated cock of yours, get
your ass back in here!”
“—she wants you to go
too far away,” Lucivar finished.
Daemon rocked back on
his heels and stared at the partially open door. “So she’s going to
keep flipping from wanting me with her to wanting me gone? For how
long?”
Lucivar put both
hands on Daemon’s back and gave him a light shove. “For as long as
it takes to birth this baby.”
“Mother
Night.”
“And may the Darkness
be merciful. Show some balls, boyo.”
“That’s what got me
into this in the first place,” Daemon muttered. But he went into
the birthing room and found Surreal looking teary-eyed and
vulnerable—and ready for a few hugs and cuddles.
Lucivar wandered over
to the window farthest away from the door. Moments after Daemon
walked into the birthing room, Marian walked out and closed the
door between the rooms.
“How are they?” he
asked when Marian wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned
against him.
“They’ll be fine, but
your brother is going to need you today,” she replied. “Surreal is
focused on having the baby, but Daemon seems . . . shakier, more
vulnerable.”
“Until the Birthright
Ceremony, the child isn’t legally his. He’ll spend years raising
that child and loving that child, but it won’t be his until that
day.”
Marian leaned back
enough to look at him. “You’ve never worried about that, have
you?”
He brushed her hair
away from her face. “No, but that’s you and me. It’s not going to
be as easy for Daemon to trust.”
“That’s not fair to
Surreal.”
“No, it’s not, but
that’s how it is.”
Marian hesitated.
“Have you ever wondered . . . ?”
He sighed. Then he
nodded. “I don’t know if Jaenelle wasn’t able to have children or
if it just never happened for them.”
“I think there was a
concern—a fear—that she wouldn’t survive childbirth,” Marian said
quietly. “Nothing was ever said; I just had that impression the
couple of times her moontime was late. It seemed like Daemon was
relieved when the moon’s blood started.”
“Could be. It would
have destroyed him if she had died that way.” He huffed out a
breath. “Maybe that’s why it never happened. Hell’s fire, I was
able to make myself infertile for centuries and did it so
thoroughly I know I never sired a child
until the night we made Daemonar. And Daemon had suppressed his
sexuality and fertility even more than I did for most of his
life.”
“He wasn’t
unreceptive to having a child,” Marian said. “At least, not until
Jaenelle got hurt.”
“Not until Jaenelle’s
body was healed and remade through a tangled web,” Lucivar
corrected. “After she came back to him, he had a hard time dealing
with her being in any kind of pain—and took care of whatever was
causing the problem.” And maybe had taken care
of more things than he’d intended to.
Lucivar kissed
Marian’s forehead. “Doesn’t matter why things happened the way they
did. Today we focus on helping Surreal get through childbirth
without killing her husband.”
Marian froze for a
moment, then looked at him with wide eyes. “Someone did remember to
take away all her knives. Don’t you think?”
Lucivar released his
wife and headed for the birthing room door. “I think I’ll slip in
and take a quick look around.”
She felt frightened,
feral, and more than a little possessive. Ignoring Helene and the
Healer’s assistant as they cleaned her up, Surreal kept her eyes on
the man who stood too far away from the bed, cradling her child in his arms. She wanted to tear the baby
out of his arms—and tear off his arms in the process.
“Drink this,” the
Healer said, holding a cup to her lips. “You need to drink this
now.”
“Trying to drug me?”
She flicked her eyes to the woman’s startled face, then focused
again on the man who wouldn’t even look at
her.
“It’s a tonic to
provide you with some quick nourishment. A couple of swallows is
all. Your body will use it all up; it won’t get to your
milk.”
Milk. The baby needed
milk.
“A couple of
swallows, Lady,” the Healer said.
She took the cup and
drained it.
“There,” Helene said
as she smoothed the bedcovers. “You should be able to rest easy
now.”
The man immediately
looked up, looked at her, and she realized he hadn’t been ignoring
her; he’d been giving her privacy while they cleaned her and the
bed. Now he watched her as she watched him, but there was wariness
in his eyes.
What had she done to
make him so wary?
Warlord Prince.
Husband. Daemon.
With each word that
identified who he was, her head cleared
a little more and images and sounds flashed by in memory, jumbled
and distorted—the pain, the Healer’s encouraging voice, a male
voice promising it wouldn’t hurt much longer, the thin cry of a
baby, the man lowering her to the pillows and moving toward the
child a woman lifted from between her legs, and her sudden attack
to keep him, and everyone else, away from her baby. Hands holding
her down while she fought and screamed—and the woman, the Healer,
rushing to the far side of the room and handing her baby to ...
Surreal raised a
hand, touched her shoulder, and flinched.
“You’re going to have
a few bruises,” the Healer said quietly. “Prince Yaslana wasn’t
trying to hurt you, but you had to be restrained for your own
safety and the child’s.”
She stared at Daemon.
“Was anyone hurt?”
“No,” he said
quietly. “But we all learned some things about the Dea al Mon side
of your nature.”
He was lying. She
could feel it. Someone had gotten hurt,
but she knew he wouldn’t tell her if she asked him. At least, not
right now.
“I’ll be back in a
little while to answer any questions you may have,” the Healer
said. “For now, why don’t the three of you get
acquainted?”
Helene and the
Healer’s assistant left through the outer room while the Healer
went into the adjoining room, no doubt to report to Lucivar and
Marian.
“I guess I must have
gone a little insane?” she asked.
“Something like
that.” He sat on the edge of the bed near her knees, still wary of
her and ready to move out of reach. He also had a shield around
himself and the baby so she couldn’t touch either one.
She scraped her
fingers through sweat-damp hair. “Hell’s fire, Sadi. What do you
want me to say? Things got fuzzy toward the end.”
“Sometimes you’re a
scary woman, Surreal.” Daemon studied her. “Still feeling
fuzzy?”
“No.” Now she felt
scared as she realized how badly she’d unnerved him. He was keeping
the baby away from her. Was he going to take her child? Had she
done something that made him think she would hurt the child?
Mother Night. “The baby?”
“She’s
fine.”
She. Daughter. “She has the right number of fingers
and toes?”
He smiled. “Yes, she
does. I didn’t have a chance to look at everything, but I saw that
much.”
We’re both afraid, she thought. Both afraid of being shut out by the other. And I don’t
know what I did to make him so wary of letting me near my own
baby.
“I hadn’t decided on
a name for a boy, but I know the name I’d like to give our
daughter—with your consent,” she said.
“Unless it’s
outlandish, I doubt I’ll have a problem with any name you choose,”
he replied.
“Jaenelle Saetien. I
would like to name her Jaenelle Saetien in honor of two people who
meant a great deal to me.”
Shock. Pain. And
then, gratitude. “Are you sure?”
Surreal smiled. “I’m
sure.”
She watched his
shoulders relax as he studied his daughter.
“Jaenelle
say-tee-ehn,” he said, pronouncing the name as she had. Then he
gave his girl a loving smile. “Hello, witch-child.”
The right choice,
Surreal decided as she watched Daemon relax enough to unwrap the
blankets and get a better look at his baby. She wanted to touch
them both, and she couldn’t until he trusted her enough to drop his
shield.
His eyes wandered
leisurely over that small body that had come from hers. Then he
studied the head and his expression became bemused.
“Her ears are
pointed,” he said softly.
Suddenly
self-conscious, Surreal pulled her hair over her own delicately
pointed ears.
Daemon’s smile turned
soft and silly. He shifted position, moving up so that she could
finally see her daughter and share this discovery.
She reached out to
move the blanket to get a better look—and couldn’t touch it. He
tensed, but he dropped the shield. When she did nothing more than
touch the blanket, he relaxed and shifted his body to include
her.
“Look,” he said,
sounding enchanted. “Her little ears are pointed. She’s going to be
beautiful, like you.”
A prick of tears. She
blinked them back before he noticed.
Jaenelle began
crying. Surreal saw Daemon change in a heartbeat from a soft man to
a predator ready to protect his own.
“What’s wrong?”
Daemon’s gold eyes were cold and glazed as he raised his head and
looked at her.
The temper wasn’t
aimed at her, she realized. If he couldn’t deduce what was wrong
with his child quickly enough, he expected her to point out the problem so that he could take
care of it—permanently.
That was the moment
she understood that her part of the job wasn’t so much to protect
the child as to push Sadi back the necessary half step that would
give his girl some breathing room from the instincts that would be
honed to a lethal edge from now on.
Uncle Saetan hadn’t
had the leash of a partner when he’d raised Jaenelle and stood as
the coven’s protector. Looking at Daemon now, she began to
appreciate just how formidable the old man’s self-control had
been.
“I think she’s
hungry,” Surreal said.
A heartbeat. Two.
Then Daemon blinked and looked around as if expecting to find a
table of food that would appeal to his girl.
Surreal touched his
sleeve. When he focused on her, she tapped her chest. “For the next
few months, her kitchen is right here.”
He looked at her
chest and blinked again. “Oh.”
She held out her arms
and waited.
Hesitation.
Reluctance. But he finally settled the baby in her
arms.
When he sat there,
waiting, she turned shy. “I know you’ve seen my breasts before, but
this is different.”
Another heartbeat.
Two. “You want me to leave?”
She nodded. “Could
you ask Marian to come in?”
That request melted
whatever resistance he had for leaving her alone with the child. He
brushed a finger over the baby’s hand, then leaned over and kissed
Surreal with a tenderness that made her heart ache.
“Thank you,” he
said.
She grinned. “She is
pretty wonderful, isn’t she?”
“She’s her mother’s
daughter. How could she be anything else?”
She sat there,
stunned by the words, as Daemon slipped out of the room and Marian
slipped in.
The moment Daemon
stepped into the adjoining room, Lucivar caught him in a hard hug
and held on while his brother shook with the effort to control his
emotions—and probably control the pain he’d been
hiding.
“Is Surreal all right
now?” Lucivar asked.
“Yes,” Daemon
replied. He eased back enough to rest his forehead against
Lucivar’s. “What in the name of Hell happened?”
“Damned if I know.
Marian got bitchy during labor, but she settled down once the baby
was born. Surreal acted like a wild she-cat, and we were the bad
humans trying to take her kitten.” He paused. “How’s the
arm?”
“Not bad. The
bleeding stopped.” Daemon looked down at his right jacket sleeve.
The illusion spell hid the tears and the blood.
“Liar. Come over here
and strip down. I’ll wash the arm, and then we’ll have the Healer
take care of it.”
“I don’t
need—”
“Bastard, what part
of that sounded like a choice?”
Daemon stared at him.
Lucivar matched the look.
“I’m
fine.”
“She ripped your arm
open and scared the shit out of you and everyone else in the room.
Everyone was focused on taking care of her and keeping the baby
safe, and no one’s had a look at how badly you’re hurt. So you’re
not fine. Not yet.”
“She won’t hurt the
baby,” Daemon said as he followed Lucivar to the table where a
basin of steaming water sat beside basic healing
supplies.
“She was never going
for the baby, old son. She was going for your throat.”
Daemon stripped off
his jacket and swore vigorously as Lucivar helped him remove the
shirt where it had stuck to the wounds in his upper right
arm.
“What did she rip me
with?” he asked as he sank into a chair next to the
table.
Lucivar looked at the
slices in Daemon’s arm. They were deep enough that he wanted the
Healer to take care of them and make sure the arm healed properly,
but he could clean the wounds to give Daemon time to settle. “An
open metalwork glove that had talons honed almost as sharp as my
war blade. That must have been something she always kept with her,
stored by Craft. I made sure she hadn’t hidden any weapons in the
room, but I hadn’t expected her to use Craft so soon after birthing
or have something that lethal that she could call in. And I didn’t
expect her to attack you.”
“Why did she do that?
I haven’t given her a reason to feel hostile toward me. Have
I?”
“Surreal didn’t have
an easy childhood or a soft life afterward. She saw as much blood,
pain, and cruelty as we did in Terreille. Everything has a price,
and the price strong witches pay for wearing dark Jewels is more
painful moontimes and harder births. I’m guessing the pain and the
smell of blood pushed her to someplace in her memories, mixing
things up in the end. I don’t think she knew who was with her; you
were just a male reaching for her baby. As sure as the sun doesn’t
shine in Hell, she didn’t know who I was when I was holding her
down to give you and the Healer time to get the baby away from the
bed so it wouldn’t get hurt.”
“You don’t think it
was just me she wanted to keep away?”
Since they were going
to talk, Lucivar smeared a cleansing ointment over Daemon’s wounds.
“Nah. I told you. A witch who wears Gray Jewels has to be more
careful and work a lot harder to keep a baby in the womb. Surreal
has been feeling shaky and protective since the first morning she
threw up. During the past few hours, she gave up everything
civilized in order to birth this child.”
“Her name is Jaenelle
Saetien,” Daemon said.
Lucivar froze for a
moment. “Good name. What does Surreal think of it?”
“It was her
choice.”
Daemon was starting
to sound drunk stupid. Lucivar thought it was a good sign that he
was finally, and fully, relaxing. Of course, sounding drunk stupid
could indicate that he’d lost more blood than was obvious, and that
wouldn’t be good.
Stepping into the
corridor, Lucivar summoned the Healer to deal with Daemon’s arm
while he checked in with Beale, Jazen, and Holt to confirm that
nothing needed Daemon’s immediate attention—or his attention, since
he figured he’d be handling any problems for the next day or so.
They had nothing to tell him except that Tersa, Manny, Mikal, and
Beron were now in the family sitting room with Daemonar and Titian.
Once everyone had a little time to settle and he was sure Surreal
was steady enough to tolerate the rest of the family meeting its
newest member, they would all have a chance to coo before he nudged
them out to enjoy the celebration dinner.
Surreal didn’t ask
the question until Jaenelle finished nursing. Cradling her baby
girl, she looked at Marian. “Who did I hurt, and how bad is
it?”
Marian turned her
head toward the adjoining room’s door. Surreal’s stomach
flipped.
“Lucivar?” she asked.
“Did I hurt Lucivar?”
“No.” Marian laid a
hand on her arm, just above where the baby’s head rested. “Lucivar
is fine.”
Surreal stared at the
woman who was a sister through marriage. “Daemon.”
Marian hesitated,
then nodded. “But he’ll be fine. The Healer’s taking care of
him.”
“What did I do?
Marian, tell me.”
“Hush, now. Don’t
upset the baby.”
They waited until the
baby stopped fussing. Then Marian said, “I’ve been here with you
since Daemon left, so I haven’t talked to Lucivar to get all the
details. What I do know is you called in some kind of metal glove
and ripped up Daemon’s arm when the Healer picked up the baby. You
attacked without warning. Daemon got between you and the Healer to
protect her and the baby. Then Lucivar rushed in to restrain you
until you were thinking clearly enough again to allow the women to
take care of you.”
“Where is it now, the
metal glove?”
“Lucivar has
it.”
“When he’s willing,
I’d like it back. It was a Winsol gift from Rainier.”
“I’ll tell him.”
Marian hesitated. “The talons weren’t poisoned, were they? I’m not
sure anyone thought to check.”
No wonder Sadi had
been so wary of getting near her or letting her near the baby. “No
poison. Not even a possibility of residual poison.”
“That’s
good.”
“Are you sure Daemon
will be all right?”
“Yes. He’ll be fine.
Are you feeling up to letting the rest of the family see the baby?
Just for a few minutes? Mrs. Beale has a meal ready for you. Are
you hungry?”
“Yes, I’m hungry, and
yes, they can come in.”
A minute later,
Lucivar walked in, and Surreal could hear excited voices in the
other room.
“Daemon has gone to
his suite to wash up and change into fresh clothes,” Lucivar
said.
“Are you pissed off
at me?” Surreal asked. She heard tears in her voice.
“No, I’m not pissed
off at you,” Lucivar said. “Neither is Daemon. We want to do
whatever you need to feel safe and easy.”
“I’ll stay and have a
bite to eat with Surreal,” Marian said quickly, looking from one to
the other. “Daemon could come back a little later.”
Surreal studied
Lucivar’s face, his eyes. “He doesn’t want to see me?”
Lucivar met her look,
made some decision, and sighed. “You caught him in the ribs as well
as the arm. Bastard managed to hide that from me even while I was
cleaning the arm. It wasn’t until the Healer stepped in the blood
that had pooled under the chair and I pushed to break the illusion
spell that we discovered the other wounds and realized how much
blood he’d lost.”
“Mother Night,”
Surreal whispered.
“After she closed the
wounds, we got him a clean shirt and let him receive
congratulations from the family before taking him to his suite.
Right now, the Healer is pouring some potent healing brews down his
throat, and Jazen and the Scelties are under orders to make sure he
stays down for a couple of hours. Then, if he’s steady enough, he
can come back and see you.”
Tears filled her eyes
and spilled over. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to hurt him. I’m not
sure what I was trying to do.”
“You thought you
needed to protect your baby. He doesn’t fault you for that,
Surreal. Neither do I. But I need to know you’re steady before I
let him back in this room. He’s in no condition to defend himself
right now. Not from you.”
“He doesn’t have
to.”
Marian went into the
small bathroom and returned with a damp cloth. “Here. Wipe your
face so the children can come in and meet their new
cousin.”
Surreal did as she
was told. She had a feeling Tersa knew why Daemon wasn’t present,
but the others were more interested in the baby and didn’t notice
the absence of the father.
When Lucivar decided
they’d all had sufficient chance to coo, he herded them out,
reminding them that there was a celebratory feast in the dining
room.
“I’ll tell Beale
we’re ready for some food and be back in a minute,” Marian
said.
Finally alone,
Surreal looked at the baby girl sleeping in her arms and sighed.
“Your birthing day turned out to be a lot more exciting than I’d
intended. I figure your papa and uncle will start forgetting about
that around the time we’re planning your wedding. Of course,
getting your papa to agree to let a boy have that first kiss could
be a problem, but I’ll work on it. I promise I will.”
As soon as the rest
of the family was out of sight, Lucivar wrapped his arms around
Marian.
“Is Daemon really
hurt that bad?” she asked.
“Yeah, he’s hurt that
bad,” Lucivar replied. “He was bleeding all that time and hid
it.”
“To protect the
baby.”
“And so that Surreal
wouldn’t know, wouldn’t feel the weight of blame for something done
when she wasn’t thinking clearly.” He sighed. “But he will be all
right.”
“Did he tell you the
baby’s name?”
He nodded. “And that
Surreal chose it.”
“Lucivar?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you think either
of them has realized yet that Jaenelle Saetien has the same
birthday as Jaenelle Angelline?”
Later that evening,
Surreal looked up from watching the baby sleep to find Daemon
standing in the doorway.
“May I come in?” he
asked.
“Sure.”
He moved slowly,
stiffly, as he approached the bed and came around to the side that
held the baby basket.
“Hell’s fire, Sadi,
you look like shit.”
“You flatter me, as
always.”
“I’m not playing,”
she said sharply, then lowered her voice when the baby stirred.
“Sit down before you fall down.” How much blood had he lost? And
why had the fool allowed himself to keep bleeding like
that?
Because he wouldn’t
leave the baby. And she wouldn’t have
calmed down if he’d left the room with the baby. So he’d stayed,
hiding the wounds and the blood soaking into his
clothes.
They were going to
have a little chat about him taking care of himself so that he’d be
able to take care of the child. On the other hand, she appreciated
his restraint in not hurting her today.
“Daemon, sit
down.”
He used Craft to move
a chair next to the bed. When that didn’t give him a good view of
his daughter, he sat on the edge of the bed, wincing as he shifted
position. One finger touched a tiny hand.
He’s already in love with her, Surreal thought as
she watched him watch Jaenelle. The baby had a fuzz of black hair,
gold eyes, and light brown skin. The delicately pointed ears were
the only sign that she wasn’t purely from the long-lived
races.
“Are you disappointed
that she’s not a Queen?” Surreal asked.
The Healer had said
it might take a few days for a psychic scent to become strong
enough to identify a caste, but the words had been said to ease
possible disappointment. Surreal had known within minutes of
holding her baby that Jaenelle Saetien wasn’t a Queen. Lucivar had
known just by being in the same room with the girl, so she figured
Daemon also knew.
Daemon looked at her,
surprised. “Disappointed? No.” His eyes went back to the baby.
“Queens are the Blood’s moral center and the heart of the land.
Their will is the law, and every single person who lives in their
territory is held by their whims. But for all that, their lives are
set from the day they’re born, and their lives are never truly
their own. We need the Queens, but I’m relieved that my daughter
will be spared the weight of those duties. She can become whatever
she chooses to be.”
“I’ll remind of you
of that when she announces a new course of study that’s so
outrageous just hearing about it makes you snort coffee out your
nose.”
He let out a startled
laugh. Then his breath caught from the pain.
Surreal sighed.
“Daemon, we both need to get some sleep before she wakes up and
wants another meal.”
He nodded, clearly
unhappy.
This should have been
a wonderful day for both of them, and he shouldn’t have been
exhausted from pain and blood loss because of her.
She snugged the baby
basket up against her. “Come on, Sadi. Stretch out here and get
some sleep.”
He studied her, and
she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“There’s not much
room,” he finally said.
And if she called in
a knife, his throat would be in easy reach.
“There’s enough.” She
thought for a moment. “But it would be smart to put a light shield
along the sides so neither of us accidentally rolls off the
bed.”
He stretched out on
his left side, the head of the baby basket brushing his chest, and
put up the shields as she requested. It hurt her heart to see him
moving so carefully because of the wounds and the pain. When the
Healer came back tomorrow to check on her, she would make sure she
knew what he was supposed to do to heal fully—and she would make
sure he did it.
She looked at him,
intending to ask if he’d taken the healing brew he was supposed to
before bedtime. But Daemon was already sound asleep, his body
curved protectively around the basket holding his
daughter.