Think. She'd been afraid, and very little frightened Jaenelle. She'd been afraid, but also angry enough to consider breaking the link between spirit and body, determined enough to abandon the husk rather than submit. Think. If this was Terreille . . .
"What did you give her?" When the Warlord didn't answer, Lucivar set the edge of the war blade against the man's cheek. The skin sliced cleanly. The blood ran.
"A m-mild brew. To calm her down. She was afraid. Afraid of all of them. Especially y-you."
A stupid thing to say to a man holding a weapon large enough and sharp enough to cut through bone.
They had drugged her. Something strong enough to scramble her wits while still leaving her capable of signing the marriage contract. That still didn't explain that room.
"Afterward," Lucivar crooned. "What did you give her to prepare her for the marriage bed?" When the Warlord just stared at him, he shifted the war blade, cut a little deeper this time. "Where are the bottles?"
Panting, the Warlord waved a hand toward a nearby door.
Mephis went into the room, then returned with two small bottles.
Lucivar vanished the war blade, took one bottle, and nicked the top off. Probed the drops in the bottom. If he'd been given a drink with this in it, he wouldn't have touched it. Under normal circumstances, Jaenelle wouldn't have either.
He vanished that bottle, took the other one that was still half filled with a dark powder, and swore viciously. He knew—how well he knew!—what a large dose of safframate would do to someone of his build and weight. He could imagine the agony it would produce in Jaenelle.
He held up the bottle. "You gave her this? Then you're responsible for what's in that room."
The Warlord shook his head violently. "It's harmless. Harmless! Added to a glass of wine, it's just a variety of the Night of Fire brew. Always use a Night of Fire brew on the wedding night."
Lucivar bared his teeth in a smile. "Since it's harmless, you won't mind drinking the other dose. Mephis, get him a glass of wine."
Sweat popped out on the Warlord's forehead.
Mephis disappeared for a minute, then returned with the wine.
After pouring almost all of the dark powder into the wine, Lucivar handed the bottle to Mephis and took the wineglass. His other hand closed around the Warlord's throat. "Now, you can drink this, or I can tear your throat out. Your choice."
"W-want a hearing before the Dark Council," the Warlord whimpered.
"That's certainly within your rights," Mephis agreed quietly. He looked at Lucivar. "Are you going to tear his throat out or shall I?"
Lucivar laughed maliciously. "Wouldn't do him much good to go to the Council then, would it?" His fingers dug into the Warlord's throat.
"D-drink."
"I knew you'd be reasonable," Lucivar crooned. He loosened his hold enough to let the Warlord swallow the wine.
"Now." He threw the Warlord into the room where Mephis had found the bottles. "In order to give the Dark Council an accurate accounting, I think you should enjoy the same experience you intended for Lady Angelline." After sealing the room with an Ebon-gray shield and adding a timing spell, he turned to a man hovering nearby. "The shield will vanish in twenty-four hours."
This time he didn't have to shove his way through the crowd. They pressed against the walls to let him pass.
Mephis caught up with him before he got out of the manor house. Probing the area, he walked into the nearest empty room—someone's study. He found it grimly appropriate, even if it wasn't Saetan's.
Mephis locked the door. "That was quite a show you put on."
"The show's just started." Lucivar prowled the room. "I didn't see you trying to stop me."
"We can't afford to be publicly divided. Besides, there wasn't any point in trying to stop you. You outrank me, and I doubt you'd let brotherly feelings get in your way."
"You got that right."
Mephis swore. "Do you realize the trouble we're going to have with the Dark Council over this? We're not above the Law, Lucivar."
Lucivar stopped in front of Mephis. "You play by your rules, and I'll play be mine."
"She signed a marriage contract."
"Not willingly."
"You don't know that. And twenty witnesses say otherwise."
"I wear her Ring. I can feel her, Mephis." Lucivar's voice shook. "She was ready to break the link rather than submit to being mounted."
Mephis said nothing for a full minute. "Jaenelle has problems with physical intimacy. You know that."
Lucivar slammed his fist into the door. "Damn you! Are you so blind or have your balls dried up so much you'll submit to anything rather than have someone bleat about the SaDiablo family misusing their power? Well, I'm not blind and there's nothing wrong with my balls. She's my Queen—mine!—and rules or not, Laws or not, Dark Council or not, if someone makes her suffer, I will pay them back in kind."
They stared at each other, Lucivar breathing hard, Mephis unmoving.
Finally, Mephis slumped against the door. "We can't go through this again, Lucivar. We can't go through the fear of losing her again."
"Where is she?"
"Father took her to the Keep—with strict orders for the rest of the family to stay away."
Lucivar pushed Mephis aside. "Well, we all know how well I follow orders, don't we?"
Saetan looked like a man who had barely survived a battlefield.
Which wasn't far from the truth, Lucivar thought as he quietly closed the door of Jaenelle's sitting room at the Keep.
"My instructions were explicit, Lucivar."
The voice had no strength. The face looked gray and strained.
Lucivar pointed casually to the Birthright Red Jewels Saetan wore. "You're not going to be able to toss me out wearing those."
Saetan didn't call in the Black.
Lucivar guessed, correctly, that getting Jaenelle to the Keep in her present physical and emotional condition had drained the Black.
Saetan limped to a chair, swearing softly. He tried to lift a decanter of yarbarah from the side table. His hand shook violently.
Crossing the room, Lucivar took the decanter, filled a glass, and warmed the blood wine. "Do you need fresh blood?" he asked quietly.
Saetan stared at him coldly.
Even after all these centuries, Luthvian's accusations were still deep wounds barely scabbed over. Guardians needed fresh blood from time to time to maintain their strength. At first, Lucivar had tried to understand Saetan's anger at being offered blood hot from the vein, tried not to feel insulted that the High Lord would accept that gift from anyone but him. Now he felt annoyed that someone else's words still hung between them. He wasn't a child. If the son willingly offered the gift, why couldn't the father graciously accept it?
Saetan looked away. "Thank you, but no."
Lucivar pressed the wineglass into Saetan's hand. "Drink this."
"I want you away from here, Lucivar."
Lucivar poured a large glass of brandy for himself, booted a footstool over to Saetan's chair, and sat down. "When I walk away from here, I'm taking her with me."
"You can't," Saetan snapped. "She's . . ." He raked his fingers through his hair. "I don't think she's sane."
"Not surprising since they dosed her with safframate."
Saetan glared at him. "Don't be an ass. Safframate doesn't do that to a person."
"How would you know? You've never been dosed with it." Lucivar struggled to keep the bitterness out of his voice. This wasn't the time to worry old hurts.
"I've used safframate."
Lucivar narrowed his eyes and studied his father. "Explain."
Saetan drained his glass. "Safframate is a sexual stimulant that's used to prolong stamina, prolong one's ability to give pleasure. The seeds are the size of a snapdragon seed. You add one or two crushed seeds to a glass of wine."