“You know he’ll ask you if you ate anything, and you know you can’t lie to him,” Marian said quietly. “If he was willing to use Craft to pin his sister’s chair to the table and keep her there until she ate enough to satisfy him, he won’t hesitate to do the same to you.”
Lucivar’s sister had been Jaenelle Angelline, the Queen of Ebon Askavi. Jaenelle could have exploded Lucivar’s defensive shields and torn him to pieces, despite his Ebon-gray Jewels, but he still was willing to fight her into the ground if he thought she was ignoring anything she needed to do to stay healthy. Which made no sense, on the one hand, since that kind of fight would have left both of them badly injured—or worse. But knowing he was willing to do exactly that usually had the Queen backing down or negotiating a compromise.
Unlike Jaenelle Angelline, she wasn’t powerful and she wasn’t a Queen. She’d have no chance to make her own choices if Lucivar started paying that much attention to her.
Jillian took a small bite of her sandwich. Marian smiled in sympathy and shooed her out of the kitchen.
“I’ll be back in the afternoon to help with the baby,” Jillian promised.
She collected Titian, ignored Daemonar’s surly looks, and made them wait—him especially, since he’d been the one who had tattled to his father—until she finished her sandwich. Then they flew to the eyrie that had been converted into a small school.
Lucivar’s chest tightened as he watched Marian walk into the laundry room. His darling hearth witch was ill, and there was no denying it even if he pretended along with her that it was just something that happened sometimes after a hard birthing and she would recover.
Pretending because that’s what she needed from him didn’t mean he wasn’t acutely aware of every aspect of his wife’s health—and would fight her with everything in him if that’s what he had to do to keep her safe. To keep her with him.
“I don’t know what to do for the girl,” he said as she wrapped her arms around his waist and settled against him. “How can I help her if she can’t tell me what’s wrong?”
“She’s not a girl,” Marian replied. “She can sense the sexual heat now, so she’s not a girl.”
“Well, as sure as the sun doesn’t shine in Hell, she isn’t old enough to be considered a woman.” He tried, unsuccessfully, to keep temper and frustration out of his voice. Marian didn’t need either of those things. Not from him.
She looked up at him and smiled. “Is that transformation from boy to man as hard on your gender as girl to woman is for mine?”
“Not a question I’m going to answer.” When she laughed, he rested his forehead against hers. “She kissed Tamnar, which Rothvar and I already figured out. Kissed him without permission, which explains some of her moodiness and the boy’s lack of concentration when he’s been sparring.”
“It was mutual, wasn’t it?” Marian sounded concerned. “I can’t imagine Jillian taking advantage of a boy—and certainly not a Warlord she’s grown up with.”
“It was mutual, but I think Tamnar is going to be disappointed if he hopes Jillian will continue to help him practice his kissing technique.”
“There aren’t any other Eyriens their age,” Marian said.
“I know that.” Just as he knew how limited the choices were for his own children finding Eyrien partners.
“Did you know what you wanted to be at her age?”
“I wanted to survive.” By the time he was Jillian’s age, he’d realized that wasn’t something he could take for granted. He was a half-breed bastard in the Eyrien hunting camps, and every man in those camps wanted to put him in the dirt, wanted him to believe he was nothing. Problem was that the boy was already a better fighter than most of them, and the boy grew up fast and hard and deadly. “I’m a Warlord Prince. We’re born to fight—and to kill.”
“I had dreams when I was her age,” Marian said quietly. “I wanted to get out of the Black Valley, wanted to get away from the drudgery of caring for my mother and sisters, since they made it clear that my being a hearth witch was a family embarrassment and I was beneath their notice—unless I didn’t do a chore they wanted done right that instant.”
“Bitches,” he said just as quietly. He hadn’t met any of Marian’s family. He still hoped they would be foolish enough someday to come to Ebon Rih and try to contact her. Even if they weren’t that foolish, they would die eventually, if they hadn’t been swept away decades ago in Witch’s purge of the Realms, and then they would end up having a chat with his brother.
“Being a hearth witch, there are skills I’ve had since I was very young, and there is work that attracts me. So my dreams had a shape. But Jillian is a young witch who hasn’t found her passion yet, and I think this valley is starting to feel small. She doesn’t fit in with the Rihlander girls who are her equivalent age. She might one day, but she doesn’t now.”
“What am I supposed to do? Let her be moody and unhappy?”
Marian rose on her toes and gave him a light kiss on the lips. “For now.”
Lucivar studied the concern in her gold eyes. “What?”
“Are you going to check on your brother today?”
“Wasn’t planning to. I have a full day of work in Ebon Rih. Besides, if I show up today, he’ll think I’m worried about him.”
“Aren’t you?”
He sighed. “Yeah. I am. But that’s not something I can tell him.” Just like I can’t say how much I’m worried about you.
“You could tell him that Nurian asked how he was feeling and if he’d like her to make up another batch of those healing herbs for him to take when the headache is just coming on.”
“I’m not going to lie to him, Marian.”
“It wouldn’t be a lie if you actually asked her.”
That would give him an excuse to see Nurian and ask about other things as well. “I can do that.”
She gave him another kiss and stepped back. “You’re lingering and about to start fussing. Go to work, Lucivar.”
“I’ll bring something from The Tavern for the midday meal.” She would “forget” to eat during the day if he wasn’t there, so he made sure he swung back home to feed her. She was still nursing the baby and he could see the weight slipping off her—weight she couldn’t afford to lose.
He flew to the communal eyrie, where Rothvar and the other men waited for him to review the day’s list of duties. Once the other men headed out, he flew to Nurian’s eyrie.
“Prince Sadi?” she asked as soon as Lucivar entered the room where she made her tonics and healing brews.
“He’s fine as far as I know. I just wanted to check if he could get another batch of those herbs. . . .”
“He’s run out already?” Nurian sounded alarmed. “I gave him enough to make up several healing brews. If he’s run out—”
Lucivar raised a hand to stop her. “I just wanted to let him know you would do that if he needs more.” His eyes narrowed as he watched the tension leave her shoulders.
“Of course,” she said. “My apologies, Prince. I made the mixture strong, since his headaches were so severe, and it shouldn’t be used in excess.” She thought for a moment. “And it shouldn’t be used by anyone else. You would be all right with that mixture, but not anyone who wears a Jewel lighter than Ebon-gray.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t leave the jar unshielded, but I’ll have a word with his valet just to be safe. Right now, I’d like to encourage him to use the stuff, but I’ll say something to him if it looks like he’s using more than he should.” He gave Nurian that lazy, arrogant smile. “Now, Healer, is there something I should know about my wife?”