She hesitated. “I’ve told you everything I know, Prince. I won’t deny that I’m concerned, but Marian isn’t the only woman whose recovery after having a baby has taken longer than is usual. It happens. There is nothing for me to heal, nothing to mend.”
“She’s fading, Nurian. She’s hidden it well, but she’s fading.”
“I know. All I can recommend is food and rest—and time to let her body heal on its own.”
He wasn’t sure that would be enough, but he knew Nurian was doing everything she could—and he suspected everything she could do wouldn’t be enough.
As he stood in front of Nurian’s eyrie, he looked toward the mountain called Ebon Askavi. A century ago, there had been someone else he could have asked for help, would have asked. But maybe there was someone there now who could help. It wasn’t his place to challenge visitors who came to the Keep. The vast library and historical records drew scholars and historians from all the Territories in the Realm. However, the appearance of someone wearing a Gray Jewel was bound to catch his attention.
His visit to the Keep didn’t take more than a handful of minutes to confirm that, yes, Lady Karla was now in residence and would be staying for the foreseeable future.
He didn’t think Draca could actually foresee the future, but considering who and what she was, he wouldn’t have bet on it. Didn’t matter at the moment. The sun was up, which meant Karla, being demon-dead, was at rest until the sun went down. He would return then, since Karla had not only been a Queen and a Black Widow; she’d been a strong Healer who had learned some of her healing Craft from Jaenelle Angelline.
Nothing he could do right now for Daemon or Marian, so he dealt with the work of ruling Ebon Rih. If worry was the whip that pushed him to work harder, to work until his body ached with fatigue, it was no one’s business but his own.
Daemon knocked on the door and waited to be acknowledged before entering Surreal’s bedroom. Staying near the door, he tucked his hands in his trouser pockets and watched her transfer the folded clothes on the bed into a trunk.
“Going somewhere?” he asked quietly.
“I’m going to check on the family’s other estates,” she replied, not looking at him.
“Again?”
“Yes. Again. I’ll be back in a few days.”
Will you be home and back under my protection before your moon’s blood begins to flow? He’d done a quick calculation that morning while he was in the shower and wondered if her mood last night—and apparently this morning—had a simple explanation. While she should be safe at any of the SaDiablo estates, she knew it was easier for him to allow other males to be around her during the vulnerable days if she was here at the Hall or staying at the family’s town house in Amdarh, where he could count on the staff to assist in protecting her.
He studied her stiff movements, which usually meant she was primed for a fight. It wouldn’t be prudent to mention her moontime, but perhaps he could make things easier for her.
“Would you like help draining some of the power from your Gray Jewel?” he asked. Since she couldn’t use her power during those first three days of her moontime, her Jewels needed enough of the reservoir of power drained to make room for the power that needed to be channeled out of her body.
“No, I already took care of that.” She looked up from her packing but didn’t quite look at him. “But thanks for the offer.”
She’d already drained the Gray? How?
“Surreal.” He took a step toward her, then stopped when she instantly snapped to attention, her right hand curling as if holding a sight-shielded weapon. Which was quite possible. “What’s wrong?”
“What could be wrong?” she countered.
That evasion instead of giving him a straight answer confirmed that there was something wrong, because Surreal didn’t evade. Something wrong with her? Was she hiding a secret from him for the same reason he was hiding the severity of his headaches from her? Because neither of them wanted to add another problem to a marriage that was turning sour?
“You’re running away. That’s not like you.”
“Maybe I don’t want to get in the middle of this ongoing pissing contest you’re having with Jaenelle Saetien over nutcakes,” she snapped.
“It’s not about nutcakes. It’s about an attitude she’s trying on that can’t be allowed to continue.”
“Whatever it’s about, I don’t want to deal with it. Is that clear enough?”
“Very.” His voice cooled, his temper responding to hers. “My apologies for disturbing you. Have a pleasant journey.”
She picked up a stack of underclothes and threw them into the trunk. Then she wrapped a hand around the bedpost, as if she needed help staying on her feet.
Daemon crossed the room and had her in his arms before she drew another breath. They sat on the side of the bed, silent, while Surreal shuddered with the effort to regain control.
“I’m all right.” She pushed at him, but he didn’t let her go. “Sadi, I’m all right.”
“Would you like to try a more believable lie?”
She hesitated. “I don’t want to fight.”
“Since when?”
She laughed, but it was a reluctant sound. “I just need some time on my own. That’s all.”
“You would tell me if this was something more?” he asked quietly.
“Of course.”
She should have known better than to lie to him when he was holding her, when he was so attuned to her body and her emotions.
He kissed her cheek and left her bedroom, then went down to his study to review paperwork and write a brief note to Beron, warning him that Manny and Mrs. Beale would be expecting him to bring his appetite when he came to visit. He seldom worried about the young Warlord, who had resided in Amdarh ever since Beron had been deemed old enough to live on his own and study to be an actor. Understanding how fast the leash could be tightened if he didn’t keep in touch with the patriarch of the family, Beron had always been a good correspondent. And while he had his own lodgings, he took advantage of the SaDiablo town house, staying over at least one night a week, which guaranteed he would be well fed for one evening meal and the next day’s breakfast. It also guaranteed that Daemon would hear any significant gossip or concerns about Beron, since Helton, the town house’s butler, would report any activity or association that might endanger the young man’s well-being.
Daemon hesitated. Should he ask Beron to spend a few extra days at the family’s town house when it was most likely that Surreal would be staying there? Helton would defend Surreal with everything in him, but it would be easier on everyone who had to deal with a Black-Jeweled temper if there was a male member of the family in residence during Surreal’s moontime.
He felt the absence of the Gray and knew the moment when his wife and second-in-command stepped on the stone landing web in front of the Hall and caught one of the Winds to ride to whichever estate was her first destination. Still, he waited for Beale to enter his study and inform him that Lady Surreal had left.
“Jaenelle Saetien has gone to school?” he asked.
“She has.” Beale waited a beat before adding, “The young Lady was keenly disappointed in the lack of breakfast pastries this morning, which I’m sure you’ll notice when you come in for your own breakfast.”
Daemon set his pen in its holder and sat back. “Is this lack of pastries because of my instructions not to provide dessert or treats, or did Jaenelle Saetien do something to piss off Mrs. Beale?”
“The young Lady made one or two imprudent remarks.”
Hell’s fire. Maybe Surreal had the right idea when it came to abandoning this particular field of battle. Except he couldn’t. Wouldn’t.