٭Ladvarian knew about human kinds of work,٭ she said timidly. ٭Ladvarian learned a lot of things when he lived with the Lady.٭
Ladvarian was a legend among the Scelties—the first among them to know Jaenelle Angelline, the first to serve in her court. And he was the Warlord who had gathered the kindred who had stubbornly, and against all odds, saved Witch and brought her back to the living.
Brought her back to him.
Was Morghann’s attachment to him just a sign of insecurity, or was she one of the Scelties who was inclined to learn about the human rules of business in order to help him with the school in Scelt that Jaenelle had created decades ago and he still oversaw?
She was young, but he could show her simple things—addition, subtraction—and see if she had any interest. Today, though, she needed a different kind of lesson.
“I would like you to go out and play,” he said. He felt the resistance in her body. “Khary knows how to play in snow. He knows games you can play with human children. You go outside and learn from Khary.”
٭Khary will not do a wrong thing.٭
“No, he won’t. And after you play, you can come back and keep me company while I work. I’ll show you one of the things Ladvarian learned from the Lady.”
Her confidence momentarily bolstered, Morghann trotted out of his bedroom.
Feeling the Gray presence in the next room, he wished the trouble with his wife could be fixed as easily. He knocked on the door between their rooms and waited for Surreal’s permission to enter—and wondered if he’d receive that permission. She finally used Craft to open the door in silent invitation.
“I have a meeting in Halaway,” Surreal said as she tossed a dress with its matching calf-length coat on the bed.
He almost said that a meeting wasn’t listed on the schedule of engagements that Holt kept for both of them, but he didn’t want her making up an excuse for why the meeting wasn’t listed or, worse, lying to him about whom she was meeting.
He didn’t understand what was happening with her. The woman who hadn’t hesitated to aim a crossbow at him a few months ago to make sure she had his undivided attention when they needed to talk was now unwilling to give him a straight answer about anything that touched on her thoughts or feelings. Her emotions were a maelstrom, especially in bed. She hid it well on the surface, but he’d always gone below the surface to gauge the mood of a lover, and she was anger coiled with lust. She didn’t want tenderness anymore, even when he wanted to give it, needed to receive it. She still wanted—still demanded—sex, but she didn’t want to make love.
“I hope the meeting isn’t too tedious.” He stepped close to her, bent his head to give her a light kiss on the lips—and felt her flinch.
٭Daemon!٭ Lucivar, reaching for him.
He raised his head and noted Surreal’s furious relief, but he focused on his brother.
٭Daemon!٭
He took a step back. Lucivar sounded upset. Frightened. Nothing could frighten the Ebon-gray except . . .
“Sadi?” Surreal said.
“I have to go to Ebon Rih.” He hurried to his bedroom, intending to grab some clothes, aware that Surreal had followed him to the doorway. Then . . .
٭High Lord. Please.٭
Daemon stopped. Let his brother’s fear and those words—those words—settle as a weight on his shoulders. Only one reason why Lucivar Yaslana, reaching out and afraid, would request the High Lord of Hell.
“Daemon, what’s wrong?” Surreal entered his bedroom and grabbed his arm. She studied his face, his eyes. “Marian?”
“I think so.”
“What can I do?”
At least in this they were still partners. “Have Jazen pack a couple of changes of clothes for me, and tell him to add additional clothing suitable for staying at the eyrie. And fetch Manny. Tell her she’s needed at Lucivar’s home.”
“There are Eyrien women who can handle the children.”
“I’m sure there are, but none of them will be able to handle Lucivar.”
Daemon rushed through the corridors. The servants who saw him must have alerted Beale and Holt, because both were waiting in the front hall.
“Prince?” Beale asked.
“My presence is required at Prince Yaslana’s eyrie,” Daemon said as Holt helped him into his winter coat. “I may be there a few days.”
“Prince Yaslana asked for your presence?” Beale asked quietly.
He looked his butler in the eyes, understanding Beale’s question. Very few people knew for sure that he had become the High Lord of Hell when Saetan embraced the final death and became a whisper in the Darkness, but Lord Beale, the Red-Jeweled butler at SaDiablo Hall, was one of them.
“Not his brother’s presence,” Daemon replied just as quietly. “Mine.”
Beale dipped his head in acknowledgment.
Daemon walked out of the Hall, went to the landing web, and caught the Black Wind to ride to Ebon Rih.
The land looked bleached of all color to the point that there were barely shades of gray. It looked . . . faded. It looked like Marian felt, like all the vitality that had once filled the land had been siphoned off, leaving little more than a failing memory of what it had been.
She remembered falling, but she didn’t remember landing. Didn’t remember how she’d come to be in this lost, fading place.
Then she heard the voice, the song. The song wasn’t familiar, but she remembered that voice. Recognized that voice.
Not knowing what else to do, Marian followed the voice until she reached a cascade of black water spilling into a warm pool.
Surreal wasn’t sure what to say when Tersa walked into Manny’s cottage carrying a cloth travel bag. Since it wasn’t likely that Tersa would think to pack clothes, the Darkness only knew what was in the bag.
“My boy will need me,” Tersa said. “The winged boy will need me.”
She couldn’t argue with that. If Lucivar’s call for help was an indication that Marian’s illness had taken a turn for the worse, she would need all the assistance she could get to deal with Yaslana’s emotions. She’d been too caught up in her own grief—and the aftermath of the first night she’d spent with Daemon—to remember what Lucivar had been like when his father died. By the time she’d seen him, her pregnancy was the paramount concern, and Lucivar had been Lucivar—arrogant, demanding, and ready to stand on a killing field if that was what it took to protect someone who was a member of their family.
Manny walked into the front room with her own cloth travel bag, looked at Tersa’s, and said, “Mikal.”
Hell’s fire. She’d forgotten about the boy. Not forgotten, exactly, but she hadn’t known Tersa would be coming with her, so no provision had been made for the boy.
٭Holt,٭ she called. ٭Mikal needs to stay at the Hall for a few days. Tell him Manny and Tersa have gone with me to Ebon Rih.٭
٭We’ll take care of him,٭ Holt assured her.
She hustled the two older women into the small Coach she’d chosen for this trip. It was meant for short distances and didn’t have a toilet or sink. Hopefully no one would need such amenities.
Or was she hoping for an excuse to delay their arrival by needing to set down in a village somewhere to accommodate an older woman’s personal needs?
When had she become a coward?
When? It had happened on the day she’d realized that Daemon Sadi changed into the Sadist every time he saw her, spoke to her, made her desperate for him to take her.
Tortured her.
Lucivar knew the moment the Black arrived in Ebon Rih, knew by Daemon’s psychic scent that his brother had understood the message. By the time he reached the front room, the High Lord of Hell walked into his home—but it was his brother who reached out and held him.