“I didn’t intend to come back,” Witch said too quietly. “I didn’t expect Daemon to need me beyond my being a song in the Darkness that reminded him that he wasn’t alone and helped him stay connected to the living. Do you think this is easy, that I welcome this? Solitude is like ice, Surreal. When it’s thick and unbroken, the world beyond it is muted, a memory that can be offered gifts that reach the living in dreams. But when that solitude is smashed, like it is now? When I know the ice will have to be smashed again and again because the survival of so many now requires it, and I will be reminded again and again that I may still be heart and mind and a great deal of power, but this”—she swept a hand down to indicate her body—“is a shadow, an illusion, not flesh that can be held. Do you really think I wanted this continual contact with the living when I had every reason to believe that you and Daemon would be happy being together?”
“I . . .” Surreal looked away, aching for both of them. All of them.
“But this is where we are now, you and I—and Daemon. Married to you, he could have survived with me being nothing more than a comforting dream, and Kaeleer could have survived him without me. But a vital kind of trust has been broken and will never again be strong enough to do what it could have done. What it should have done.”
“He said his sanity is at risk.”
“It was. It is. It will be, even beyond his last day among the living.”
“All because I demanded that he leash his sexual heat.”
“Not because you demanded it, but because you didn’t believe him when he told you it was leashed.”
“Would you have believed him?”
“Yes. And then I would have looked for another reason for the change in my reaction to the heat. The knowledge was available, but neither of you asked the right questions—or asked the right people.” Witch sighed. “Some practical adjustments in your living arrangements will have to be made, and the lingering pain of the past few months will leave a coating of bitterness on your marriage that will take time to fade. You have to decide if you love him enough to give him—and yourself—that time.”
“I do love him.” She looked at Witch. When Jaenelle had walked among the living, she had made living with Daemon seem so easy. But living with that much power day after day after day wasn’t easy. Would never be easy. “What can I do?”
“You’re still his second-in-command.”
She nodded, although the words were a statement, not a question.
Witch studied her. “I made a conditional bargain with Daemon. Now I’ll make one with you. Continue being his second-in-command, whether you remain married to him or not. Continue being the buffer between him and women who would ignite his temper by trying to push themselves into his bed uninvited. In other words, do for him now what you did for him when he and I were married. In return, I will be the buffer between you and Daemon, giving him a place at the Keep where he can exercise all that he is without any constraints and also draining the Black enough to keep him, and everyone else, safe.”
Surreal looked around. “We’ll all be safe, but you’ll be reminded over and over again of how alone you are in this place.”
“Everything has a price,” Witch said quietly.
“You love him that much?”
“Daemon is worth whatever price has to be paid. That was true when I walked among the living, and it’s just as true now.” A beat of silence. “It’s time for you to go.”
“Will I see you again?”
“There are other people in easy reach who will listen if you need to talk and who can offer advice if you ask. I don’t think you’ll need to come here again.”
The light disappeared. The air turned viciously cold. But those feelings passed in a heartbeat and Surreal found herself standing in the sunken garden, staring at the statue of a woman with an achingly familiar face.
“Jaenelle,” she whispered. “Ah, sugar. I promise I’ll do my best for all of us.”
THIRTY-ONE
Daemon arrived in Little Weeble shortly after dawn. Lord Carleton greeted him effusively and beamed so much goodwill toward him he wondered if there was something wrong with Lady Perzha’s Steward—until he guessed the reason for Carleton’s pleasure.
“The shipment of yarbarah arrived?” Daemon asked.
“It did. A case of beef and a case of lamb,” Carleton replied. “I took the liberty of sampling a bottle of the lamb and am ashamed of the inferior quality of yarbarah we had been purchasing from . . . another supplier . . . and had been serving to Lady Perzha.”
“You know about supplying Perzha with fresh human blood added to the yarbarah as well as how much undiluted blood she should have each month?”
“Yes. The Queen of Ebon Askavi had provided instructions when Lady Perzha first developed her allergy to sunlight. The Lady is out on the garden terrace,” Carleton continued as he led the way. “She enjoys doing a bit of gardening before she reviews paperwork and meets with me and Prince Arrick prior to retiring until evening.”
Perzha smiled at Daemon when he reached the table where she sat looking over her garden and drinking yarbarah from a ravenglass goblet. “Please join me, Prince. There were storms all along the coast yesterday. You also had storms in Ebon Rih?”
“We did. I’m sure Prince Yaslana will be flying to each of the villages in the valley to check on the people. Is there anything I should convey to him about Little Weeble?”
“Carleton and Arrick will be doing their own assessment this morning, but I don’t believe we had any significant storm damage. Sit down, Prince. Please, sit. And mind the bucket.”
As he pulled out a chair, Daemon eyed the bucket filled two-thirds with water. Since they weren’t sitting under an awning or other kind of roof, he wondered what might be leaking.
“Carleton, have Cook prepare a plate for Prince Sadi,” Perzha said. “I’m sure he didn’t have time to eat this morning before coming to see me.”
“Thank you.” Daemon looked at Carleton. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all, Prince.” For you.
Carleton didn’t need to say it, but Daemon heard the addendum.
He and Perzha chatted about the garden until Carleton brought the tray and set the meal in front of Daemon, along with a cup and a pot of coffee. Steak, eggs, pancakes with butter and a small jug of warm syrup, and thick slices of bread toasted to perfection.
Picking up his knife and fork, he touched the stack of pancakes, looking forward to the meal.
The top pancake suddenly bulged in the center. Suckered tentacles slid out between two pancakes and felt around until they found the edge of the plate.
Daemon shoved back from the table. “Mother Night!”
Something erupted from under the pancake and swiftly flowed across the table until . . .
Plop.
. . . it went over the edge and fell into the bucket of water.
Perzha patted her chest and looked flustered. “My apologies, Prince. Our little friend escaped from his tank this morning and we’ve been looking for him everywhere. Almost everywhere. Didn’t think he would hide in the pancakes, but the little creatures have the ability to change color, and I suppose pancakes have a similar coloring to rocks or sand.”
Carefully setting the silverware on the table, Daemon leaned over to look in the bucket. Tentacles were reaching out of the water, reaching up to the rim of the bucket.
“It looks like your beastie is trying to escape from the bucket as well,” he said dryly.
“Be a dear and put a shield around the bucket.”
“Over the top?”