Mother Night. “Then you need to decide if you can accept that she is the reason he can be with you.”
“I—”
Marian wondered what Surreal might have said if Lucivar hadn’t returned to the eyrie at that exact moment.
Lucivar felt Surreal’s Gray power in his home and wondered why she had returned to Ebon Rih instead of staying at the Hall or going to the SaDiablo town house in Amdarh to get some rest and have time to think.
Then she walked into the front room, looking exhausted and resigned, and he knew why she’d returned.
“Can we talk?” she asked quietly.
“Sure.” A swift probe of the eyrie told him the location of the yappy horde. He opened the glass doors that led out to the walled yard. “Let’s talk out here.”
As he walked to the very end of the yard, where he’d helped Marian build a decorative pool that was fed by a stream flowing down the mountain, he directed a psychic thread to his wife. ٭Anything I should know about Surreal?٭
٭She says Witch has come back because she failed somehow. Is that true?٭
٭Daemon asked his Queen for help and she answered.٭ He ended the connection so that he could focus on the woman standing beside him.
“I thought the Sadist was playing with me,” Surreal said. “I made a mistake.”
“Yeah, you did. A couple of them.” Lucivar studied her. “I doubt it was the first mistake you’ve made with him, and I’m certain it won’t be the last. I know I’ve done my share of stupid things where he’s concerned, and he’s done his share with me. You live around someone long enough, it will happen. If you want to stay with him, you’ll work through it.”
“So we’ll go home and everything will be the way it was.”
“No, witchling. It will never be the way it was,” Lucivar said gently. “You have this between you now as part of your history together. There’s been hurt on both sides. That changes things. Maybe a little, maybe a lot. Either way, things will never be the same as they were. You break or build from here.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
“Yes, I am.” Lucivar looked at the valley below and the village of Riada. He could feel the Black, knew Daemon was still at the communal eyrie or at least nearby. But he couldn’t feel Witch’s power, which was why, despite his suspicions about who gave Daemonar advice, he hadn’t known for sure that some part of her was still with them until he’d walked into the Queen’s section of the Keep.
“Are you angry with me?”
He smiled. “Nah.” He reached out and tucked her hair behind one delicately pointed ear. “Go home, Surreal. Get some rest. Daemon and I have a couple more things to take care of. Then I’ll kick his ass back to Dhemlan.”
She turned to go, then stopped. “The Gray can’t survive against the Black.”
“Neither can the Ebon-gray. Never could. Your head has known that for all the years you’ve known him. But now the truth of that has settled in your gut. He feels different when his power—and the Sadist—are leashed. Almost . . . civilized. He’s never civilized under the surface, any more than I am, but it’s easy to forget that. Daemon makes it easy to forget that because he yields to others in his own household, deals with them without bringing the Jewels, or anything else, into play. Saetan did the same thing for the same reason—to live in a house where he wasn’t feared.” When she didn’t say anything, he added, “When he gets home, point a crossbow at him. It will make him feel loved.”
She laughed, as he’d hoped she would. Then she walked away.
“Don’t forget the Scelties,” he called when she reached the glass doors.
“Take a piss in the wind, Yaslana,” she replied.
The Black arrived on his doorstep. Lucivar ran to catch up with Surreal so she wouldn’t face Daemon alone. They walked in from the yard just as Daemon opened the front door and entered.
No surprise at seeing Surreal. Then again, Daemon would have known the Gray was present just as he’d known.
“Surreal,” Daemon said.
“Sadi.” A beat of silence. “I was packing. Jaenelle Saetien and I will head home in about an hour.”
Lucivar watched Daemon, whose leashes were in place. Not as firmly held as they used to be, which was something everyone would have to accommodate, but Sadi was in control of every aspect of himself, including his feelings. Especially his feelings.
“If you could postpone leaving for a day or two, we could use your help,” Daemon said.
“I don’t need help skinning the prick-ass, but I’m willing to share,” Lucivar said.
“Skinning the . . .” Surreal looked at the two men. “What happened?”
“Jillian and Dillon had a disagreement,” Lucivar said. “He got a knee to the balls and a fist in the face. She has bruised knuckles.”
“If what Dillon says is true, this is more serious than one boy,” Daemon said too softly.
In that softness, Lucivar heard a whisper of the Sadist slipping into a cold rage. Feeling the tension in Surreal, he knew she heard it too.
“What do we need to do?” he asked.
“Three lists.” Daemon called in three sheets of paper. “The girls Dillon played, the girls who used him, and the other young men whose reputations were ruined, either directly or indirectly, by Lady Blyte, who was the bitch who was Dillon’s first love.” He held them out to Surreal.
She took the papers with a steady hand, as if she didn’t feel the cold temper swirling in the room. “I get first pick?” She scanned the lists. “I’ll talk to the girls Dillon had . . . persuaded . . . to love him. Anything in particular you want to know?”
“What harm was done—and how well the girls recovered,” Daemon replied.
“I’ll take the other men whose reputations were ruined,” Lucivar said. He looked at Daemon and added on a spear thread, ٭You would have a better feel for bitches who like to play sex games, so you take that list.٭
“You won’t find one of the men on that list,” Daemon said. “I was told to look for him in Hell.” When Lucivar met his eyes, he said, “I’m sorry, Lucivar.”
He’d known this day might come. “Everything has a price.”
Surreal didn’t ask, and for that, he was grateful. He needed to talk to Marian before anyone else.
“We head out, talk to people, and report back here each evening,” Lucivar said. “No excuses, no exceptions.”
Daemon raised an eyebrow.
“We’re about to kick a lot of hornets’ nests, Bastard. Word is going to spread fast after we start, so it’s either reporting back or going in with Eyrien guards.”
“Well, that will make everyone eager to talk to us,” Surreal said.
They looked at her.
“I can take care of myself.” She gave them a sharp smile. “I’m good with a knife, remember?”
“And a crossbow,” Lucivar said. “We’re not likely to forget. That doesn’t change anything, witchling. My Territory, my rules.”
“Your . . . ?” She stared at him, and he knew the moment she understood what was about to change and what that would mean for him and Marian and their children. Then she nodded. “Okay, sugar. Your rules.”
“I’m going to contact Manny, see if she’s willing to stay here a while,” Lucivar said. “I’d like someone to be here with Marian while we’re checking the names on those lists, and Jillian needs some time to herself.”
“Sadi? If you have a moment?” Surreal asked.
Lucivar walked out of the front room.
Surreal had hit an unexpected patch of rough air that had thrown her into a free-fall spin. Could have caused serious, permanent damage, but this task would help her through it. She just had to find the courage to fly again—and she would. Even if she didn’t realize it yet—or appreciate it yet—Witch would help her find her balance by helping Daemon maintain his own balance.