“Hell’s fire.” Surreal stepped back to let them enter her room. “What does he think we’re going to do besides eat dinner? Drive around the village, drinking sparkling wine while singing bawdy songs?”
“Now, there’s a thought,” Nurian said. “And I’ll apologize now for any remarks I may make about food you leave on your plate. I haven’t had a dinner with just adults in a long time.”
“The three of us should take a couple of days in Amdarh to go to the theater and some place that’s a female indulgence,” Surreal said.
“That would be lovely,” Marian said with a sigh. Then she called in a sealed paper and held it out. “Lucivar brought back an answer from the Keep just before I was ready to leave. And he said to tell you he’ll accept whatever arrangements you and Jillian make for her Virgin Night.”
“Do you want us to wait outside?” Nurian asked when Surreal hesitated to take the paper.
Surreal shook her head, took the message, and broke the seal.
After a brief stay at SaDiablo Hall, Wilhelmina Benedict resided on the Isle of Scelt for the rest of her life. If more information is required, the Seneschal and I suggest that the person looking for answers should begin the journey in Maghre.
—Geoffrey, historian/librarian
“Did you get the answer you wanted?” Marian asked.
Surreal handed her the paper and waited while she and Nurian read it.
“That’s . . . sparse,” Nurian said. “Wouldn’t the Keep have more information about one of the Blood?”
“I’m sure they know a great deal more than that,” Surreal replied. “But I think the answer underneath these words is this: anyone who wants to know about Wilhelmina Benedict will have to earn the information. And the first step is going to Maghre.”
As the women went out to the carriage, she wondered how Sadi was going to respond to his daughter’s request to travel to the other side of the Realm.
THIRTEEN
Daemonar dealt the cards and wondered why Lord Morris, one of the instructors teaching at the Hall, had insinuated himself into this social evening of playing cards. He couldn’t kick about an instructor being present, since Raine was also at the table, along with Mikal, Holt, and Weston, but tonight there was a forced friendliness about Morris that seemed . . . off . . . in a way that made Daemonar uneasy.
Either Uncle Daemon had missed something when he interviewed Morris for the instructor’s position, or Morris was very adept at hiding some things about his nature—even from a man who had razor-sharp instincts when it came to assessing other people.
Or whatever was off about Morris was something Uncle Daemon did know about and considered a personal flaw rather than a potential threat.
*I think he’s a gambler, and that could be the reason he resigned from his last position—although there was nothing in his references to indicate he wasn’t suitable for teaching at the Hall,* Holt told Daemonar on a personal psychic thread, as if his thoughts were following the same path. *He’s been unhappy about how strictly the betting limits are enforced when the staff play games of chance.*
*He could try his luck in Halaway,* Daemonar pointed out.
*And have someone who serves Halaway’s Queen sitting at the table, who will then make a comment to his Queen about the amounts Morris was wagering, and have her voice a concern to Prince Sadi? I don’t think Lord Morris is willing to risk that—yet.*
*We can’t control other people’s lives. Not to the extent of taking away choices.* His father and uncle were firm about that, since Warlord Princes—and Scelties—were sometimes too helpful when it came to herding someone into making the correct choice, and it required experience and training to know when to draw a line and when to let someone make their own mistakes.
*No,* Holt agreed, *but we can wonder if a man prone to making large bets—and acquiring large debts—might be tempted to sell information to cover his markers.*
Yeah, he was beginning to wonder the same thing. And he wondered if Morris had invited himself to this game tonight because Uncle Daemon was having dinner with the Queen of Halaway, her Steward, and her Consort and wouldn’t be anywhere near this part of the Hall—or be one of the men playing cards.
Whatever reason Morris had for getting into this game wouldn’t be a problem now, because of the other male who had joined them tonight. Liath wanted to learn a human card game, so the original playing cards were removed from the table, and Daemonar produced the deck of cards for hawks and hares—a card game played by Eyrien children. Since he was the only one familiar with the game, Daemonar dealt the cards while he explained the rules.
The Sceltie Warlord Prince sat on the chair to Daemonar’s left, his front paws resting on the table and his cards floating on air in front of him—and curved in a way that prevented any curious human from seeing the cards.
Did Liath assume humans would cheat? Or had he observed a human cheating?
“All right, gentlemen, here we go.” Daemonar set the remaining cards on the table and turned over the top card. It was a simple enough game, the object being to collect the most hares either by matching a pair of hares or by having a hawk “strike” and take a hare.
After the players had all taken a turn, Weston said, “Liath, I was wondering how the Scelties who are helping Prince Sadi were chosen.”
*Are you sure you want to know?* Daemonar asked Weston on a psychic thread. He used one of his hawks to “strike” a hare and took that card.
*He’s a Green-Jeweled Warlord Prince,* Weston replied. *Don’t you want to know?*
Actually, he did. The Sceltie had gone through the Offering to the Darkness, and the Green was his Jewel of rank. That maturity, compared to that of the other Scelties currently in residence, made him the pack leader. That maturity and Jewel also made him an adult male who could be reasoned with, up to a point, but who wouldn’t back down from a fight, because a Warlord Prince was a Warlord Prince whether he walked on two legs or four.
*We are needed,* Liath replied on a general communication thread they could all hear.
“Yes, but why were you chosen?” Weston asked.
Liath stared at his cards before using Craft to put down a matching hare and collect the pair. Finally he said, *There is a human girl who lives in Maghre near the Sceltie school. She was hurt when she was young. One leg doesn’t work right and she has . . . puppy brain . . . and wears a Yellow Jewel.*
Daemonar translated that to mean there had been some serious injury to the girl’s brain that the Healer wasn’t able to repair, and the girl was, in some ways, simple and most likely would never be able to do more than basic Craft.
*A bad male came to the village. Many females liked him, but Lord Kieran and other human males did not, so the Scelties kept watch over the younger females in the village, since that male wanted to sniff around them more than the adult females.*
Hell’s fire, Daemonar thought, discarding a hare and taking a card from the deck when it was his turn.
*He found the Caitie girl picking flowers in a field and tried to mate with her.* Liath put down a hare matching the one Daemonar had just discarded and collected the pair. *She was on the ground crying and didn’t want to mate, but he pushed his pants down and ripped her clothes. She said “stop” and “no,” but he didn’t, so I bit him. He screamed a lot and held his male sac. I got the Caitie girl away from him and summoned the human guards, who took him to the Healer because he was bleeding.*