“Could we talk?” Zoey sounded tearful.
Why wasn’t Titian with Zoey? For that matter, where was Allis? Shit. Was Titian holding on to Allis to prevent the Sceltie from biting one of the other Queens for upsetting her special friend Zoey?
“Of course,” he replied automatically as he sent out a quiet tendril of Green power to try to identify what scratched at his instincts. With Uncle Daemon being away this evening, anything unknown couldn’t be shrugged off—not when there were five young Queens in residence.
His Green probe brushed against . . . Power. Female. Sapphire.
And an unknown Warlord Prince.
“Zoey, go back to your room,” Daemonar said. He pointed at the other four Warlord Princes. “You go back to the Queen’s square and stand guard. And alert the other boys to stay sharp for any strangers in that part of the Hall.”
Moving at a fast walk, the boys headed back the way they’d come.
“What’s going on?” Zoey trotted after Daemonar as he headed for the great hall.
*Weston! You’re needed at Zoey’s square of rooms,* Daemonar called on a spear thread. Then to the Queen dogging his heels he said, “Hell’s fire, Zoey. Go back to your room and stay near Weston.”
“Tell me what’s going on! Can I help?”
She sounded desperate to do something, prove something. What she needed was quiet time for her emotions to settle. What he needed was her staying out of the way so that he could help Beale with . . . whatever.
“No, you can’t help.” He didn’t know what was going on, but he sensed Liath heading in the same direction, and he felt Beale’s Red presence in the great hall. He couldn’t get a feel for the unknown Warlord Prince’s strength, and that was a worry, because that Sapphire witch could be serious trouble, even for two Green-Jeweled Warlord Princes.
He rushed down the stairs in the informal receiving room so fast, he had to spread his wings to maintain his balance. As he approached the door that opened to the great hall, he looked over his shoulder and snapped at Zoey, “Stay back.”
Top of his list for tomorrow’s lessons was a frank discussion of how to get a Queen to do what you needed her to do without smacking her head against a wall to encourage her brain to work.
Stepping into the great hall, Daemonar glanced at Beale. Liath was nearby. Probably sight shielded. Good.
A knock on the Hall’s front door. Almost timid, considering the person knocking wore Sapphire.
At Beale’s nod, a footman opened the door and stepped aside.
Daemonar sucked in a breath.
A girl walked into the great hall. Tawny skin with dark stripes. A dark mane that wasn’t quite hair and wasn’t quite fur. Hands that had retractable claws. And a Sapphire Jewel hanging from a gold chain around her neck.
Mother Night, she’s one of the Tigre.
Walking in next to her was a tiger. Still a kitten who wasn’t old enough to have gone through the ceremony to acquire his Birthright Jewel.
As for the girl, Daemonar guessed her to be the equivalent of Titian’s age, whatever that was in years for this short-lived race. She trembled visibly, and he wasn’t sure if that was from fear or exhaustion.
Taking his cue from Beale, he stayed still and quiet, giving the girl and kitten a chance to settle. And she was settling as she looked around the great hall. Every breath she took seemed to be telling her something that reassured her.
“She lived here,” the girl said softly. “Power still here. I was told go this place for . . . help. For . . . safety.”
No question about who she was. Not when Witch’s hands and gold mane must have come from the Tigre, whose dreams, so many generations ago, had been part of the making of the living myth.
Then bright, eager Zoey shoved past him and said, “Hello. I’m Zoey. Can we help you?”
The girl recoiled and looked ready to bolt—or attack. She bared her teeth and hissed. So did the kitten. They’d been fine as long as they were dealing with him and Beale, and everyone was quiet, but something about Zoey was seen as a threat. That she was a Queen?
“We’ll take care of it, Lady Zoela,” Beale said, his voice quiet but carrying through the great hall—and leaving no doubt the words were a command given by a Red-Jeweled Warlord who was, at that moment, representing Prince Sadi.
“We shouldn’t leave her standing there,” Zoey protested. “She can come with—”
“We’ll take care of it.” Daemonar kept his voice quiet so the girl and tiger wouldn’t panic and run, but there was a knife-sharp warning in his tone.
The girl took a step back, shaking her head, her hands flexing to reveal her claws. The footman hadn’t closed the door, probably on Beale’s orders. You didn’t close in someone who was that strong and that frightened. The tiger might be a kitten, but he was also a Warlord Prince who would attack if he felt threatened.
And still Zoey persisted. “She can—”
Everything has a price.
Grabbing Zoey’s arm, Daemonar shoved her back into the informal receiving room, spreading his wings to block anyone from seeing more than his back.
“If you don’t want to find out just how mean I can be, stop being a nosy brat and do as you’re told. Go. To. Your. Room. Now.”
She looked as shocked as if he’d given her a fist in the face. Then she turned and ran, stumbling up the stairs before she headed in the direction of her bedroom—and the comfort and sympathy of her friends.
Having returned to the great hall and the girl who might be a threat or was in desperate need of help, Daemonar waited. When he didn’t get the feeling that the girl would bolt, he said, “I’m Daemonar Yaslana.”
“Yaslana.” She stared at him, then frowned. “Lu-ci-var.”
“My father.” He wondered what stories the people in Tigrelan told about Lucivar Yaslana.
The tension in her eased, so he must be saying the right things.
She called in two sheets of paper and held them out. “We have bloodlines.”
Beale was the dominant male at the Hall right now. By rights he should be dealing with her. She should be dealing with him. But the butler remained watchful and quiet, letting him take the lead.
Daemonar moved toward her slowly. Before he was close enough to take the papers, the kitten lashed out, his claws just missing Daemonar’s legs.
That’s when Liath dropped the sight shield and growled at the tiger, his Green power demanding that this oversized fur ball acknowledge his dominance.
The girl froze. So did Daemonar. If the tiger was willing to challenge him . . .
The kitten made unhappy sounds, then rolled over to expose his belly. Liath sniffed the tiger thoroughly before giving the kitten a lick between the eyes.
Well, Daemonar thought. I guess we all know whose orders the kitten will follow.
Taking a step toward the girl, he accepted the papers and scanned the names, feeling a jolt as he came to two names he knew from his study of Kaeleer’s history—and his study of the Dark Court that had stood at Ebon Askavi. He felt another jolt when he recognized a name in the tiger’s bloodlines.
“You’re Lady . . . ?”
“Grizande. Named for Tigre Queen who served living myth. He is Jaalan.”
No doubt given that name because the kitten could trace his bloodline back to Jaal, the Green-Jeweled Warlord Prince who had also served in the Dark Court. A shadow of that Jaal sometimes roamed the Hall, along with a shadow of Kaelas, the white-furred Arcerian Warlord Prince who had also served, and loved, Witch.
“Prince?” Beale said. “A room has been prepared for your guests, and a meal will be waiting in the sitting room for all of you by the time you get there.”