*Daemonar?* Liath said. *We are ready for more meat.*
Nodding, he filled the plate with another quarter of the raw meat and used Craft to set the plate on the floor, just in case the kitten forgot his manners.
Same steps. Liath sniffing the meat and taking one chunk before Jaalan ate the rest.
Grizande had devoured every scrap of meat off the chicken leg and now eyed the rest of the chicken, her battle between hunger and manners visible on her face.
Daemonar took two biscuits out of a basket and broke them in half. He spread one side of one biscuit with a creamed cheese. He spread the other side with a thin layer of butter and . . . “This currant jam comes from Tigrelan. You won’t find it in any of the shops here. My uncle buys it directly from whoever makes the jam in your Territory, so it’s a special treat, not something that shows up on our table every day.” He set the two halves of the biscuit on a small plate and set it in front of her before fixing his own biscuit and taking a bite.
She took a small bite of the half with the creamed cheese, made a face, and set it aside. He’d bet his quarterly spending money that she wouldn’t have set it aside yesterday, whether she liked it or not.
She savored the half with the currant jam. “I not have like this. We pick berries and eat.”
“I’ve never had the berries right off the bush. Are they good?”
“Good.”
“More chicken?” When she nodded, he sliced the meat off one side of the breast and put it on her plate. Then he refilled Liath and Jaalan’s plate before forcing himself to eat a few bites. He was hungry, but he felt too tense, too tight, to put much food in his belly.
He swallowed a couple bites of chicken before easing into what he and Beale needed to know. “How did you find the Hall?”
She made a shape with her hands and said a couple of words in her own tongue.
Daemonar shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
She thought for a moment, made the shape again, and said, “Sister.” Then the two words she’d said before.
Sister. Older sister, if the female had that shape? Or . . . “Hourglass. Sister of the Hourglass. Black Widow.”
Grizande nodded. “Black Widow. Web seeing. Says Jaalan and I must find Witch home or die. Helped me. Helped us before . . .”
“Before someone came hunting for you,” Daemonar finished quietly.
She nodded. “Tigre Black Widow not know where to find Witch home. Took many days to find. Took asking many people. Some worked for bad Queens, and I had to fight to escape again. Always running from bad Queens and males who hunt. Finally found woman who knew this place. Said I find Witch home here.” She looked at the remaining food with regret and sat back in her chair as a sign that she was done eating.
He wondered if the woman who knew this place quietly sold jars of currant jam for the SaDiablo table. He didn’t know what Grizande had experienced, but he had a feeling that his father would understand all too well. “You don’t have to say more tonight. Prince Sadi will want to know all of it, but those are words for tomorrow.”
A knock on the door before Helene and Nadene walked into the room.
“This is Lady Helene, the Hall’s housekeeper,” Daemonar said. “And Lady Nadene is the Hall’s Healer.”
Grizande pushed away from the table, alarmed. “Healer?”
“A rule of the house,” Helene said briskly, as if she hadn’t noticed the girl’s rising panic. “Every guest is checked over by the Healer to assess the scrapes and bruises they have when they first arrive.” She gave Daemonar a pointed look.
“Hey,” he protested, understanding what she wanted from him. “I don’t always show up with scrapes and bruises.”
“Not anymore.” Helene sniffed. “There was a time when you couldn’t get from the landing web to the front door without looking like you’d been on a three-day march through rough country. Which is why the rule was established and has not changed.”
He turned to Grizande. “I was little.”
Damned embarrassing, but the girl almost smiled, so it was worth the price.
“House rule,” Helene repeated, holding out a hand. Then she glanced at the kitten. “Come along. Bath and bed, I think. You’ve both had a long day.”
“Welcome to the Hall, Grizande,” Daemonar said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“In morning.” Grizande hesitated a moment, then walked up to Helene and slipped her hand into the housekeeper’s. The girl’s retractable claws could rip Helene’s arm to the bone, and they all knew it—and they all pretended that nothing would frighten the girl or the kitten so much that it would happen.
Daemonar waited until two maids came in to clear the table and tidy the room. After suggesting they check the bathroom in case he’d left out some instruction their guest needed, he made his way to his own room, where he would have the privacy to release all the churning feelings he’d held back while he’d been with Grizande.
His stomach ached, but he couldn’t tell if it was because he hurt for Grizande and Jaalan or because he was hungry. He just knew he couldn’t sit at a table with children tonight, couldn’t remain civil while they speculated about Uncle Daemon’s guests. And as sure as the sun didn’t shine in Hell, he did not want to deal with Zoey.
But it looked like he was going to deal with his sister.
Titian stood in front of his bedroom door, her expression a mixture of distress and fury.
He couldn’t remember ever seeing fury before. And this display of her temper frayed the leash on his when he already felt raw.
“You owe Zoey an apology,” Titian said.
“No, I do not.”
“She’s been crying.”
“Too bad.”
Titian looked outraged. A year ago, she wouldn’t have shown that much steel. She’d had it in her, but she wouldn’t have shown it. “I’ll tell Father.”
His temper snapped the leash. “Go ahead. I gave Zoey a verbal slap for what she did. Father would have given her a fist in the ribs.”
Her mouth fell open in shock. “She was trying to help.”
“But she wasn’t helping, Titian. Her presence was causing that girl pain, and if I hadn’t stopped Zoey, Grizande might have run, because right now she’s just too tired to fight. And if she ran, she could have died.” That was one of the things that was chewing at his gut—the certainty of how close a Sapphire-Jeweled witch had come to dying because of Zoey. “Beale told Zoey he would take care of Prince Sadi’s guest. I told her we would take care of her. But Zoey was so determined to do things her way that she didn’t listen.”
Daemonar moved Titian to one side and opened his door. Then he looked at his sister. “If you want to give Zoey hugs and pat her hand and say there, there, you go right ahead. But don’t you kick at me for doing my duty to the patriarch of this family and the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan.” And my Queen. “Don’t you ever do that again.”
He walked into his bedroom and slammed the door in Titian’s face. Then he pressed his hands against his face and allowed himself to feel all the things he’d chained under the pretense of easy manners while he’d talked about food and currant jam, while he’d played the game with Helene to lighten the mood and make it possible for Grizande to trust all of them enough to receive the help she needed.
Fear. Pain. Where had this girl been that she didn’t know the common tongue among all the Blood?
Fierce. A fighter. But how long can someone fight before they have nothing left and break?