Daemon and Lucivar walked through the corridors side by side, the dominant Warlord Princes in the Realm of Kaeleer. The predators who had no rivals.
He didn’t usually think of them that way, didn’t usually see them that way. They were his father and uncle, and usually when they were together it was for family, and there was an easiness to being around them. As he followed a couple of steps behind them, he saw them as the rest of the Blood must see them. Ruthless. Merciless. Power and temper controlled by a Queen who was no longer flesh but was still the will that commanded their lives.
As she commanded his.
Witch’s public return had shaken the entire Realm. The High Lord of Hell and the Demon Prince might be her weapons, but her power eclipsed theirs in ways no one could measure—except in remembering the purge that had destroyed all the Blood who had been tainted by Dorothea and Hekatah SaDiablo. And he’d heard a few whispers of warnings issued by Black Widows who had looked for answers in dreams and visions. No matter what she had been when she’d walked among the living, Witch, the living myth, was more ruthless, less merciful, and far more feral than her weapons, and it was in everyone’s best interest not to give the Lady who resided in the Keep a reason to look too closely at the living.
She was feared now in ways she hadn’t been feared before, but she was still his Queen and, more important, she was still his beloved Auntie J.
They slowed when they reached the Black shield that closed off one side of the corridor with the weird window.
Lucivar looked over his shoulder at Daemonar and said, “Shield.”
As soon as Daemonar wrapped himself in a Green defensive shield, Lucivar shielded in Ebon-gray and Daemon shielded in Black. Then Daemon dropped the shield blocking that side of the corridor, and the two men slowly walked to the window, with Daemonar still a couple of steps behind them.
“This one?” Lucivar asked quietly.
Daemon nodded. “Storm passed, so it might not respond.”
“Did you hear what the window said?” Daemonar asked.
“I heard,” Lucivar replied. He curled his right hand into a fist and raised it so that the Ebon-gray Jewel in his ring pointed at the window. Then he drew in a breath and let out an Eyrien battle cry enhanced by enough Craft to rattle all the windows in that part of the Hall.
The sensation of dark power, sluggish yet slithery, before the voices in the window roared in answer to Lucivar’s battle cry. Then . . .
Nothing.
Daemonar breathed out a sigh of relief. “Is it gone?”
“No,” Lucivar said darkly. “It isn’t gone. It moved.” He turned and looked at his son.
Daemon looked at Daemonar.
Daemonar took a step back and raised his hands. “I didn’t do it. Any of it.”
Lucivar stared at him a little too long before looking at Daemon. “The pup doesn’t have that kind of skill, and there’s nothing in that spell that felt like the Green.”
“But it definitely moved from this window to . . . where?” Daemon asked.
“Good question, old son. And a question you need answered in a hurry.”
“Mother Night,” Daemon said quietly.
“Yeah. You need more help than I can give you, so you know what you have to do.”
Daemon sighed.
“My advice? Start with piss and vinegar. Let Jaenelle and Karla work to calm you down.”
Daemon looked at Lucivar. “You don’t know that this has anything to do with them.”
“With those voices?” Lucivar laughed. “Hell’s fire, Bastard, are you that naive?”
As they went back to Daemon’s suite, Daemonar wondered what Sadi would have said to Lucivar if he hadn’t remembered there was a youngster with them.
He was pretty sure he would have learned some interesting new words.
As soon as Daemon caught the Black Winds and headed for Ebon Askavi, Lucivar headed for the butler’s pantry, which was Beale’s domain. Maids and footmen were stirring now. So were the youngsters who were apprenticing under Mrs. Beale, may the Darkness have mercy on them.
Barely a month into this arrangement of the Hall becoming a training ground for promising witches, Warlords, and Warlord Princes of all kinds of professions—including Queens, Black Widows, and Healers who might be targets for Blood with malevolent ambitions—and he and Daemon were looking at challenges. Well, Daemon was looking at challenges. He was there to watch his brother’s back—and to make sure that this arrangement didn’t undermine Daemon’s sanity.
He found Beale and Mrs. Beale in the butler’s pantry, along with Helene, the Hall’s head housekeeper, reviewing the tasks and assignments for the day.
“Good morning,” Lucivar said, staying in the doorway. No space to maneuver with three people already in that room.
“Prince Yaslana,” Beale said. “I wasn’t aware you were here.”
“Arrived very early.” Bracing himself, Lucivar looked Mrs. Beale in the eyes and tipped his head in greeting.
Mrs. Beale had already had a fearsome reputation despite wearing a Yellow Jewel. Her wearing one of the lighter Jewels didn’t mean much, because she was a large, strong woman who brought her well-honed meat cleaver to any and every meeting she had with members of the SaDiablo family. After the coven of malice’s attack on guests at the Hall, she had become a terrifying fascination for the youngsters who had applied to work in her kitchens because her meat cleaver, which she’d used to kill one of the evil girls, had a kiss engraved on one side—a kiss made by Daemon Sadi’s lips as a thank-you for her part in defending the Hall and the girls who had been under attack.
She stared at him too long for comfort before saying, “You and the Prince made something to eat?”
It sounded more like an accusation than a question. “We did,” he replied. “A token meal, since I arrived so early.”
Her eyes narrowed—and Lucivar had to resist the urge to call in his war blade.
“You sampled the pastries and muffins that were made yesterday?” she asked.
“We did.”
“And?”
Oh, Hell’s fire. “They were acceptable but not up to your standards.”
“The Prince ate something I wouldn’t approve for his table?”
Would you rather he went hungry? Certain there wasn’t an answer that wouldn’t get him—and Daemon—into trouble, he said nothing.
“Well, I suppose an empty belly makes do,” Mrs. Beale grumbled. “I’ll get started on a proper breakfast for the two of you.”
She couldn’t flank him. He could hold his ground. “Prince Sadi has already left. There are things he needs to discuss with the Ladies at the Keep. But I would appreciate a meal of whatever you would like to serve.” He would have suggested eating with the instructors to avoid extra work for the Hall’s staff, but right now he would eat the meal in whatever room Mrs. Beale deemed appropriate.
Lucivar glanced at Beale. “I need a few minutes of your time before the youngsters start their day.” Pulling his dark membranous wings tight against his back, he stepped aside to let Mrs. Beale and Helene leave the pantry, then stepped in and closed the door. “So. Hole in the wall. How is that being handled?”
“As it was handled in the past,” Beale replied. “The young Ladies who were attempting whatever they were attempting decided they should be responsible for paying for the repairs rather than have all the youngsters put a few marks in the pot.”
“That’s fair.”
Beale nodded. “I contacted the workmen in Halaway who usually take care of such things at the Hall. The bill that will be presented for the cost of the repairs will be steep enough to pinch everyone’s pocket.”