*Good night, Uncle Daemon.*
*Good night, boyo.*
After informing Helton that two good appetites would be arriving soon, Daemon caught the Black Wind and headed for the Keep.
Karla looked at Witch. Witch looked at Karla. Then they looked at him.
If they had tails to wag, their expressions wouldn’t be much different from the damn Scelties.
Come to think of it . . .
Daemon took a step to one side to see if Witch’s fawn tail was twitching in the equivalent of a wag.
“Prince?” Witch asked too sweetly. “Looking for something?”
“Besides answers?” he replied with equal sweetness.
Karla held out a hand. “Give me the list of names for this party. I’ll help Geoffrey identify the families and home villages of the ones you don’t already know.” She took the list and left the Queen’s part of the Keep.
Daemon studied the Queen whose will was his life—and whose continued love made it possible for him to remain among the living.
“How did Tersa end up with a journeymaid Black Widow who is a Sceltie?” he asked.
Witch looked at him.
“All right. How about the three Scelties, one of whom is a Warlord Prince, who are going to help the Black Widows who will apparently live in Halaway while they readjust to daily life?”
Witch looked at him.
“Hmm. Any thoughts about whether kindred Black Widows have a snake tooth and venom sac?” He felt his temper sharpen, felt his anger turn cold and jagged. “A simpler question. Do you know what my mother saw in those tangled webs? The webs she’d soaked in her own blood?”
“I didn’t see them,” Witch replied softly.
“Do you need to see them, Lady? You and Tersa have a connection. You always did.”
“You’re the connection, Daemon.”
She walked up to him and placed a hand on his chest. He felt the weight of it, the warmth of it through the silk shirt.
“You need to rest,” she said. “And you need to drain some of the reservoir of power in your Black Jewel. You have a headache—the kind that is dangerous for you.”
He shook his head. “I’m going to need the power. It’s going to happen soon.”
“You won’t need all of that power, but you will need a strong body—and a strong heart.” She touched his face. “There is nothing else you need to know because you already know the most important thing.”
“What is that?” he whispered as his left hand moved of its own accord to touch his right biceps and the scars she’d given him.
Witch noticed the gesture and smiled. “You won’t go into this fight alone.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
The timing of the house party bothered Titian because it didn’t make sense. For an adult party? Maybe. But not for a gathering of girls who wanted to skate on the pond or go out riding. Not in winter, when the sun set so early. They should have arrived in the afternoon, right after the midday meal, gotten settled in their rooms, and then headed outside for an activity, returning to the Hall in time to freshen up and change for dinner. Then they would have the evening for playing cards or games or putting on a silly play. The following morning, there would be time for another ride or a walk to the village or leisurely indoor activities. Then they would be on their way home after the midday meal.
That was how it was done. That was how she’d expected it to be done because Jaenelle Saetien knew how and when guests arrived for this kind of party, same as she did. But after talking to Delora and Hespera, Jaenelle Saetien had rescheduled the time when the Coach would take them to SaDiablo Hall. They’d reach the Hall around sunset. No time for riding or skating or anything fun.
It felt wrong, and Zoey thought so too. They’d discussed backing out and staying at the school, but an overnight house party at the Hall felt so grown-up, so like the stories her father told about the Queen and her coven. Besides, Uncle Daemon would be there, and anyone who misbehaved would be stuffed into a Coach and sent back to the school. Or stuffed into one of the cells below the Hall, cells where people were kept while they waited for the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan—or the High Lord of Hell—to decide their fate. She’d never seen those cells and wasn’t supposed to know about them, but Daemonar had found them once when he’d been exploring the Hall with the Scelties who were in residence at the time. He’d told her there was something cold and merciless about those cells, something that made him think they weren’t used often—and weren’t used unless one of the Blood did something horrific.
Titian shuddered. They were going to a house party. Why think of something scary?
Why indeed?
She knocked on the door of Jaenelle Saetien’s room, then went in when her cousin used Craft to open the door.
“Are you packed?” Jaenelle Saetien asked. “Did you remember to bring a dress for the evening?”
“Yes, and yes. I also remembered warm clothes for skating or sledding.” She could ride horses. Uncle Daemon had taught all of them to ride, and there were kindred horses at the Hall, which made riding more fun and exciting. But Eyriens did a kind of upright sledding that was also great fun—almost like sailing on snow. There were Eyrien sleds at the Hall, and she really wanted to teach Zoey how to sled. “I came to tell you that Jhett and Arlene won’t be coming to the party because their moon’s blood started a little while ago.”
“What?” Jaenelle Saetien looked put out. “But they have to come. It’s all arranged.”
Titian stared at her cousin. Witches were in isolation during the first three days of their moontime and only interacted with family or close friends. Trusted friends. Since it was only girls at the party, it might be all right, but Uncle Daemon’s temper would have a lethal edge the moment he scented moon’s blood—and he would be paying sharp attention to every guest in his house. Besides, the girls would decline to participate in the more vigorous activities and be on their own in an unfamiliar house, being looked after by servants they didn’t know. At least at the school, they could tuck into their rooms to read and sleep.
Alone.
“Well, they aren’t coming,” Titian said.
“Can’t you talk them into it?”
“No.” Titian’s uneasiness increased. Why would Jaenelle Saetien be so insistent about them coming to the party when the girls wouldn’t feel well enough to have fun? “Surely enough other girls will be attending the party for whatever you and Delora have in mind.”
Hell’s fire. That came out pure bitch.
Jaenelle Saetien looked as if she’d been slapped. “Delora and Hespera just want to get to know Zoey better. Start over without everyone watching. Two groups of friends sharing some fun activities and hopefully finding some common ground. That’s what we have in mind.”
But Delora and Hespera aren’t on the guest list. Neither are Amara and Borsala. And yet all four of them are coming to this party. She knew that because Lord Weston had shown Zoey the list of guests. Prince Sadi had sent him a copy because he needed to know which girls he would be escorting to the Coach that would take them to the Hall before returning to the school to stand guard.
She wondered if that Dea al Mon Warlord Prince who worked with Uncle Daemon had also been given the guest list and knew who was, and wasn’t, supposed to be at the school tonight.
Jaenelle Saetien sounded sincere, but Delora had been able to push and pinch Titian’s cousin into reacting and lashing out and defying rules instead of setting her heels down and holding the lines their parents had drawn. And not holding the lines their fathers had drawn . . . That was just out-and-out dangerous.