Well, that explained why no one had shut the door.
It didn’t explain why no one was in the great hall cleaning up the mess.
A quick psychic probe told him Daemonar was in the family wing, in the room he usually occupied when he visited. It told him that Titian was in another area of the Hall—an area crowded with other minds. Female minds.
He headed in that direction. *Helene?*
*Prince Yaslana?*
*I’m bringing Zoey up to her room.*
*I’ll run a hot bath. The young Lady will be chilled to the bone by now.*
*Do that. The Healer needs to examine her, and*—may the Darkness have mercy on him—*it would be good to have one of the Scelties stay with her tonight.*
*Four of them are here with the girls, along with the two shadow cats Prince Sadi left with Beale.*
Shadow cats? Shit. He wondered if Witch had helped Daemon shape those spells, then decided he’d rather not know. The shadows Witch used to create had been able to do a little too much independent thinking, and even if the cats couldn’t eat what they caught, they still enjoyed tearing it into pieces and then playing fierce games of tug with the limbs.
Not any different from what the real Kaelas and Jaal had done a few times when someone unwelcome had come too close to Jaenelle Angelline when she had walked among the living.
When he walked into the bedroom that had been assigned to Zoey, he found Titian waiting for him. He stopped, gave his girl a swift, assessing look. Scared, mussed, and her Summer-sky Jewel was drained almost to the last drop of power.
“Papa . . .”
“You hurt?” he asked. No point asking if she was okay. She wasn’t. But he’d start by dealing with the body and work from there.
“No.” She thought for a moment. “Sore.”
“Give me a minute to help Zoey, and then we’ll talk.”
“Can I . . .”
He shook his head and went into the adjoining bathroom.
Helene had started running the bath. The water had a fragrance. Pleasant enough if you were female.
He set Zoey on her feet and turned off the water taps. It would be easier to simply tear the dress down the back—he didn’t think she’d ever wear it again—but she was shivering now and not because she was cold. So he turned her around and began dealing with the small buttons that ran down the back of a wet dress.
“You can’t do that,” Zoey protested weakly.
“Sure I can. I have a daughter. I’ve had practice with buttons. Besides, you can’t raise your arms right now to do this by yourself.”
While she pondered his matter-of-fact response, he finished undoing the buttons so that it would be easy for her to slide the dress off. He helped her sit on the wide rim of the bathtub and knelt to tackle the shoes. He tossed those aside, hesitated a moment, then reached under the dress to find the tops of the stockings, figuring they’d be similar to what Titian had started wearing and were secured with ribbons and Craft a finger length above the knee.
“As soon as you’re undressed, you can get in the bathtub and soak the chill out of your bones and the soreness out of your muscles.” He stripped off one stocking and swore silently when he saw the blisters on her foot. Party shoes and stockings weren’t the proper footwear for sparring.
He was looking at her foot when he felt a flash of Craft. When he looked up, Zoey pushed a sodden wad of material at him. Her clothes. All of her clothes, except for the other stocking. Her eyes were so dull from exhaustion, he doubted she knew what she’d done. She wanted to get in the water, so she took off her clothes.
He stripped off the other stocking, laid one of the towels on the floor, then tossed all the clothes on that.
“Okay, witchling. In you go.”
She just leaned back and would have cracked her head on the other side of the tub if he hadn’t caught her and gently settled her in the water.
A scratching at the bathroom door before a Sceltie entered. A young witch who wore a Rose Jewel.
*I am Allis,* the Sceltie said. She glanced at him before focusing on Zoey.
“You watch over Lady Zoey,” he told her. “Make sure her head doesn’t go under the water.”
*I will watch.*
Lucivar collected the clothes and ruined shoes and left Zoey and Allis to become acquainted.
Helene and a maid waited for him in the bedroom.
“The Healer is almost done examining the other girls,” Helene said. “She was going to heal Prince Daemonar’s broken bones next, but he insisted that she see to Lady Zoela first. She and her husband’s sister will be up in a few minutes.”
Of course the boy had insisted. Daemonar was a Warlord Prince. Zoey was not only a Queen but his sister’s romantic friend. Which made her family. As long as he wasn’t bleeding out and wasn’t given a direct order to submit to the Healer, he would wait until the females in the family were seen.
The moment Helene and the maid walked out of the room, Titian flung herself into his arms.
“My shields broke,” she cried. “They broke and I couldn’t protect Zoey. If Jaenelle Saetien hadn’t put up a shield, Delora would have . . .”
“You held until your brother could reach you,” he said, holding her against him and hoping she wouldn’t realize that he was the one who was shaking. “You held, witchling. You did what you were supposed to do.”
She eased back, and he saw the pattern of his chain mail pressed into her cheek.
“I have the food,” she said. “Zoey told me to take the food so that Uncle Daemon could have it tested. Papa, they put something in the food. It made Zoey sick.”
He led her to a small table in the room’s sitting area. “Show me.”
She called in a plate of food, then the serving dishes.
A knock on the door. A swift psychic probe confirmed that he didn’t know either witch, so he formed an Ebon-gray shield around Titian before using Craft to open the door.
The Healer and Black Widow walked into the room.
“Prince,” the Healer said. “Lady Zoela . . . ?”
“In the bath,” he replied. Reading the concern in her eyes, he added, “She’s not alone.”
No chance that the girl might harm herself in a desperate, misguided attempt to relieve whatever the drug was doing to her. Not with a Sceltie watching—and questioning—every move she made.
The Healer disappeared into the bathroom. The Black Widow stayed near the door.
“You are Tersa’s winged boy?” she asked.
“I am.”
She relaxed but stayed near the door.
“I’d like your opinion.” He pointed to the food, then reached for Titian and placed her on his other side, putting himself between his daughter and an unfamiliar Black Widow.
In the time it took the Black Widow to walk from the door to the table, he’d probed the food, confirming what he’d expected to find—and thankful for what he didn’t find. He just wanted the Black Widow to confirm that before he went searching for Daemon.
She held her right hand over the plate, then over each serving dish, the look in her eyes distant but thoughtful.
“I detect no poisons, if that was your concern,” she finally said. “But . . .” She frowned. Then she stepped back and anger flashed in her eyes. “Safframate?”
“Yes.”
“But so much? That’s not an aphrodisiac. That’s . . . beyond cruelty.”
“Yes.”
She looked at him with sudden understanding. She flicked a glance at Titian and said, “I don’t know if any of my skills will help her, but if there is anything I, or any Sister of the Hourglass, can do, please call on us.” Then she added on a psychic thread, *And not just for Lady Zoela.*