Which meant he had to consider what was going to happen next—and the price that would have to be paid for the lies and betrayal that had provided an opportunity to damage a young Queen.
Lucivar returned to the great hall and found Surreal hovering there. She looked like she was watching several footmen and maids scrape up the gore and partially melted blood near the front door, but it didn’t take him more than a moment to understand that she had been waiting for him, unwilling to walk into the study and face Sadi—or whatever side of his temper was behind the study door—alone.
“Come on, witchling,” he said. “Let’s get it done.”
He walked into the study without knocking.
Daemon turned away from the desk and held out a brandy snifter filled almost to the brim.
Lucivar took it and swallowed down half, grateful for the heat. It had been a bitch of a night and it wasn’t going to be over until the sun rose, if it ended there.
Surreal joined them, accepting another snifter that wasn’t filled quite so full.
Daemon poured a third and took a long swallow before asking, “Zoey?”
“Not good,” Lucivar replied. “Hell’s fire, there was enough safframate in that food to have felled both of us, let alone a girl her size. I figure she’ll go down for an hour and then the arousal and pain will drive her into something physical.”
“Like what?” Surreal asked, looking drawn.
“I’ll walk her tonight. Inside the Hall to keep her from getting chilled. We’ll walk until she goes down again. Then I’ll tuck her into the nearest sitting room and let her sleep until the drug drives her up again.” He drained the snifter. “If her body doesn’t give out, the drug’s hold on her should ease in another day . . . or two.”
“Shit,” Surreal whispered. “That long?”
“Unless you want to hand her a knife and let her rage on the bodies in the cells, walking and letting her fight against me are the only ways to give her some relief.” There was sex, but he wouldn’t consider it and Daemon wouldn’t allow it.
“Even if she tore into the dead, she wouldn’t be able to live with that once her mind cleared of the drug,” Daemon said.
Unlike us, Lucivar thought. We relished the destruction of our enemies, and painted the walls with blood.
“Is there nothing a Healer can do for Zoey?” Surreal asked.
Not any of the Healers living in Kaeleer. There were two who might be able to help the girl, but one was no longer flesh and the other was demon-dead. Still . . .
*I’ll ask,* Daemon said on an Ebon-gray spear thread.
“I’ll be taking the dead and all the male intruders to Hell,” Daemon said. “We’re all going to have a chat. Except the messenger. Tarl thinks the boy is another victim, so I’ll talk to him before I leave.”
“When?” Surreal asked.
“Within the hour. I may be gone for several days. Can you manage here?”
Slow executions took three days, so Daemon would be gone that long.
Lucivar glanced at Surreal. She was sweating from the effort to ignore Daemon’s leashed sexual heat, and her eyes were glassy with need. Knowing what he’d be facing, he’d put a shield on the inside of his trousers to hide his own aroused response. Right now Daemon’s control would be shaky at best. Hell’s fire, his control of his temper and heat weren’t much better. In other circumstances, they might tear into each other for some relief, but that wasn’t going to happen because neither of them could afford to be wounded and bloody tonight.
Daemon’s choice to go to the Dark Realm was the only way to protect everyone else right now.
“We’ll manage,” he said. “I’ll stay until Zoey can go home. Surreal and I will arrange for the other girls to be sent home if they’re fit enough to leave.”
“Not back to the school,” Daemon said. “None of them go back to that school.”
“Agreed. I’ll send that message.”
Daemon nodded.
“Beale’s probably arranging for some food for the girls,” Surreal said, using Craft to float the barely touched snifter of brandy back to the desk. “I’ll see how that’s coming along.”
After she left, Daemon said, “Titian?”
“Scared. Shaken. She almost drained her Jewel to the breaking point trying to maintain a shield around herself and Zoey.” He hesitated, but it had to be said. “If Zoey is permanently damaged, I don’t think Titian will ever forgive Jaenelle Saetien.”
“I know. Neither will Lady Zhara.” Daemon set his glass on the desk. “They might not be the only ones who won’t be able, or willing, to forgive my daughter for what happened tonight.”
Can you? Will I?
“It might help both of us if we remember that, in the end, Jaenelle Saetien stood for Titian and Zoey, shielding them from Delora and that other bitch,” Lucivar said.
“It might help,” Daemon agreed softly, sadly. “It might.”
A quiet knock on the study door before Holt opened it just enough to lean into the room.
“Prince Daemonar would like to see you at your earliest convenience,” Holt said.
“Did the Healer take care of those broken bones?” Lucivar asked.
Holt nodded. “He wouldn’t let me in the room, but I had the impression the Healer isn’t the only one who has seen your son.”
Holt looked wide-eyed and a little pale, as if he’d caught a whiff of something—someone—who shouldn’t exist.
“Mother Night,” Lucivar said, setting his glass aside.
“And may the Darkness be merciful,” Daemon added.
He and Daemon left the study to find out what his son had done now.
Daemonar paced around his room, hurting and angry. So angry.
He’d drunk the healing brew and submitted to having the bone in his forearm set and the broken ribs adjusted and sealed within a shield to keep them stable while the bones knit, but he’d refused the tonic that would have made him groggy enough to sleep. He didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to be awake—and angry—when he faced his father and uncle.
And more than that, he wanted—
Before he finished the thought, intense cold seared the broken bones. He gritted his teeth and grunted to hold back a scream.
Then he was in the Misty Place, standing almost within reach of Witch, who stared at him with those ancient sapphire eyes while the claw on one finger tap, tap, tapped against the stone altar.
“I don’t want to forgive her,” he burst out, his breath creating a momentary fog between them. “I know she’s my cousin and she’s younger and she’s been so stupidly infatuated with that bitch Delora that she wouldn’t listen to anyone else, and I know she’s family, but Titian could have been raped because of her. My sister could have been raped and broken because Jaenelle Saetien was being so damn stupid, and I don’t want to forgive her.”
“Then don’t,” Witch said calmly.
He stopped raging. Blinked. Wondered if he’d heard her correctly. “What?”
“If you can’t forgive her, then don’t.”
“It will put a strain on the family. More of a strain.”
“Daemon and Lucivar have plenty of experience dealing with their tempers colliding. They’ll find their way through this. So will you.” She moved toward him and placed a gentle hand on his right shoulder. “I know a bit about waiting to forgive, boyo. Give yourself time. Let the idea of forgiving float on the wind and return to you when you’re ready.”
He felt some measure of tension ease. “Okay. Thanks, Auntie J.”
The hand on his shoulder tightened. The claws pierced his shirt and just pricked his skin, a warning that he needed to stay still if he didn’t want to bleed.