“They weren’t like that,” Jaenelle Saetien snapped. “Titian isn’t like that.”
Defensive. Wasn’t that lovely?
Amara gave Delora a nod as she joined the group. She’d taken a few of the second-tier girls who wanted to prove they should be among the chosen rather than the chosen’s prey and had created a surprise in the pottery shed.
“Come on,” Delora said. “We mustn’t be late for class.”
“We mustn’t?” Krellis asked.
“Not today.”
She led her companions around the green, keeping to the shadows until they were behind the men who were almost at the other end of the green. Then her group stepped out, laughing and chatting, not so loudly to be obvious that they were calling attention to themselves, but not hiding either.
Delora snorted softly as the men focused on Zoey and Titian running toward them. Those two Warlord Princes were supposed to be such great warriors, but they hadn’t even noticed the group of students at their backs?
They’d gotten soft—and soft men tended to be careless about a great many things.
Having picked up Jaenelle Saetien’s psychic scent the moment he stepped onto the green, Lucivar tracked the group who were making an effort to remain unseen. Not too much of an effort, which made him suspect that most of the children, and at least some of the adults, had stopped noticing this group of males and females, giving them a kind of invisibility without needing to use a sight shield.
That told him none of those youngsters had enough experience with Warlord Princes to understand that Warlord Princes always knew who was around them, always assessed the strength of a potential enemy. Always knew what was needed to destroy that enemy.
Jaenelle Saetien would have known that, and that made him wonder, given the pissing contest she seemed to be having with Surreal lately, why she wasn’t taking the opportunity to introduce her friends to her father. Smarter to do it before introductions were required—unless there was a reason those friends didn’t want to come to Daemon’s notice.
Then again, Titian had held this particular secret close to the chest, so maybe girls this age needed to draw a line between their parents and their personal life and feelings. Maybe this show of independence was as much a rite of passage as Daemonar making the Blood Run—and potentially just as dangerous if the girl hit the emotional equivalent of bad air. He’d tolerate standing on the other side of the line—up to a point—but it was time to make it clear that he would have more tolerance for the things he knew about his daughter’s personal life than the things that were kept a secret.
As Titian and Zoey ran toward them, Lucivar created a Red perimeter shield halfway down the green, curving it round so that he would have warning if someone tried to attack from a blind spot.
*Problem?* Daemon asked on a spear thread.
*No.*
Pretty young girls who were changing into women, bright-eyed and a little breathless as they came to an abrupt stop in front of him and Daemon.
“Hello, Father,” Titian said, twisting her fingers together but looking him in the eyes.
Nerves and a little fear. And hope.
He brushed a streak of mud off her cheek. Or was that clay?
“Prince Sadi,” Zoey said. Then she nodded at Lucivar. “Sir.”
Lucivar gave her a slow look from head to toe. Bib overalls and a man’s shirt underneath. He said to Daemon, *I thought you took them to buy clothes.*
*That’s tomorrow’s outing.*
*Huh. So whose closet did the little Queen visit to snitch that shirt?*
*Since it wasn’t my closet, I do not care.*
“Lady Zoela.” Lucivar gave the young Queen a lazy, arrogant smile.
Titian, recognizing that smile, gulped audibly.
“Sir?” Zoey said.
“Since you and Titian are particular friends, the next time you’re invited to the town house to join the family for dinner, I don’t expect you to make up some piss-ass excuse. You want to spend time with my daughter? You deal with all of us.”
“Yes, sir.” Zoey sounded wary.
Good. Even a Queen should be wary of provoking a Warlord Prince like him. “And if you cross any of the lines Prince Sadi has drawn, you’d better hope he gets to you first, because if I get to you . . . Your ass, my hand. Understood?”
She beamed at him. “Yes, sir!”
*Why is she so happy about that?* he asked Daemon.
*Her father didn’t care enough about her to show up for her Birthright Ceremony. You, on the other hand, are going to hold her to the same rules that you set for Titian.*
*So we’re going to end up informally adopting stray witchlings like our father did?*
*She’s a Queen, Prick. Do you want anyone else to influence her?*
Good point.
“We want to show you what we’ve been working on in pottery class,” Zoey said. “I’m making a piece for my mother, and Titian is making one for Lady Marian.”
Titian studied him, still unsure. “Daemonar and Beron are escorting Zoey and me to an art exhibit at the end of the week.”
“That sounds like something you’ll enjoy.” Lucivar swallowed a laugh. Since Daemonar would rather be stabbed with a fork than go to an art exhibit, he hoped Titian recognized that her brother might not understand her choice—yet—but he had her back. “All right, witchling. Let’s see what kind of art the two of you have created.” He just hoped he could recognize what it was supposed to be and say something positive.
Titian and Zoey led the way, their hands meeting in fluttering touches.
*Did we give our permission because they wanted to do that?* he asked, a lift of his chin indicating the hands. *That?*
*Titian has always been the more cautious child—at least on the surface,* Daemon replied. *And that might be more during a private moment.*
*Tch. You had to spoil—*
As the girls walked into the pottery shed, their happiness changed to shock and an angry grief that had him striding forward a step ahead of Daemon.
“Someone destroyed our work,” Titian wailed. “Why would someone be so mean and destroy the gifts we were making?”
He had a good idea why someone would—and he was looking forward to inflicting some pain in return.
“Bitches,” Zoey muttered.
Lucivar felt a phantom hand on his chest, stopping him just inside the door as Daemon moved forward swiftly and grabbed the girls before they could touch the ruined pieces. Hustling them to the door, Daemon pushed the girls at Lucivar, forcing all of them outside.
“Bastard . . .”
Daemon looked at him with sleepy, glazed eyes before whispering, “Wood and stone remember.” Then Sadi stepped back into the pottery shed, closed the door, and locked it.
Black Widows could draw memories out of wood and stone, could replay something that had happened. And Daemon, a Black Widow who had been trained in the Hourglass’s Craft by his father and by Witch, would know how to draw out those memories and put faces on those responsible for hurting Titian and Zoey.
Lucivar led the girls away from the pottery shed.
Titian cried silently, which ripped his heart. Zoey blinked back tears but looked like she wanted to use a sparring stick on someone.
“What’s Prince Sadi doing?” Zoey asked.
“What needs to be done,” he replied. Someday she would understand what that meant, but he wasn’t going to explain it now. Besides, he was focused on letting his own power flow beneath all the minds in the school, picking up what wasn’t contained by inner barriers—like emotions.