That would not do. It wouldn’t do at all. Where was the anger, the need to embrace what only Delora could offer? Who had reinforced that rube morality? Someone in that village, no doubt. Jaenelle Saetien should be avoiding her cousins—both of them—and the girls and boys who formed the core of Insipid Zoey’s friends. Instead, she was talking to them where everyone could see her—and might wonder if she’d changed allegiance.
Well, there were ways to bring her to heel and make sure that a good bitch stayed a good bitch.
“We have a problem,” Krellis said as he joined her.
“More than one,” Delora replied, continuing to watch as Jaenelle Saetien, Insipid, and Fat Bat led the group toward the classrooms.
“Prince Sadi and his bitch wife have been asking questions about girls who were broken on their Virgin Nights. They want a list of names from each Province Queen, which means the Province Queens are asking questions of the District Queens, and that means the District Queens are looking hard at everyone in their territories, especially the aristo families. And Sadi wants the name of every male responsible for breaking the power of a witch when the girl’s virginity was taken.”
Delora turned to look at him. “You said you were all careful and only had fun with the girls I told you would cause us trouble later.”
“We were careful, and we sometimes did nothing more than help some boy enjoy what he couldn’t have had otherwise—and witness the taking to encourage him to be accommodating when we wanted his assistance for some other entertainment.” Krellis stared at Jaenelle Saetien. “If Sadi and his whore put all the pieces together, they’ll find me and Dhuran and Clayton—and they’ll find you right at the heart of all those ‘accidental’ breakings.”
“Well,” Delora said, “we’ll have to give him a reason to back off.”
Daemonar wasn’t as good at reading people as his father or uncle, who could glance at a person and know what he was thinking, feeling, planning. But it didn’t take that much skill to recognize Prince Raine’s discomfort—or figure out the reason.
He’d invited Raine to the Winsol party, in part because he liked the man and partly because Raine hadn’t planned to visit his family in Dharo until Winsol Eve. It was hard for a man to be alone during the Blood’s most important celebration, and since Raine lived at the school, Daemonar didn’t think the instructor had made many, if any, friends.
And he’d wanted Uncle Daemon to become acquainted with a man Daemonar thought was being wasted trying to teach the prick-asses at the school.
Until the party, he hadn’t known that Raine, who was in his mid-twenties, came from the same family as Rainier, the Dharo Warlord Prince who had served in Witch’s Second Circle. Curiosity about Rainier had been the spark that had had Raine applying for an instructor’s position at a school in Dhemlan, where he would live among people who came from one of the long-lived races, just as Rainier had.
He had observed Raine’s shock and delight at learning that Rainier had taught Beron the dance moves the young actor still practiced and used on the stage. He’d watched Raine stumble over the easy way Beron and his theater friends chatted with Uncle Daemon, how the conversation bounced from one subject to the next, as if they weren’t talking to the most powerful man in the Realm.
And he studied Raine’s discomfort now that the Winsol celebration was over and they had returned to school. He figured the reason for that discomfort was that Raine hadn’t served in a court or otherwise been exposed to the flow of power and titles that he saw as natural.
“I invited you to the Winsol party as a friend,” Daemonar said, setting his books on the table.
Raine turned away from the window. “I appreciate that, but . . .”
Daemonar raised a hand to stop the words. “But now you’re concerned that you won’t be seen as an instructor with any authority.”
“That sums it up.”
He smiled. “At home, in our eyrie, my father is my father—most of the time. I address him as Father, and we argue about things as family, although his decisions are final—unless my mother overrules him. She doesn’t do it often, but when she does, he yields. The Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih rules the valley where I live. His second-in-command can argue with him in private. So can the most trusted Eyrien warriors who work for him. But his word is law, and those men are careful about how they phrase their disagreements. So am I. And then there is the Demon Prince who rules all of Askavi. His word is also law, but when he shows up in a city or village in Askavi, he is there to stand on a killing field as the Queen’s weapon. He is there for slaughter, and everyone knows it. Same man, different titles. You could call it different aspects of the same man, since Father can change to Demon Prince in a heartbeat when he senses a threat of any kind.”
“Your point?” Raine asked. “Besides a very interesting lesson about your family.”
“At the town house, you’re a friend. Here you’re my tutor. I don’t have any trouble making the distinction or understanding that different rules apply to each aspect. Courts work the same way. A fluid dance of power.” Daemonar waited a beat. “Rainier understood that.”
Raine narrowed his eyes. “I can understand Beron knowing Rainier, but you . . . ?”
It was as if the difference between the long-lived and short-lived races became real, and Raine finally realized the adolescents he was teaching had already lived centuries compared to his twenty-some years.
“I don’t remember a lot about him,” Daemonar said, “but I know from family stories that he was one of my aunt Surreal’s closest friends.”
“Perhaps we can meet up for dinner one night. I’d like to hear the stories.” Raine smiled. “Should we get on with this lesson?”
“One more thing.” Daemonar didn’t return the smile. “If Prince Sadi asks anything of you, don’t ask questions and don’t argue. Just do it.”
Raine’s smile faded. “Why would he ask anything of me?”
“Your instincts are good, boyo. Your Dharo friend has potential.”
Daemonar shrugged. “I don’t know. But if he does, consider it a command, not a request, regardless of how it’s phrased.”
Would I want Shelby to learn anything from Dhuran or Clayton or Krellis? A Sceltie puppy will trust what humans tell him—until he stops trusting anything most humans tell him.
Funny how asking that question kept changing things. Where she’d previously heard biting wit when those boys targeted another student, now she heard cruelty.
“You seem different, Jaenelle Saetien,” Delora had said a couple of days after they’d come back to school. “Did you meet someone over Winsol, enjoy a little romance?”
“Maybe she learned how to enjoy some petting,” Dhuran said, giving her a look that made her uneasy.
“Don’t be crude,” Hespera scolded. Then she looked at Jaenelle Saetien from head to toe. “Although, if you want to keep his interest, you should pay more attention to your clothes, darling. You don’t want people to think you’re following your cousin’s example and have started tonguing other girls.”
“Now you’re being crude,” Delora said. “Jaenelle Saetien just hasn’t had time to switch back to the city style of dressing. I imagine your father doesn’t allow you to look like a sophisticated woman when you’re home. Nothing he can do about your mother’s reputation, but he probably wants you to look like a little girl for as long as possible.”