He stared at Cassidy.
“Didn’t Theran tell you?” Cassidy asked.
“Tell me what?”
“Before she was injured, Jaenelle was the Queen of Ebon Askavi.”
Theran paced the length of the larger meeting room, shooting looks at Ranon every time he passed that end of the table.
“You’re sure Talon said to meet him here?”
Ranon gave him a cold stare. “I’m sure. He said to give him an hour, and then he wanted to meet with the whole First Circle. Guess he got delayed.”
By what? Theran wondered.
When Talon walked in a few minutes later, he knew something was terribly wrong, because he’d never seen the older man look so shaken—or scared.
“You young fool,” Talon said, heading right for him. “What did you do? What did you do?”
Talon grabbed Theran by the shirt and shook him before giving him a shove that had him half falling on the men sitting around the table.
“I didn’t do anything,” Theran snapped.
“You want to think for a minute and try the answer again?” Talon roared.
“I didn’t. Do. Anything.”
“You forgot a few details, boy. The kind of details that could destroy all of us—and Dena Nehele as well.”
“What details?”
“Connections, Theran. Connections.”
Talon sagged suddenly, and that was more frightening than his anger.
“I’m just as much to blame,” Talon said quietly. “Didn’t look closely enough. Didn’t think to ask until it was shoved in my face that I hadn’t asked.”
“Talon,” Powell said. “It would help the rest of us understand the danger if you could be a little less vague.”
Theran eased around to the other side of the table but didn’t take a seat. What sort of tale was Cassidy telling that would get Talon that pissed off at him?
“We’ve got Lucivar Yaslana—yes, that’s who that Eyrien was—honing his weapons and looking in our direction. Which means Sadi is also going to be looking in our direction and honing his own brand of weapons. And don’t think for a minute that Yaslana isn’t going to report to his father—who happens to be the High Lord of Hell.”
Some of the men sucked in a breath. Others groaned.
“And worst of all,” Talon said grimly, “I don’t think Lady Cassidy’s friend is going to be looking kindly at us.”
“Friend?” Ranon said, glancing at Theran. “You mean Sadi’s wife?”
Talon looked at Theran, and there was a bleakness in the older man’s eyes that made Theran shudder.
“Sadi’s wife,” Talon said softly. “Who was the Queen of Ebon Askavi.”
Shocked silence.
“Witch,” Talon continued, “chose Cassidy to be our Queen. So we’d all better start looking beyond a Rose Jewel to figure out why. Gentlemen, we’ve already made one bad mistake. We can’t afford to make another. So we’re going to study those books of Protocol, and we’re going to learn what we said we wanted to learn. And if the Darkness is merciful, the next time Lucivar Yaslana shows up here, he won’t invite all of us to step onto a killing field.”
Lucivar stepped into the sitting room and stopped. He’d expected to find his father waiting for him, but . . .
“What are you still doing here?” he asked Daemon as he approached a low table filled with different kinds of edibles.
“Waiting for you.” Daemon put a thin slice of cheese on top of a triangle of toast and added a spoonful of chopped spicy beef.
“Wine?” Saetan asked, indicating the open bottle.
“I’d rather have ale,” Lucivar said as he took the remaining seat around the table.
Saetan smiled dryly. “I thought as much. That’s why there’s some on the way.”
Lucivar filled a plate while he considered the other two men. Saetan was . . . Amused was the politest word that came to mind. Daemon was definitely grumpy.
“How was your day?” Lucivar asked, watching his brother.
“Fine.”
“And you’re still here because you were waiting for me?”
Daemon made an inarticulate sound.
Saetan said, “He’s trying to figure out how to explain a certain bit of Craft to his wife.”
“Oh?” Lucivar said.
Daemon was paying an awful lot of attention to making little sandwiches he wasn’t eating.
“Marian is pretty sure she can clean the paint off the floor,” Daemon muttered. “Eventually.”
“Oh?”
Daemon huffed out a sigh. “Doesn’t that little beast ever get tired?”
Saetan had an arm wrapped around his belly and his other fist pressed against his lips.
“Oh, shit, Bastard. What did you do?”
“He made the mistake of falling asleep,” Saetan said.
Daemon growled. “I just thought . . . Something quiet. Just for a little while. We were sitting on the floor with sheets of sketching paper. They were big sheets. Why couldn’t he keep the paint on the paper?”
“It would have been better if Daemon had thought to provide watercolors instead of a different kind of paint,” Saetan said.
“And who in the name of Hell taught that boy about shields at his age?” Daemon snarled.
Probably the wolf pups. “Wasn’t me.” Lucivar looked at both of them. “So Daemonar managed to put some kind of shield into the paint so the standard ways of removing it aren’t working? At least, not completely?”
Saetan was going to strain a muscle trying not to laugh, and Daemon . . .
“Besides the floor, what else did he paint?” Lucivar asked.
A beat of silence. Then Saetan said, “He painted Unka Daemon.”
Lucivar ended up on the floor, roaring with laughter, which might have pissed off his brother if their father hadn’t ended up on the floor too.
“Oh, my,” Lucivar said, crawling back up on the chair. He looked at Daemon’s face, which, outside of looking unnaturally flushed, didn’t seem any different. “Where?”
Saetan propped himself up against a chair. “Let’s just say Daemon needs to explain this to Jaenelle before he takes his shirt off.”
Oh, shit.
The pitcher of ale arrived at that moment, making Lucivar wonder if that was luck or his father’s exquisite sense of timing.
For a few minutes they ate, drank, and generally avoided looking at one another.
Then Saetan said, “So. Would you like to tell us why you were still pissed off when you walked in the room?”
Should have known he couldn’t keep it leashed enough to hide it from those two.
“Is there a problem?” Daemon asked.
“Maybe.” Lucivar drained his glass and refilled it. “Cassidy got hurt. She was so focused on running from one kind of pain, she worked until she ripped up her hands.” He hesitated, then looked at Daemon. “I think Grayhaven was the cause of that pain, but I don’t know that for sure.”
Daemon’s eyes looked glazed and a little sleepy—and the chill that was filling the room came from two sources.
“Why didn’t you bring her back with you?” Saetan asked too softly.
“There’s another Warlord Prince at the house. About the same age as Grayhaven. Calls himself Gray. He was tortured when he was fifteen and hasn’t recovered from it mentally or emotionally. It’s safe for him to be a boy, to be nothing that would be considered a threat.” Lucivar took a long swallow of ale. “And yet he’s the one who stepped up to the line. He’s the one who told me flat out I had no right to take his Queen anywhere. He called her Cassie.”
“Jewels?” Saetan asked.
“Didn’t see them, but he felt like Purple Dusk. And he felt like he should have been more.”
“Your impression?” Daemon asked.