She hesitated. “Not here.”
Not here could explain why Nurian had made the decision to take her younger sister and emigrate to Kaeleer.
“Practice and training are done in the morning,” Jillian said.
True enough, but this morning just proved that being around the men wasn’t the right time for Jillian’s training, not if Falonar was going to snap and snarl the whole time the girl was with them.
He closed his wings and lowered his hand. “You go on to school now. You tell the teacher you’re late because I kept you. If she has a problem with that, she can talk to me.”
“But . . .”
“If you don’t give me any sass about this, I will figure out how to work in some regular, formal training for you.” Especially now, when the girl might be a good working partner for both Surreal and Rainier.
Jillian’s shoulders relaxed. She smiled shyly. “Yes, sir.”
He stepped aside and watched her run out of the eyrie, her steps light. Then he walked over to his next problem, who looked ready to tear out his throat with her teeth.
With her black hair and sun-kissed brown skin, Surreal looked like a beautiful woman from Dhemlan or Hayll—until a man noticed the delicately pointed ears. They were an indication, and warning, of her other bloodline. Just as he had a dual heritage of Hayllian and Eyrien but was Eyrien in every way that counted, Surreal was Dea al Mon, one of the Children of the Wood. They were a fiercely private and feral race who lived closer to the land than any other humans. And because they seemed to be born knowing what to do with a knife, they were deadly.
He wasn’t afraid of Surreal—he was a Warlord Prince and his Jewels outranked hers—but he never forgot the Dea al Mon side of her nature when he dealt with her temper.
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t give her a kick in the ass if she needed one.
He braced one hand near Surreal’s head and, again, opened his wings and curved them to provide some privacy.
“You dismissed her because she doesn’t have balls,” Surreal said.
“That’s insulting,” Lucivar said. “You should know me better than that.”
She stared at him.
He blew out a breath. “I sent her to school, which is where a girl her age belongs.”
“And the training she wants?”
“I’ll work that out somehow, although you might not be as happy with your training schedule because of it.”
The angry heat faded from her gold-green eyes, replaced by reluctant amusement.
“Now, I’ve got a wife at home who started the day by puking and shitting herself. I expect my son will start puking and shitting any minute, which I’m sure will delight my father to no end. So we can do your training assessment here or in the front room of my eyrie, where you’ll most likely get to participate in today’s adventures.”
“Those are my choices?”
“Yeah. Those are your choices.”
“In that case, sugar—”
“Go easy, now!” Hallevar said sharply.
Lucivar’s head whipped around toward the other men. He’d heard the clack of sparring sticks, but he hadn’t paid attention to a usual sound when he had a Gray-Jeweled witch in front of him brimming with anger.
Too late, he thought, seeing Falonar connect with the sparring stick Rainier held and knowing how a man would step in response to that move. He reached out with Craft as Rainier’s leg gave out, intending to catch the man and stop the fall that would cause more damage to already damaged muscle and bone. But his power tangled with Sapphire power, fouling his and Falonar’s attempts to stop the fall.
Rainier cried out in pain as he hit the stone floor—and they all heard bone snap.
“No!” Surreal screamed. She rushed over and dropped to her knees beside Rainier at the same moment Lucivar reached Falonar and shoved the Eyrien back a step—and wondered why the man had a Sapphire shield around himself for what should have been a slow warm-up.
“I tried to catch him,” Falonar said, sounding regretful.
Except that particular tone of regret made Lucivar think of the hunting camp and the boys who had been hurt during training exercises. It was an aristo tone that meant the boy who had done the harm wasn’t sorry at all.
“What’s wrong with you?” Lucivar shouted.
“Nothing is wrong with me,” Falonar snapped. “I just proved what you should have known—a cripple doesn’t have any place among Eyrien warriors.”
Surreal threw herself at Falonar, her scream of rage startling Lucivar enough that he put a skintight Red shield around himself. He grabbed the back of her shirt before she reached Falonar, and began a spin that would lift her away from the other Eyrien.
She lashed out with her right hand as she was lifted and tossed away from the men.
Lucivar felt Falonar’s Sapphire shield break under a punch of Surreal’s Gray power as she lashed out. Saw the blood on the Eyrien’s left arm. Felt the big knife that slid on his Red shield instead of slicing him along the waist as Falonar responded with a counterattack. Tossing Surreal aside, Lucivar continued the spin, calling in his own fighting knife.
By the time he faced Falonar, he was armed, he was balanced, and he was ready.
The fury in Falonar’s eyes was aimed right at him, but the man stepped back and lowered his knife.
Lucivar glanced at Falonar’s left arm. A deep slice through muscle, freely bleeding.
“Surreal,” he said, never taking his eyes off the other Warlord Prince, “go to the Keep. Now.”
“I’ll go back to The Tavern after—”
“Unless you want a knife dance with me, you will do as you’re told,” he snapped.
As he felt her stare at his back, he’d never been more aware of how much of her temper and inclinations came from her Dea al Mon heritage.
There were good reasons why the Children of the Wood were feared by the other races in Kaeleer.
She moved slowly, circling around him and Falonar.
“Prince Falonar may have proved that a cripple has no place among Eyriens, but I just proved he wouldn’t have survived that demon-dead bastard any better than Rainier did.”
Mother Night, she’s riding the killing edge. The wild look in her eyes wasn’t quite sane. That, more than anything else, was why males didn’t want witches involved in physical fighting. Females were a lot harder to control once they rose to the killing edge.
“Go to the Keep,” he said firmly. “I will deal with this.” And I’ll hurt you if I have to.
The moment she walked out of the communal eyrie and it was safe to move without provoking an attack, Zaranar and Rothvar rushed over to Rainier.
Rothvar’s hand hovered over Rainier’s leg. “Hell’s fire, there are healing spells already holding those muscles and bone together.”
Lucivar backed away from Falonar, who stood straight and proud despite the bleeding arm.
“Get that arm tended,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Falonar looked at the wound that had come from the sight-shielded blade held by a furious woman. “What is there to say?”
Plenty, Lucivar thought. “Get it tended.”
He waited until Falonar left before sending out a call on an Ebon-gray spear thread. *Daemon!*
*Lucivar?*
*I need Jaenelle here as a Healer. Now.*
*Who?*
*Rainier.*
*We’ll be there.*
The link between them snapped as Daemon shut him out. He didn’t take offense. He’d just dumped a basket of problems in his brother’s lap, the most dangerous being the Queen they both loved and still served—the Queen who was also a Black Widow and a Healer. There wasn’t going to be anything pleasant about being in a Coach with Jaenelle while riding the Winds to Ebon Rih, not after telling her that Rainier was the reason for the urgent call.