Twilight's Dawn (The Black Jewels #9)
Page 41“From what I found out after the first time he came around, his service as a Consort has earned him notoriety rather than the lucrative and illustrious positions he’d envisioned would be his when he walked away from Sylvia and her little village.”
“And I thought Father was the only one who disliked her former Consorts,” Lucivar said dryly.
Daemon lowered his hands and rested his head on the back of the seat. “You will never repeat this to Jaenelle, but after that son of a whoring bitch came around a second time, I told Kaelas and Jaal that if he trespassed on any property that belonged to the family—and that included the land around Manny’s and Tersa’s cottages—they had my permission to eat him. I said it within the bastard’s hearing. I haven’t seen him since.”
Lucivar stared at him for a moment before laughing. “Hell’s fire, Bastard. You do like to dance on the knife’s edge.”
“Maybe.” Or maybe he felt fairly sure that Jaenelle wouldn’t object too strenuously if she did find out.
*Prince?*
*Rainier,* Daemon replied. *Anything to report?*
*I know why Sylvia’s family was lured down to that place, but I didn’t find out anything that will help you hunt down the bastard. If you and Prince Yaslana are coming back to the Hall, Surreal wants to go back to our house in Halaway and get some sleep. She knows she has a suite at the Hall and I have a suite too, and there’s no point in you reminding her because Beale already has—twice—but she wants to be in the village, closer to Tersa and Manny. Just in case.*
*All right. I’ll stop by in the morning before I go to the Keep.* He broke the link and closed his eyes. “Can you stay until morning?” he asked Lucivar. “I’ll be heading to the Keep after I talk to Rainier.”
“I can stay. I’ll check on Tersa and Mikal while you get Rainier’s report. Maybe between us we can give Sylvia a little peace.”
And maybe by tomorrow he would have a better idea of how to find the bastard who had ended a good Queen’s life.
FOUR
Sylvia jerked awake and tried to pull herself out of a memory-dream about Mikal and Tildee. It was during the first year Tildee had lived with them. Mikal had snitched some goody from the kitchen earlier that day and hidden it under his bed for the two of them to have as a treat late that night, not realizing that the treat would spoil if left outside the cold box on a summer day. Tildee had thought it smelled bad, but the boy assured her it was wonderful, so boy and Sceltie had gobbled up the treat.
She still remembered Mikal’s panicked yells, and running into his bedroom to discover that Tildee had vomited all over his lap. In the seconds it took her to realize the dog was extremely ill and needed healing help from someone who knew kindred, Mikal began throwing up. So there she was, very late at night, pounding on the Hall’s front door, holding a blanket-wrapped Sceltie who was covered in Mikal’s puke, while her court Healer was taking care of Mikal, and Beron was running to fetch Manny and Tersa.
Jaenelle had taken one look at Tildee, asked what she and Mikal had eaten, and then poured a tonic down the dog’s throat. An hour later, Sylvia was back home with an embarrassed, freshly bathed Sceltie, who was greeted by an equally embarrassed, freshly bathed boy. For a few years after that incident, on the days when Mikal attended the village school, Tildee went up to the Hall for her own kind of lessons.
The two of them had gotten into their share of trouble since then, but when Tildee told Mikal something was bad, the boy didn’t argue.
Why would I dream about that now? she wondered. Then she remembered she’d told Tildee to run. The boys!
Rolling over on her side, Sylvia tried to fling the covers back and push her legs over the edge of the bed, but an arm tightened around her waist.
“Easy,” Saetan said. “From now on, you have to think before you get out of bed.”
“The boys!”
Sylvia shivered. “And Mikal?”
Saetan’s arm didn’t move from her waist, but the covers settled in place around her. “Tildee grabbed Mikal and didn’t stop running until she got them to Tersa’s cottage. They’re upset, but otherwise they’re fine.”
“Thank the Darkness.” All her strength seemed to drain away once she knew her sons were safe. She rolled onto her back—and remembered the rest.
The candle-light in the bedside lamp began to glow softly, providing just enough light for her to see the man who raised himself up on one elbow to look at her.
“You’re not under the covers,” she said. “Is it because of how my legs look?”
“My darling Sylvia, I am the High Lord of Hell. I have seen much worse than truncated legs. No, I’m above the covers because I didn’t want you to wake up alone, but you weren’t in any condition to extend an invitation to sleep with you.”
She let out a pained laugh. “You’re still going to insist on propriety?”
“Your body is dead; you are not. That being the case, I see no reason to dispense with propriety or any other courtesy,” he said with just enough bite to make her feel chastised.
No, he wouldn’t dispense with propriety or courtesy or the Blood’s Protocol or their code of honor, and she doubted the demon-dead were allowed to dispense with those things either. Not if they wanted to extend their existence a while longer after the physical death.
“Saetan . . .” She wasn’t sure what she was asking of him, wasn’t even sure if she was asking anything. But he bent his head and gave her one of those slow, thorough kisses that used to make her knees weak. When his mind surrounded hers, she felt the wave of sensuality that used to bring her an orgasm before his hands touched her.
Now it felt comforting, but it was her heart and not her body that felt that comfort.
He ended the kiss and eased back enough to look at her. “Everything has a price.”
Being demon-dead wasn’t the same as being among the living. Her Self was now encased in dead flesh. Sylvia the woman could still feel love, but her body no longer felt the pleasures of sex.
She tried to shift away from him, but he rolled just enough to pin her.
“I think you would like some answers to some questions you don’t want to ask,” Saetan said. “Can I love you when sex is no longer part of that love? Yes, I can and do. Do I still want to spend time with you and sleep with you? Yes, I do. I couldn’t remain with you when you were among the living, but there is no reason why we can’t be together now—if that’s something you want too.”
“For how long?” she asked.
“For as long as you want,” he replied. “You’ll know when it’s time to go, and I won’t ask you to stay a day longer.”
“My legs.”
“An illusion spell and some Craft to air walk can hide the loss from the eye.”
“Yes, it would—and not a necessary drain on most days, in my opinion.” He looked at the two pendants resting on her chest. “It looks like the dose of Jaenelle’s blood had enough power in it to fuel the healing and fill both of your Jewels’ reservoirs partway. That’s a good start.”
Good start? Oh, no. “Hell’s fire. You’re not going to make me drink more of that stuff, are you?”
“Not immediately,” he said dryly. “But it’s a simple fact that the darker the power, the less blood that’s required to sustain someone who is demon-dead.”
“Plain speaking, High Lord.”
“Once your power is restored, yarbarah will be sufficient most days. Twice a month, you’ll have a small amount of fresh human blood.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Whose blood?”
He gave her a smile that had her pressing into the bed. “That depends on whether a certain Lady thinks you look peaky. I strongly recommend not draining yourself to the point of looking peaky.”
“Mother Night.”
“And may the Darkness be merciful.” Saetan shifted so he no longer pinned her. “But as I said earlier, you should be grateful you never had Ebony-strength blood poured down your throat.” He rolled out of bed. “All right, witchling. Nurian will be back before sunup to take a look at your legs, but she already confirmed that her shields will keep everything protected so you can have a bath beforehand. I expect Daemon and Lucivar to arrive before sunup as well, since they both know you’ll need to sleep during the daylight hours. Karla’s wheeled chair was left outside the room. You can use that until we can arrange to have one built for you.”
“But you said I could air walk!” She didn’t want to be seen in a chair like that, didn’t want her sons thinking about the parts of her legs that weren’t there.
Saetan gave her a dry look. “It’s like anything else, Sylvia. There needs to be a balance between using Craft to move around and using your body. The wheeled chair is practical.” He snarled softly as he came around to her side of the bed. “You were not a vain woman when you were alive. You are not going to become vain now that you’re dead.”
Her mouth was still hanging open and her brain was still trying to think of a reply when he flung back the covers, picked her up, and took her into the bathroom.
Ignoring the breakfast breads, ham, and fruit that had been set out for him and Lucivar, Daemon poured himself a second cup of coffee and sat back.
“Let’s begin with the simple and work up to the nasty,” he said.
“Why is Sylvia glaring at me?” Lucivar asked Saetan. “It was only a few drops of Red added to the yarbarah. It’s not like I opened a vein and poured Ebon-gray down her throat. I added a few drops to your glass too, and you aren’t acting bitchy about it.”
“I’m going to overlook that poor choice of words,” Saetan replied, giving Lucivar a look that said, Say another word and I’ll kick your ass. “Prince Sadi, please report.”
“As I told you last night, Mikal is upset, but he’s fine except for the bruises Tildee’s teeth made on his arm. He and Tildee are staying with Tersa for the time being.”
“I thought my father might want to take him,” Sylvia said, her voice troubled.
Are you hoping he’ll take them, or are you hoping someone will step in and prevent that arrangement? Daemon wondered. Something wasn’t right between grandfather and grandsons, but he wasn’t going to wade into that family quarrel unless Jaenelle wanted him to. “Right now, Mikal has Tildee, Ladvarian, and Jaal protecting him. Your father might be willing to argue with two Scelties, but I don’t think he’ll want to deal with a tiger. So Mikal stays with Tersa, since her response to finding Jaal in her parlor was to send Ladvarian out to buy more milk.”
Lucivar gave her that lazy, arrogant smile. “He remembered more of his training than you did. But I guess I’ll overlook that, since you’re all weak and helpless now.”
*The Prick sure does know how to rile up women,* Daemon told Saetan as they watched Sylvia change from wounded, vulnerable woman into a pissed-off Queen. *Think she’ll go for his balls?*
*I locked the wheels on her chair after I tasted the yarbarah,* Saetan replied.
“Beron is wounded,” Daemon said. “He’ll need several days of rest and care to fully heal, but he will heal. He’ll stay at the Hall with us until this is settled. He’ll be well protected there. Nothing will get past Kaelas—or me.”
Sylvia looked at each of the men. “Why so much protection? The trouble is in the southern part of Dhemlan, not in Halaway.”
They had reached the nasty part of this report. “We brought Haeze back to the Hall last night. After talking with Rainier this morning, I’m glad I made that choice.” Daemon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “A Warlord in Little Terreille has been preying on young boys for the past few years. There is even a story whispered in schools near Goth about No Face, a Warlord who tortures and kills boys who slip out at night instead of staying home as they should.” No Face indulged in physical, sexual, and emotional torture, but Daemon saw no reason to tell Sylvia what had been intended for her younger son.
“No Face.” Sylvia turned her hand palm up and stared at her fingers. “He had some kind of mesh covering his face. I thought my fingers were ripped up by it when I was fighting him.”
Saetan cleared his throat. “Nurian was able to heal your fingers before the flesh could no longer respond like it was still living.”
He broke his own rules in order to repair her body this much, Daemon thought. He won’t regret that decision, but he isn’t comfortable with having made that choice. “Some of No Face’s victims might have made the transition to cildru dyathe, but more likely, he used them up and made the final kill so there wouldn’t be anyone to bear witness against him.”
“Until now,” Saetan said too softly. “The cildru dyathe who have reached Hell in the past few weeks ...” He didn’t glance at Sylvia, but Daemon understood why his father chose not to continue. “The last one was a boy from Dhemlan. Something I wanted to discuss with you, Daemon.”
*Was he mutilated?* Daemon asked on a Black thread.
*Yes.*
“No Face has either grown careless or too confident,” Daemon began.
“Or bored,” Lucivar said, breaking in.
Daemon nodded. “Or bored. The bastard shifted his hunting ground to villages near the Dhemlan border. All of a sudden, village guards in Little Terreille were paying attention and responding faster when a child disappeared. More of a challenge for him, and far more exciting.”
“Then he made the mistake of straying over the border into Dhemlan.” Lucivar helped himself to one of the breakfast breads. “He sees a brown-skinned child and forgets that the Dhemlan people are a long-lived race, and that child probably has lived as many years—or more— than him. That means the child is a little more mature in some ways than other children and may not be as easy to grab. Combine that with an adolescent male who had the luck to become friends with the Queen of Halaway’s son, and the bastard has more trouble than he’s prepared to meet.”