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Demon's ears immediately pricked forward, his neck arched, and his step became high-spirited sassy.
Daemon didn't offer any aids, letting the horse do whatever he wanted. Demon circled the tree over and over, sniffing the air, alert and listening . . . and growing more and more upset. Finally the stallion bugled angrily and launched himself toward the path and the field.
Daemon didn't try to control him until they headed for the ditch. He won that battle—barely—and when Demon finally slowed down, too tired to fight anymore, Daemon turned him toward the stable.
The stable lads stared openmouthed as Daemon rode into the yard. Andrew quickly limped up and took the reins. Guinness shook his head and strode across the yard, grasped Daemon's arm as he slid wearily from the saddle, and led him to the small office beside the tack room.
Pulling glasses and a bottle from his desk, Guinness poured out a two-finger shot and handed it to Daemon. "Here," he said gruffly, pouring a glass for himself. "It'll put some bone back in your legs."
Daemon gratefully sipped the whiskey while rubbing the knotted muscles in his shoulder.
Guinness looked at Daemon's sweat-soaked shirt and rubbed his bristly chin with his knuckles. "Gave you a bit of a time, did he?"
"It was mutual."
"Well, at least he'll still respect you in the morning."
Daemon choked. When he could breathe again, he almost asked about the tree but thought better of it. Andrew was the one who rode Demon.
After Guinness left to check on the feed, Daemon walked across the yard to where Andrew was grooming the horse.
Andrew looked up with a respectful smile. "You stayed on him."
"I stayed on him." Daemon watched the boy's smooth, easy motions. "But I had some trouble with him by a certain tree."
Andrew looked flustered. The hand brushing the stallion stuttered a little before picking up the rhythm again.
Daemon's eyes narrowed, and his voice turned dangerously silky. "What's special about that tree, Andrew?"
"Just a tree." Andrew glanced at Daemon's eyes and flinched. He shifted his feet, uneasy. "It's on the other side of the rise, you see. The first place out of sight of the house."
"So?"
"Well . . ." Andrew looked at Daemon, pleading. "You won't tell, will you?" He jerked his head toward the house. "It could cause a whole lot of trouble up there if they found out."
Daemon fought to keep his temper reined in. "Found out what?"
"About Miss Jaenelle."
Daemon shifted position, the motion so fluid and predatory that Andrew instantly stepped back, staying close to the horse as if for protection. "What about Miss Jaenelle?" he crooned.
Andrew gnawed on his lip. "At the tree . . . we . . ."
Daemon hissed.
Andrew paled, then flushed crimson. His eyes flashed with anger, and his fists clenched. "You . . . you think I'd . . ."
"Then whatdo you do at that tree?"
Andrew took a deep breath. "We change places."
Daemon frowned. "Change places?"
"Change horses. I've got a slight build. The pony can carry me."
"And she rides . . . ?"
Andrew put a tentative hand on the stallion's neck.
Daemon exploded. "You little son of a whoring bitch, you put a young girl up onthat!"
The stallion snorted his displeasure at this display of temper.
Common sense and dancing hooves won out over Daemon's desire to throttle the stable lad.
Caught between the stallion and the angry Warlord Prince, Andrew's lips twitched with a wry smile. "You should see her up onthat. And he takes care of her, too."
Daemon turned away, his anger spent. "Mother Night," he muttered, shaking his head as he walked toward the house and a welcome hot shower. "Mother Night."
CHAPTER SEVEN
1—Terreille
"I just told you," Philip snapped. "You won't be needed today."
"I heard what you—"
A muscle in Philip's jaw twitched. "You have a free day. I realize Hayllians think we're a backward people, but we have museums and art galleries and theaters. There must besomething you could do for a day that wouldn't be beneath you."
Daemon's eyes narrowed. At breakfast Leland had been skittish and unnaturally quiet, Alexandra had been unaccountably tense, Robert had been nowhere in sight, and now Philip was displaying this erratic anger and trying to force him out of the house for the day. "Very well."
Accepting a curt dismissal, he requested a carriage to take him into the shop district of Beldon Mor and went to the kitchen to see if Cook knew what was going on. But that lady, too, was in a fine fit of temper, and he retreated before she saw him, wincing as she slammed a heavy roasting pan onto her worktable.
He spent the morning wandering in and out of bookshops, gathering a variety of novels by Chaillot authors and puzzling over what could have put everyone in the household into such a state. Whatever it was, the answers weren't in the city.
He returned to the Angelline estate by lunchtime, only to find out that the entire family had left on an errand.
Annoyed at being thwarted, Daemon stacked the books on the writing desk, changed his clothes, and went to the stables.
There, too, everyone was on edge. Guinness snapped at the stable lads while they struggled to control overwrought horses.
"I'll take the stallion out if you want," Daemon offered.
"You tired of living?" Guinness snapped. He took a deep breath and relented. "It would help to get that one out of the yard for a while."
"Things are a bit tense around here."
"Ayah."
When Guinness offered nothing more, Daemon went to the stallion's box stall and waited for Andrew to saddle him. The boy's hands shook while he checked the girth. Tired of evasiveness, Daemon took the horse out of the yard and headed for the field.
Once they were out of the yard, Demon was eager, responsive, and excited. Whatever was setting the humans on edge, the stallion felt it too, but it made that simpler mind happy.
Not interested in a fight, Daemon turned them toward the tree.
Demon stopped at the tree and watched the rise they'd just come over, patiently waiting. The horse stood that way for ten minutes before eagerness gave way to dejection. When Daemon turned the horse toward the path, there was no resistance, and the gallop was halfhearted at best.
An hour later, Daemon handed the reins to Andrew and entered the house by a back door. He felt it as soon as he stepped through the doorway, and a rush of blazing anger crested and broke over him.
