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"Lady Karla, will you serve in the First Circle?"
"I will serve."
Shock ripped through Saetan, quickly followed by pain so intense he didn't think it would be possible to survive it. She hadn't forgiven him. At least, not enough.
"Lady Moonshadow, will you serve hi the First Circle?"
"I will serve."
He swallowed hard. He couldn't react,wouldn't let the others see the hurt. But if she was going to allow Mephis and Prothvar to serve, why not Andulvar? Why not Lucivar, who already served her?
He barely heard the other names being called out. Gabrielle, Morghann, Kalush, Grezande, Sabrina, Zylona, Katrine, Astar, Ash. On and on until all the witches had accepted a place in the court.
Draca and Geoffrey couldn't formally serve because they served the Keep itself. If there was comfort knowing that, it was a bitter brew.
He could feel Lucivar trembling beside him.
After a moment's silence, Jaenelle rose and walked down the three steps. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. He felt her exasperation as she lightly brushed against the first of his inner barriers.
She pushed up her left sleeve and made a small cut in her wrist.
Blood welled and ran.
"Prince Lucivar Yaslana, will you serve as First Escort and Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih?"
Lucivar stared at her for a heartbeat or two, then slowly approached her. "I will serve." He sank to his knees, held her left hand with his right, and placed his mouth over the wound.
Absolute surrender. Lifetime surrender. By accepting her blood, Lucivar surrendered every aspect of his being for all time. She would rule him, body and soul, mind and Jewels.
It wasn't long—it was a lifetime—before Lucivar lifted his mouth, rose, and stepped to one side, looking dazed.
Not surprising, Saetan thought. From where he stood, he could smell the heat, the strength that flowed in her veins.
"Prince Andulvar Yaslana, will you serve as Master of the Guard?"
"I will serve," Andulvar said, approaching her and sinking to his knees to accept the lifeblood.
When Andulvar stepped aside, Jaenelle looked at Saetan. "Prince Saetan Daemon SaDiablo, will you serve as Steward of the Dark Court?"
Saetan approached slowly, searching her eyes for some clue that would tell him which answer she truly wanted. Since he couldn't ask the question aloud, he reached hesitantly for her mind. "Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure," she replied tartly. "There are times, Saetan, when you're an idiot. The only reason I waited was so that the three of you would know what you were getting into before you agreed."
"In that case ... " He sank to his knees. "I will serve."
Just before his mouth closed over the wound, just before his tongue had the first taste of her blood at its mature strength, Jaenelle added, "Besides, who else is going to be willing to referee squabbles?"
Giving her a sharp look, he took the blood. Night sky, deep earth, the song of the tides, the nurturing darkness of a woman's body. And fire. He tasted all of it, savored it as it washed through him, burned through him, branded him as hers.
He lifted his mouth and brushed a finger over the wound, using healing Craft to seal it and stop the flow of blood. "It needs to be healed properly."
"Soon." She withdrew her hand and returned to the Dark Throne.
No, he decided as he got to his feet and heard everyone else rising, this wasn't a good time for a display of male stubbornness. Besides, the ceremony would be over shortly.
"Notice anything odd about this court?" Lucivar asked him as tension filled the chamber again.
Surprised by the question, Saetan looked at all the solemn, determined faces. "Odd? No. They're the same ... "
It finally struck him. He'd thought of it, discussed it, and then had been so hurt when Jaenelle passed over him that he had failed to see it. The coven had joined the First Circle, and they shouldn't have because they were Territory Queens . . .
Karla stepped forward. "My Queen. May I speak?"
"You may speak, my Sister," Jaenelle replied solemnly.. . . and Territory Queens served no one.
Contained fire lit Karla's ice-blue eyes as she said triumphantly, "Glacia yields to Ebon Askavi!"
Saetan choked on his heart. Mother Night! Karla was making Jaenelle the ruling power of the Territoryshe was supposed to rule.
Gabrielle stepped forward. "Dea al Mon yields to Ebon Askavi!"
"Scelt yields to Ebon Askavi!" Morghann shouted.
"Nharkhava!" "Dharo!" "Tigrelan!" "Centauran!"
"Sceval!" "Arceria!" "The Fyreborn Islands!"
Someone nudged his back, breaking his stunned silence. "Dhemlan yields to Ebon Askavi!"
He jumped when Andulvar roared, "Askavi yields to Ebon Askavi!"
The shouted names of the Territories that now stood in the shadow of Ebon Askavi finally stopped echoing through the chamber. Then a small voice drifted into their minds.
"Arachna yields to the Lady of the Black Mountain."
"Mother Night," Saetan whispered, and wondered if the Weavers of Dreams were spinning their tangled webs across the chamber's ceiling.
"I accept," Jaenelle said quietly.
Lucivar briefly squeezed Saetan's shoulder in amused sympathy. "Should I wish the Steward of this court my congratulations or condolences?" he said quietly.
"Mother Night." Saetan staggered back a step. Hands grabbed his arms, keeping him upright.
Lucivar laughed softly as he slipped around Saetan. He climbed the steps to the Throne and extended his right hand. Jaenelle rose and placed her left hand over his right. A wide aisle opened up as the new court stepped aside to allow the First Escort to lead his Queen from the chamber.
Starting to follow, Saetan felt something hold him back. Waving Andulvar and the others on, he felt his throat tighten as the kindred shyly blended in with the humans, once more offering their trust.
The chamber emptied, Draca and Geoffrey being the last to leave.
No longer having an excuse, Saetan turned toward Lorn. As they stared at one another, he felt gentle sadness pressing down on him, a sadness all the more terrible because it was cloaked in understanding. He knew then why Lorn had remained apart. He had experienced that kind of sadness, too, when petitioners had stood before him, terrified of the Prince of the Darkness, the High Lord of Hell. He knew how it felt to crave affection and companionship and have it denied because of what he was.
Fingering his Black Jewel, he said, "Thank you."
