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Saetan watched the drops of rain trickle down the window.
When Jaenelle had given the order for all the Queens to come to the Keep, he hadn't protested for one reason: Sylvia. He had wanted her in the Keep where she would be safe.
But now that Jaenelle had changed her mind—or had had it changed for her—he would issue his own orders as the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan and summon all the Dhemlan Queens to the Hall. It was a risk. The Hall didn't have the defenses the Keep had.No place had the defenses the Keep had. But it had been designed to withstand attack, and its defenses were better than anywhere else the Queens might be forced to retreat if the fighting escalated. And it was big enough that the Queens could bring their families with them, bring their children.
He wanted her safe. And her boys, too, Mikal and Beron.
Sassy, opinionated, lovely Sylvia. Mother Night, he loved her.
Even after he realized that the potency of Jaenelle's tonic after she had made the Offering to the Darkness had brought back the hunger of a man—and the ability to satisfy it—he might have resisted becoming Sylvia's lover, might have found the strength to remain just a friend if he hadn't sensed the hurt in her that her last Consort had inflicted. She had shut herself away from sexual pleasure, hadn't been intrigued enough by any man to try again— until she had become friends with him.
They weren't acknowledged lovers. At his insistence, they maintained the illusion in public of being just friends. Oh, his reasons had been very logical, very considerate. He knew Luthvian would be enraged if he openly became another woman's lover, and he hadn't wanted her to take her anger out on the rest of the family—or on Sylvia. And he hadn't wanted people backing away from her because she had chosen a Guardian for a lover.
At first, she had gone along with him, mostly because she was rediscovering the pleasures of the bed, and had been able to accept that he was a lover in the bedroom and a friend outside of it. But gradually, over the past year, she had become more and more unhappy with the secrecy, had wanted an acknowledged relationship.
He had expected her to leave him. Instead, one night during the Winsol celebrations a few months ago, she had asked him to marry her. And, may the Darkness help him, he had wanted to say yes. Had wanted to share a bed with her, alife with her.
But he didn't say yes. Not because of Luthvian or because he was a Guardian, but because of a vague uneasiness that had warned him to take care, to wait. So he had smiled and said, "Ask me next Winsol."
He had understood why, for a few weeks after that, there were no invitations to her bed. He had understood why she was always "busy" when he stopped at her home to spend a little time with the boys.
He had missed the friend far more than he'd missed the lover, but hehad missed those hours in her bed.
Then, just a few days before the attack in Glacia, they had gone to Amdarh for a couple of days to spend time together away from everyone else, to try to rebuild their relationship. And they had made love, but he had known as soon as he touched her that, despite wanting him, she was trying to keep her distance from him emotionally, that she was trying to protect herself from being hurt again. Even when she was caught up in her climax, he had known.
Now, staring at the rain, he almost wished he had said "yes" at Winsol, almost wished he had asked her to stand with him before a Priestess when they had arrived in Amdarh. And he wished he could make love with her one more time to erase the unhappiness that had been in the bed with them that last time.
But the conviction had been growing in him for days now that there wouldn't be another chance.
There were things he should have said that night in Amdarh. He'd never really told her how much she meant to him, how much he loved her. He should have. Now he could give her nothing but words, but at least he could give her that much.
Turning away from the window, he sat at the desk and began to write.
Chapter Fourteen
1 / Kaeleer
need a favor," Jaenelle said as she moved stiffly to her worktable and picked up two small glass jars.
"You have only to ask," Titian replied.She's been channeling too much power without giving her body time to recover. What is she planning that demands so much?
"A discreet favor."
"Understood."
"I need blood from two people who have been tainted by Dorothea or Hekatah. Preferably one of each."
Titian thought for a very brief moment. "Lord Jorval lives in the capital of Little Terreille, does he not?"
Jaenelle swallowed. Even that seemed to take effort. "Yes, Jorval is in Goth. And so, at the moment, is Kartane SaDiablo."
"Ah." Looking at the exhausted woman, Titian remembered the child Jaenelle had been. And she remembered other things. "Will it matter if neither of them sees the next sunrise?"
A deadly cold filled Jaenelle's sapphire eyes. "No."
Titian smiled. "In that case, with your permission, I'll take Surreal with me. It's time to pay some debts."
2 / Kaeleer
In the enormous chamber where the Dark Throne resided, Ladvarian trembled as he looked at Lorn. It wasn't that he was afraid of Lorn—at least, not usually. It was just that Lorn was the Prince of the Dragons, the legendary race who had created the Blood. Lorn was very,very old, and very wise, and verybig. Ladvarian was smaller than one of Lorn's midnight eyes. Just then, that made him feelvery small.
And then there was Draca, the Keep's Seneschal, who had been Lorn's mate and the Dragon Queen before she had sacrificed her true form in order to give other creatures the Craft.
Sacrifices. No, he wouldnot think about sacrifices. There was not going to be a sacrifice. The kindred would not allow it.
But being summoned here by Lorn and Draca when the Arachnian Queen was so close to finishing that special web of dreams ... It frightened him. If they forbade the kindred from doing this... The kindred would do it anyway, whatever the cost.
*Little Brother,* Lorn said in his deep, quiet, thundering voice.
*Prince Lorn.* Ladvarian was trembling enough for them to see it.
*I have a gift for you, little Brother. Give thiss to the Weaver of Dreamss.*
A flat, beautifully carved box appeared in the air before Ladvarian. When it opened, he saw a simply designed pendant made of white and yellow gold and an equally simple ring. But it was the Jewel in those pieces that made his hackles rise and his ears flatten tight to his head.
It had no color, and yet it wasn't colorless. Restless, it shimmered, hungry to complete its transformation. It tugged at him, seeking a bond with his mind.
He took a step back. As he looked up at Lorn, angry and confused enough to issue a challenge that would have been foolish as well as futile, he realized Lorn's scales had that same translucent shimmer. Knowledge crashed in on him. He took another step back and whined.
