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Daemon huffed out a sigh. “Doesn’t that little beast ever get tired?”
Saetan had an arm wrapped around his belly and his other fist pressed against his lips.
“Oh, shit, Bastard. What did you do?”
“He made the mistake of falling asleep,” Saetan said.
Daemon growled. “I just thought . . . Something quiet. Just for a little while. We were sitting on the floor with sheets of sketching paper. They were big sheets. Why couldn’t he keep the paint on the paper?”
“It would have been better if Daemon had thought to provide watercolors instead of a different kind of paint,” Saetan said.
“And who in the name of Hell taught that boy about shields at his age?” Daemon snarled.
Probably the wolf pups. “Wasn’t me.” Lucivar looked at both of them. “So Daemonar managed to put some kind of shield into the paint so the standard ways of removing it aren’t working? At least, not completely?”
Saetan was going to strain a muscle trying not to laugh, and Daemon . . .
“Besides the floor, what else did he paint?” Lucivar asked.
A beat of silence. Then Saetan said, “He painted Unka Daemon.”
Lucivar ended up on the floor, roaring with laughter, which might have pissed off his brother if their father hadn’t ended up on the floor too.
“Oh, my,” Lucivar said, crawling back up on the chair. He looked at Daemon’s face, which, outside of looking unnaturally flushed, didn’t seem any different. “Where?”
Saetan propped himself up against a chair. “Let’s just say Daemon needs to explain this to Jaenelle before he takes his shirt off.”
Oh, shit.
The pitcher of ale arrived at that moment, making Lucivar wonder if that was luck or his father’s exquisite sense of timing.
For a few minutes they ate, drank, and generally avoided looking at one another.
Then Saetan said, “So. Would you like to tell us why you were still pissed off when you walked in the room?”
Should have known he couldn’t keep it leashed enough to hide it from those two.
“Is there a problem?” Daemon asked.
“Maybe.” Lucivar drained his glass and refilled it. “Cassidy got hurt. She was so focused on running from one kind of pain, she worked until she ripped up her hands.” He hesitated, then looked at Daemon. “I think Grayhaven was the cause of that pain, but I don’t know that for sure.”
Daemon’s eyes looked glazed and a little sleepy—and the chill that was filling the room came from two sources.
“Why didn’t you bring her back with you?” Saetan asked too softly.
“There’s another Warlord Prince at the house. About the same age as Grayhaven. Calls himself Gray. He was tortured when he was fifteen and hasn’t recovered from it mentally or emotionally. It’s safe for him to be a boy, to be nothing that would be considered a threat.” Lucivar took a long swallow of ale. “And yet he’s the one who stepped up to the line. He’s the one who told me flat out I had no right to take his Queen anywhere. He called her Cassie.”
“Jewels?” Saetan asked.
“Didn’t see them, but he felt like Purple Dusk. And he felt like he should have been more.”
“Your impression?” Daemon asked.
“They’re not a court yet. The males are resisting, and damned if I could figure out why. So I left some instructions with Vae. I’ll be there for Cassidy’s first moontime to make sure things get sorted out. And if I don’t trust the males in her First Circle the next time I see them, I’ll bring her back.”
“Fair enough,” Saetan said.
“What about Gray?” Daemon asked. “Anything we can do to help him?”
Lucivar thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Not yet. But I’ll tell you this: if that boy decides to wake up, the Master of the Guard is going to have his hands full.”
CHAPTER 15
TERREILLE
As the last bandage came off, Shira studied Cassidy’s hands, then sighed in relief.
So did Cassidy.
“You’ll need to work them gently,” Shira said,“and I do mean gently. There’s still healing going on under the skin. And the skin itself is still fragile. Pulling on a tough blade of grass could be enough to slice it open.”
“Are you telling me not to work in the garden?”
“I’m telling you to be very careful about how much you do for the next few days,” Shira said. “And you should put a tight shield over your hands to protect them. And wear gloves.”
Cassidy rolled her eyes. “Now you sound like my father.”
“Maybe you should have listened to him.”
They glared at each other. Then Shira looked away, as if suddenly realizing she’d crossed some line.
And she had.
“I guess we’ve become friends,” Cassidy said, noting the look of surprise and pleasure in Shira’s eyes.
“I guess we have,” Shira replied a little cautiously. “So, what are you going to do first now that you can do things again?”
“It’s not the first thing I’ll do, but tonight I’m going to take a long, hot bath and soak until all of me wrinkles.” To her way of thinking, being given sponge baths because she couldn’t wash herself had been sufficient punishment for ripping up both hands. And needing someone’s help with even more personal needs . . .
Which made her think of the other thing she needed to discuss with Shira.
“Do you know a brew to delay a moontime?” Cassidy asked.
Shira frowned. “Why would you want to do that? It will only make the next one a lot worse.”
Cassidy wasn’t sure how to explain without sounding insulting. Because wanting to delay this was insulting.
“You don’t trust them, do you?” Shira asked.
“Trust who?”
“Your First Circle. You don’t trust them to protect you. You don’t trust them not to turn on you.”
She didn’t want to admit it, but she wasn’t going to deny the truth. A witch was vulnerable during the first three days of her moon cycle because she couldn’t use her own power to protect herself. And she felt far more vulnerable here in Dena Nehele than she had back home in Dharo.
Shira gave her a considering look. “You can trust Ranon. He won’t hurt you.”
“He’s not sure he wants to serve me.”
“No,” Shira said thoughtfully, “he’s sure of that. He’s . . . puzzled . . . by his response to you.”
