“Father . . .”
“It could have been you, Daemon. She could have been you.”
He looked at those gold eyes glazed with madness and took a step back.
Pain. Shock. A moment to make a choice before insane rage eclipsed all ability to think.
Manny’s words, when she finally told him about his father.
So he left. Went to that house you keep visiting, the house you and your mother lived in, and destroyed the study. Tore the books apart, shredded the curtains, broke every piece of furniture in the room. He couldn’t get the rage out. When I finally dared open the door, he was kneeling in the middle of the room, his chest heaving, trying to get some air, a crazy look in his eyes.
When Dorothea betrayed Saetan at Daemon’s Birthright Ceremony, the High Lord had walked away. Because he had known the depth of his rage. Because the boy, like the girl centuries later, would have tried to reach the father, would have gotten caught in the fight.
Would have died.
Saetan’s eyes filled with tears. “It . . . could have . . . been you.”
Here it is,
Daemon thought.
Here is the cascade of memories that sent a strong man tumbling into the Twisted Kingdom—and almost ignited a cataclysmic rage.
He didn’t think. Didn’t have to think. He threw his arms around his father and held on as Saetan broke down and wept.
“I’m here, Father. I’m here. I’m safe. I’m well. You protected me that day. You walked away and kept me safe.”
And please, sweet Darkness, please don’t let him think about what that boy’s life had been like after that day. Not now.
“I’m here, Father. I’ve got you. I’m here.”
Choices. And taking chances.
While Saetan wept, Daemon quietly descended until he stood in the abyss at the level of the Black.
I am my father’s son.
Not much to distinguish between their psychic scents or their power. He was counting on that as he carefully created a link between Saetan’s Black power and his own—and began using his power to absorb Saetan’s, draining them both in the process. Quietly. Carefully. It would leave them both vulnerable, but if he couldn’t bring his father out of the Twisted Kingdom, Saetan wouldn’t have a reserve of Black power, so he would end up tapping into his Birthright Red. Lucivar would be the dominant power coming into that fight—and Lucivar would do whatever needed to be done.
Thinking of his own Birthright Ceremony and the moment of that betrayal, Daemon wondered how much strength and courage a man needed to take that kind of emotional gutting and walk away in order to protect what was held dear.
“I’m here, Father. I’m safe. You kept me safe that day.”
Running out of time. Draining the power faster and faster, hoping he could drain enough.
Another shock as a flick of temper sizzled along that link.
Saetan had been aware of being drained. Had been aware all along—and had
let
him drain the power instead of fighting.
Now the High Lord pushed back, shutting off his ability to drain the Black without turning the effort into a fight. Saetan also pulled away from his embrace, turning toward the door.
He and Saetan were still linked, mind to mind, but it wasn’t an intrusive connection, more an emotional awareness now. Enough to tell him that his father was still on the wrong side of the boundary between the Twisted Kingdom and sanity. Enough for Daemon to feel bristling temper being added to an already messy emotional stew.
As he wondered what had changed, Lucivar dropped the sight shield and spread his wings slowly, giving him an intimidating physical presence.
How long had Lucivar been standing there? He hadn’t sensed his brother. He’d been too focused on his father. But Saetan had responded and had turned to face an adversary.
Red shield. Hell’s fire, Lucivar needed more than that.
Knew
better than to come into a potential fight with less than his strongest shield.
Then Lucivar smiled the lazy, arrogant smile that always meant trouble, and Daemon realized the Red was simply hiding the Ebony shield in the Ring of Honor Jaenelle had given Lucivar years ago when she’d been cornered into accepting him into service.
“You’ve upset your daughter,” Lucivar said in the conversational tone that he usually followed with a fist in someone’s face. “You remember her? Well, you’ve upset her enough that she skipped over being pissed off about it and went straight to the scary kind of bitchy. You remember that mood? It’s been a while since we’ve seen it.”
There was still enough of a psychic link between them that Daemon felt Saetan’s response to the emotional punch—the equivalent of a fist in the gut. And through that link came one flash of memory. One image of a large golden spider, an incredible tangled web—and one small strand of spider silk threaded with a chip of an Ebony Jewel.
Mother Night.
He tightened his own control, closed off more of his inner barriers. Now wasn’t the time to share his own memories—especially since neither he nor Saetan had missed the threat under Lucivar’s words.
Lucivar held up a stoppered bottle. “She sent me here to give you this. It’s a soothing brew. A few hours’ sleep will help you regain your balance.”
Saetan snarled.
Lucivar bared his teeth in a smile. “Now, we could tussle about this, which, personally, I think would be fun, but that would get Jaenelle mad at all of us. So I’ll just give you a choice.”
No, Lucivar,
Daemon thought.
Not one of your choices.
“You can drink this and get some rest—or I can let Daemonar loose in the library, unsupervised, and the only way you’ll get your grandson away from all that old paper is by going through me.”
Crackling tension—and something more.
Daemon felt Saetan recoil. Lucivar had drawn the line and would hold it with everything he had in him. And something about meeting Lucivar on a killing field was making the High Lord stumble away from that line.
Saetan sat on the table, called in a handkerchief, and blew his nose.
Cornered. Trapped.Nowhere for Saetan to turn that wouldn’t bring him up against an adversary he didn’t want to fight.
Grandson. Sons. Daughter.
Jaenelle had chosen her weapons well.
“You prick,” Saetan finally snarled. “You’d really do it.”
“Damn right I would,” Lucivar said. “If you’re going to scare the shit out of your sons, you deserve to be threatened.”
Good. Fine. Wonderful. Let’s just start a pissing contest and threaten the High Lord of Hell while he’s in the Twisted Kingdom and might not remember who we are. Damn you, Lucivar.
Except it worked. The madness-driven rage faded, replaced by exasperation and annoyed amusement—maybe because no one but Lucivar would dare piss on the High Lord’s foot.
Saetan took those last steps across the border and walked out of the Twisted Kingdom. His shoulders sagged. He looked exhausted, but he rallied enough to hold out a hand. “Give me the damn brew.”
Lucivar pulled off the stopper and handed Saetan the bottle.
Saetan gulped down the brew and handed the bottle back. “Well,” he said several moments later, “at least
this
brew of hers doesn’t kick like a demented draft horse.”
“Lucky for you.” Lucivar vanished the bottle and hauled Saetan to his feet. “Come on, Papa. We’ll all have a nice nap and then play round-robin snarling.”
Daemon rolled his eyes and tucked a hand under Saetan’s other elbow. Whatever was in that brew was hitting the High Lord hard and fast. They didn’t bother trying to get him to his bedroom. The room they were in had a sofa long enough to accommodate a grown man, so they stripped off Saetan’s tunic jacket and his shoes and settled him on the sofa, tucking blankets around him.
Barely awake, Saetan struggled to focus on them. “Lucivar . . .”
Lucivar grinned. “Nah. I won’t let the little beast in the library until you’re feeling frisky enough to chase him.”
“You pri—”
They watched their father sleep for a couple of minutes to be sure he really was settled.
Lucivar shook his head. “She said he’d go down fast. I’m glad she was right.”
Daemon tipped his head, an unspoken question.
*Not here,* Lucivar said on a psychic thread.
They found another sitting room nearby. One moment, they were staring at each other. The next moment, they were holding each other, shaking.
“You stupid prick,” Daemon said. “What were you thinking of, drawing a line like that?”
“Me?” Lucivar squeezed hard enough to leave Daemon breathless. “You’re the one who left yourself open to every kind of attack. Hell’s fire, Bastard. You didn’t even try to shield.”
“Couldn’t take the chance of igniting his rage.”
“I know.”
Daemon eased back enough to rest his forehead against his brother’s. “Scared me, Lucivar. Seeing him like that. Watching you draw that line. All of it. Really scared me.”
“Scared me too.” Lucivar hesitated. “You would have killed him. If it came down to that, you would have killed him.”
Daemon closed his eyes. “Yes. Would have tried to anyway. Actually, I figured the best I could do was weaken him enough before he crippled me, so that you would be able to finish it.”
“Well, that’s good to know.” Another hesitation, then Lucivar said,“We’re not the only ones who have scars. He hides his better than most men, but he’s got some.”
“Yeah.” He wasn’t about to forget
this
particular scar anytime soon.
“Daemon . . .” Lucivar eased back a little more, but still kept his hands on Daemon’s shoulders. “There’s something I’d like to ask you. If you can’t tell me, I’ll understand.”
“All right,” Daemon replied, not liking the wariness now filling Lucivar’s eyes.
“I meant what I said about Jaenelle’s temper riding the scary kind of bitchy.”
“Not the side of her temper a smart man would choose to tangle with.”
“It was Witch’s side of her temper. More than that. The look in her eyes . . .” Lucivar shook his head, frustrated. “For a moment, when I looked into her eyes, it felt like the abyss had opened up right under me and . . . I haven’t felt that kind of power since . . .” He sighed. “Hell’s fire. I don’t even know what I’m asking.”
Yes, you do,
Daemon thought. Making a choice, he brushed lightly against Lucivar’s inner barriers, asking to enter his brother’s mind.
Lucivar hesitated a moment, then opened
all
his inner barriers, giving Daemon access to everything he was. Leaving himself completely vulnerable.
Daemon moved carefully and went deep because what he was about to give his brother was information that had to be kept secret.
When he reached the most protected part of Lucivar’s mind, he offered two images: Saetan’s memory of a tangled web that turned dreams into flesh, and his own memory of the Misty Place and a spiraling web of power—the power Witch had chosen to give up in order to have a more ordinary life.
“Mother Night,” Lucivar whispered, his eyes widening. “Then the power is still there.”
“It’s still there.”
“Could she claim it again?”
Didn’t Lucivar understand?
“Could she survive if something pushed her into claiming it again?” Lucivar asked.
“I don’t know if her body can still be a vessel for that much power. I think she could reclaim it . . . but I don’t think she would survive very long.” He swallowed hard. “That’s why I’m going to make sure she never has to make that choice.”
Lucivar gave his shoulders a friendly squeeze. “
We’re
going to make sure she never has to make that choice.”
Of course.
Daemon huffed out a laugh that also held a few tears. “I love you, Prick.”
“I love you too, Bastard.” Lucivar stepped back and rolled his shoulders. “We’re going to camp here today and keep an eye on him? Make sure he really is stable when he wakes up?”
“Yes.”
“So let’s send a message to the scary little witch so she stops being scary, and then see what we can find to eat.”
Neither of them would shake off the past hour quite that easily, but Daemon felt some of the weight slide off his shoulders. He smiled and slipped his hands in his trouser pockets. “Let’s do that.”
CHAPTER 28
TERREILLE
W
ith his ears still ringing from Gray’s yappy list of instructions, Theran knocked on Cassidy’s door. He hoped she’d still be taking a bath or otherwise occupied, so he’d have a little more time to figure out what to say, but she opened the door before he decided to knock a second time.
“Prince Theran.”
Wary. Surprised to see him. And the look in her eyes told him plain enough that she remembered the other time he’d come knocking.
“May I come in?”
Hesitation. Then she stepped aside to let him enter her sitting room.
Who was with her? Not that it was any of his business. He was First Escort, not Consort, and the Queen could command the attention of any man in her court.
Except it would kill Gray if Cassidy had taken another lover.
“Am I intruding?” he asked when he heard some movement in her bedroom.
Her look said
Of course you are,
but she replied, “Not at all.”
Which was when Vae nudged the bedroom door open and joined them.
“Just females here?”
“Gray isn’t here, if that’s what you’re asking.” Her voice had a snippy edge to it.
He knew that defensive tone. He’d used it enough times in his youth when Talon had called him on something and he’d tried to slide around admitting he’d done something he wasn’t supposed to do.
What did she think he was going to do if she
was
with Gray? Go running to the Keep to tell Yaslana so he could storm down here and pound on everyone?
Maybe that’s exactly what she thought. They had to work to get along on their best days, and he had given her enough reasons to dislike him. But getting into an argument now would end with her stomping out to the garden, and that wouldn’t make Gray happy.