Heir to the Shadows

and was still.

He watched her for several minutes until he felt reasonably sure she was just sleeping deeply. Then he went into the bathroom and was quietly, but thoroughly, sick.

He rinsed out his mouth, padded into the kitchen, and poured a generous dose of whiskey. Naked, he stepped onto the porch and let the night air dry the sweat from his skin while he sipped his drink.

Smoke came out of the cabin, standing so close his fur tickled Lucivar's bare leg. The two young wolves remained huddled at the far end of the porch.

*She never remembers, does she?* Lucivar asked Smoke.

*No. The Darkness is kind.*

Maybe she just wasn't ready to face those memories. He certainly wasn't going to push her. But he had the uneasy feeling that the day would come when someone or something would force that door open and she would have to face her past. Until then, there were some things he would hold in silence – and he hoped she would forgive him.

He'd heard pain when she'd talked about the men who had hurt her. He'd heard pain when she'd talked about the man who had raped her.

But the only time she'd mentioned Daemon, his name had sounded like a promise, like a caress.

Blinking back tears and leashing his guilt, Lucivar finished the whiskey and turned to go back inside.

2 / Kaeleer

Lucivar settled on the tree stump that marked the usual halfway point for walkies. Summer was over. The healing was complete. Two days ago, he had successfully made the Khaldharon Run. Yesterday, he and Jaenelle had gone to the Fyreborn Islands to play with the small dragons who lived there. He would have happily spent today being lazy,

but something had pushed Jaenelle out of the cabin the moment they'd returned this morning, and the way she shied away from his questions told him it had to do with him.

Well, if you couldn't entice the kitten with a ball of yarn, you certainly could provoke her with a fast dunk in a tub of cold water.

'You could have warned me, Cat.'

Jaenelle bristled. 'I told you to watch your angle when you whomped that wave.' Her eyes flicked to his right side. She chewed her lower lip. 'Lucivar, that bruise looks awfully nasty. Are you sure-'

'I wasn't talking about the wave,' Lucivar said through his teeth. 'I was talking about the pickle berries.'

'Oh.' Jaenelle sat down near the tree stump. She gave him a slanty-eyed look. 'Well, I did think the name was sufficient warning so that a person wouldn't just sink his teeth into one.'

'I was thirsty. You said they were juicy.'

'They are,' Jaenelle pointed out so reasonably that he wanted to belt her. She wrapped her arms around her knees. 'The dragons were extremely impressed by the sounds you made. They wondered if you were demonstrating territorial claims or a mating challenge.'

Lucivar shuddered at the memory of biting into that aptly named fruit. Juicy, yes. When he'd bitten into it, the juice had flooded his mouth with golden sweetness for a moment before the tartness made his teeth curl and his throat close. He'd stomped and howled so much he could understand why the dragons thought he'd been showing them examples of Eyrien display. To add to the insult, the dragons had chomped on pickle berries throughout that whole damn performance while Jaenelle had nibbled daintily and watched with wide-eyed apprehension.

The little traitor. She was sitting close enough to reach, the trusting little fool. No weapons. He wanted his bare hands on her. Strangling would be too quick, too permanent. Pulling her across his lap and whacking her ass until his hand got hot. .

She shifted her hips, putting her just out of reach.

Lucivar bared his teeth in a smile, acknowledging the movement.

Shifting a little farther, she began to pluck grass. 'I gave Mrs. Beale a pickle berry once,' she said in a small voice.

Lucivar stared at the meadow. Over the past three months, he'd heard plenty of stories about the cook who worked for Jaenelle's family. 'Did you tell her what it's called?'

'No.' A small, pleased smile curved Jaenelle's lips.

He clenched his teeth. 'What happened?'

'Well, Papa asked me if I had any idea why those sounds were coming from the kitchen and I said I did have some idea and he said 'I see,' stuffed me into one of our private Coaches, and told Khary to take me to Morghann's house since Scelt was on the other side of the Realm.'

Struggling to keep a straight face, Lucivar clamped his right hand over his left wrist hard enough to hurt. It helped.

'The next morning, Mrs. Beale cornered Papa in his study and told him that I'd given her a sample of a new kind of fruit and, having thought about it, she'd decided that it would enhance the flavor of a number of common dishes and she'd appreciate having some. Then she set a wicker basket on Papa's desk and Papa had to tell her that he didn't know where the fruit came from and Mrs. Beale pointed out that, obviously, I did, and Papa just as politely pointed out that I was not at home at the moment and Mrs. Beale suggested that he and her wicker basket go find me and bring back the desired fruit. So he did and we did and because the Fyreborn Islands are a closed Territory, Mrs. Beale is envied by other cooks for her ability to produce this unique taste in the food she prepares.'

Lucivar rubbed his head vigorously, then smoothed back his shoulder-length black hair. 'Does Mrs. Beale outrank your father?'

'Not by a long shot,' Jaenelle said tartly, and then added plaintively, 'It's just that she's rather. . large.'

'I'd like to meet Mrs. Beale. I think I'm in love.' He looked at Jaenelle's horrified expression, fell off the stump, and laughed himself silly. He laughed even harder when

she poked him, and said worriedly, 'You were joking, weren't you, Lucivar? Lucivar?'

With a whoop, he yanked her down on top of him and wrapped his arms around her tight enough to hold her and loose enough not to panic her. 'You should have been Eyrien,' he said once his laughter had settled to a quiet simmer. 'You've got the brass for it.'

Then he smoothed her hair away from her face. 'What is it, Cat?' he asked quietly. 'What am I going to find so bitter to swallow that you wanted to give me this burst of sweetness first?'

Jaenelle traced his collarbone. 'You're healed now.'

He could almost taste her reluctance. 'So?'

She rolled away from him and leaped to her feet, a movement so graceful nothing tame could have made it.

He rose more slowly, snapped his wings open to clear away the dust and bits of grass, settled on the tree stump again, and waited.

'Even after the war between Terreille and Kaeleer, people came through the Gates,' Jaenelle said quietly, her eyes fixed on the horizon. 'Mostly those who'd been born in the wrong place and were seeking 'home.' And there's always been some trading between Terreille and Little Terreille.

'A couple of years ago, the Dark Council decided to allow more open contact with Terreille, and aristo Blood began pouring in to see the Shadow Realm. The number of lower-ranking Blood wanting to immigrate to Kaeleer should have warned the Council about what courts are like in Terreille, but Little Terreille opened its arms to embrace the kinship ties. However, Kaeleer is not Terreille. Blood Law and Protocol can be… understood differently.

'Too many Terreilleans refused to understand that what they could get away with in Terreille isn't tolerated in Kaeleer, and they died.

'A year ago, in Dharo, three Terreillean males raped a young witch for sport. Raped her until her mind was so broken there was no one left to sing back to the body. She was my age.'

Lucivar concentrated on his clenched hands, forcing them to open. 'Did they catch the bastards who did it?'