Lucivar walked to the far end of the low-walled garden that bordered one side of his home. Marian was reading a bedtime story to Daemonar, and the wolves had gathered in the room to listen, too, so he knew whatever Prothvar wanted to tell him wouldn’t be overheard.
Two weeks ago, Saetan had sent Surreal back to Ebon Rih with a terse-and oddly harried-note, bluntly telling him to stay away from the Hall. The only reason he had obeyed was because Saetan had signed it as the Steward of the Court. After two weeks of silence, Andulvar, as Master of the Guard, had sent Prothvar to the Hall to request more information from the Steward. Now Prothvar was here, wanting to see him away from anyone. ”Problem?” Lucivar asked quietly.
Prothvar’s teeth gleamed as his mouth curved in a feral smile. ”Not as long as you stay away from the Hall. I gathered it’s rather uncomfortable living there right now if you wear Jewels darker than the Red.”
”Mother Night,” Lucivar muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. What in the name of Hell had happened? ”Maybe the High Lord should send Daemon here for a while.”
”Oh, I don’t think it would be wise to try to shift Daemon away from the Hall.”
Lucivar just stared at Prothvar for a moment. Then he grinned. ”Well, it’s about time.”
”For both of them.”
”So why does Saetan have his back up?”
”Because, despite Daemon’s efforts to shield the bedroom, the… um… revelry tends to leak through the shields and makes the darker-Jeweled residents itchy. And neither of them wants to broach the subject with Jaenelle to ask
”Well,” Lucivar said blandly, ”if Saetan needs a respite from the frolic going on in the Hall, he could always spend an evening-or two-with Sylvia.”
”Now, Lucivar,” Prothvar scolded, ”you know they’re just friends.”
”Of course they are.” Noticing the moon, Lucivar did a quick mental tally, then gave Prothvar a sharp look. ”Has anyone talked to Daemon about drinking a contraceptive brew?”
”That was taken care of. I had the impression that Daemon would welcome a child in the future, but, right now, he wants to enjoy his Lady’s bed.”
”In that case, Saetan should have a few days’ reprieve fairly soon.” Lucivar glanced back at the lights shining from the windows of his home and thought about enjoying his own Lady’s bed as soon as Daemonar was asleep. But he asked politely, ”Do you want to come in? I have some yarbarah.”
”Thanks, but no,” Prothvar replied. ”I still have to report to Andulvar.” He said good night, spread his dark wings, and vaulted into the night sky.
As Lucivar walked back to his home, a lone wolf howled. He grinned. Since the sound was coming from the direction of Falonar’s eyrie, he didn’t have to ask where Surreal was spending the night.
So Surreal was snuggled up with Falonar, Jaenelle was snuggled up with Daemon, and Marian…
When he entered the eyrie, she was standing in the kitchen doorway. She smiled in that quiet way that always excited his body and thrilled his heart.
”I was going to make some tea,” she said. ”It’s cold tonight.”
He returned the smile, then gave her a long, very thorough kiss. ”I have a better way to warm you up.”
The Arachnian Queen floated in the air in front of her tangled web of dreams and visions-the web she had linked to the web Witch had spun. The cold season was almost upon them. It was time for the Dream Weavers to settle into the caves and burrows, but she needed to see this web once more… just to be sure.
She studied Witch’s tangled web first.
One small thread was dark, dark, dark. The first death.
There would be more. Many more.
Then she studied her own tangled web.
But not until the warming earth season. Even humans tended to remain in their lairs during the cold season.
So then. She could settle into her own lair in the sacred cave where she would rest and dream the soft dreams. When the seasons turned again, she would speak to the brown dog, Ladvarian. He was the link between kindred and human Blood. The kindred obeyed him and humans listened to him. And she needed him for what had to be done.
Because when the earth warmed next time, she would need all her strength and skill-and all the strength and skill the brown dog would gather for her-in order to save Kaeleer’s Heart.
PART 2
Chapter Eleven
After tucking the note in the center drawer, Morton locked his desk and frowned. It troubled him that the Sanctuary Priestess hinted at deep concerns but said nothing to the point-especially since that Sanctuary contained a Dark Altar, one of the thirteen Gates that linked the Realms of Terreille, Kaeleer, and Hell.
There had been several troubled-and troubling-messages from the Priestess over the winter months. Supplies missing. Voices late at night. Indications that the Gate had been opened without the Priestess’s knowledge or consent.
Of course, the woman had reached an age where insignificant memories might slip away without being noticed. There were reasonable explanations for all the concerns. The supplies might have simply gotten used up but weren’t replaced. The young Priestess-in-training might have taken a lover and the late-night voices were an assignation. The Gates …
So he would go to that little village near the Arcerian border and talk to the Priestess.
Morton checked his pockets to make sure he had a clean handkerchief and a few silver marks so that he could buy a bit of dinner and a round at the tavern. Last, he used the lightest touch of Craft to make sure his Opal Jewel was linked to the Ring of Honor around his organ.
He smiled. Ever since Jaenelle had given the coven similar Rings, the males in the First Circle, by unspoken consensus, had begun wearing theirs all the time. That extra way of being able to decipher feminine moods had annoyed the witches as much as it had pleased the males.
Morton paused at his door, then shook his head. There was no reason to bother Karla. He would go to the village, talk to the Priestess, and then report to his cousin.
Besides, he thought as he left the mansion that was the Queen’s residence, Karla’s moontime was giving her more discomfort than usual this month. And she’d had minor illnesses on and off all winter-sniffles, a ”weather ache” in her joints, light touches of flu. The two Healers who served in Karla’s court couldn’t find anything wrong that would account for this sudden vulnerability. They had suggested that, perhaps, she had been working too hard
