The Queen’s Price
The Black Jewels #12
Anne Bishop
BOOKS BY ANNE BISHOP
Written in Red
Murder of Crows
Vision in Silver
Marked in Flesh
Etched in Bone
Lake Silence
Wild Country
Crowbones
Daughter of the Blood
Heir to the Shadows
Queen of the Darkness
The Invisible Ring
Dreams Made Flesh
Tangled Webs
The Shadow Queen
Shalador’s Lady
Twilight’s Dawn
The Queen’s Bargain
The Queen’s Weapons
The Queen’s Price
Sebastian
Belladonna
Bridge of Dreams
The Pillars of the World
Shadows and Light
The House of Gaian
For Patricia Briggs and Ann Peters
JEWELS
White
Yellow
Tiger Eye
Rose
Summer-sky
Purple Dusk
Opal*
Green
Sapphire
Red
Gray
Ebon-gray
Black
*Opal is the dividing line between lighter and darker Jewels because it can be either.
When making the Offering to the Darkness, a person can descend a maximum of three ranks from his/her Birthright Jewel.
Example: Birthright White could descend to Rose.
Note: The “Sc” in the terms “Scelt” and “Sceltie” is pronounced “Sh.”
BLOOD HIERARCHY / CASTES
landen—non-Blood of any race
Blood male—a general term for all males of the Blood; also refers to any Blood male who doesn’t wear Jewels
Warlord—a Jeweled male equal in status to a witch
Prince—a Jeweled male equal in status to a Priestess or a Healer
Warlord Prince—a dangerous, extremely aggressive Jeweled male; in status, slightly lower than a Queen
landen—non-Blood of any race
Blood female—a general term for all females of the Blood; refers mostly to any Blood female who doesn’t wear Jewels
witch—a Blood female who wears Jewels but isn’t on one of the other hierarchical levels; also refers to any Jeweled female
Healer—a witch who heals physical wounds and illnesses; equal in status to a Priestess or a Prince
Priestess—a witch who cares for altars, Sanctuaries, and Dark Altars; witnesses handfasts and marriages; performs offerings; equal in status to a Healer or a Prince
Black Widow—a witch who heals the mind; weaves the tangled webs of dreams and visions; is trained in illusions and poisons
Queen—a witch who rules the Blood; is considered to be the land’s heart and the Blood’s moral center; as such, she is the focal point of their society
Note: A list of characters in this story is provided at the back of the book.
ONE
Daemonar Yaslana spread his dark membranous wings to their full span before letting them settle into a relaxed position—or as relaxed as he could manage, all things considered. Then he blew out a breath and raised a hand to knock on his uncle’s study door.
The school that wasn’t officially a school had been in operation at SaDiablo Hall for a month. The instructors were still adjusting to teaching a very select group of thirty-six students as well as adjusting to being under the scrutiny of the Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, who was not only their employer but also the patriarch of the SaDiablo family—the wealthiest and most powerful family in the entire Realm of Kaeleer. The students were still adjusting to living in a massive gray stone building that, with all its wings and interior courtyards, could be mistaken for a small enclosed village, as well as dealing with that same Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince as an administrator and benefactor who was benign—most of the time—but could swing to cold, lethal rage in a heartbeat if provoked . . . and was their instructor in Craft and Protocol.
All that adjusting meant someone had to act as leader or liaison or some other nonsense word that basically meant being the one who explained things to the adults when stuff happened. And who better to do the explaining than the Warlord Prince who wore a Green Birthright Jewel and was the nephew of that Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince?
He never looked forward to explaining stuff. If his sister hadn’t been involved in this mess, he might have refused, but he couldn’t let Titian fly into a potential storm on her own. Cherish and protect. Those commitments were bred into the bones of Warlord Princes, so he had to get some answers without getting Titian into trouble.
Daemonar gave the door a quick knock before he stepped into the room, leaving himself partially shielded by the door. He didn’t need the protection, not from his uncle—at least not right now—but it made him feel less . . . exposed.
The man behind the large blackwood desk looked up from the papers he’d been reading and smiled a welcome.
Daemon Sadi was still a breathtakingly beautiful man, with a well-toned body, golden-brown skin, and thick black hair that was now silvered at the temples. That he was also the most lethal man in the Realm was something people often forgot when they looked at his face and felt the seductive pull of his potent sexual heat.
Having seen all the sides of Sadi’s temper, Daemonar never forgot the man’s lethal nature, but it was something he could dismiss—most of the time.
Giving Daemon what he hoped looked like an easy smile, he said, “Hypothetical question.”
Did he detect a hint of panic in his uncle’s gold eyes?
Daemon capped his pen and said in that deep, cultured voice that always held a sensual edge, “All right.”
“If someone tried a bit of Craft inside the Hall instead of going outside because it’s cold and rainy today, and the spell went a wee bit wrong and punched a hole in a wall, how much trouble would that person be in? Hypothetically.”
He watched Daemon swallow. Started counting the seconds before getting a reply. Not so different from counting between seeing lightning and hearing thunder to determine the distance of a storm.
“How big is this hypothetical hole?” Daemon finally asked.
“More decorative window than door,” Daemonar replied.
“No risk of any part of the Hall collapsing because of this hole?”
“Not at all. Easily repaired.” He hoped.
“Well then. If no one was injured and there is no structural damage that might cause future injuries, I think the person or persons involved in the spell that went a wee bit wrong could make their own arrangements to have the repairs done without requiring me to get involved. Hypothetically.”