Daemonar swallowed impatience as he waited for Raeth to say something. How many times had he interrupted his father while Lucivar was doing some work and then couldn’t say the thing that had been so urgent? And each time, Lucivar had waited, letting him get to the thing in his own time.
“What if a Queen gives you an order and you can’t swallow it?” Raeth finally asked.
“Then don’t swallow it,” Daemonar replied.
“But she’s your Queen.”
“Is she? Can you say that her will is your life? Or is she the Queen you’re serving at this time?”
“A couple of weeks ago, I would have said the first was possible. Now?” Raeth shrugged, a move full of unhappiness.
“What’s happened over the past couple of weeks to change that?” He’d noticed the boyos were all sweating out some anger during sparring practice, but none of them wanted to say what had stirred that anger. Come to think of it, the girls were all off the mark too. Not angry, just . . . off their stride. No, more than that. It was like they were skidding toward the edge of a cliff and unable to stop themselves from going over.
Instead of answering the question, Raeth said, “What would you do?”
“I would draw the line and tell her to take a piss in the wind.” Even if Witch was the one who gave the order? Daemonar leaned closer to the other Warlord Prince. “Don’t accept any order that smears your honor. Any Queen who asks that of you isn’t worthy of your loyalty.”
“What if she’s being squeezed into giving those orders by someone more powerful?”
“Then take your concern to someone powerful enough to do something about it.”
“And if that powerful someone already knows?”
Daemon Sadi would not ask any man to whore his honor. Which meant something was going on that was being carefully hidden from Sadi because it would snap the leash on his temper.
Daemonar leaned back. “Hypothetically, a Warlord Prince has been asked to . . .”
“Slap someone in the face.”
“Without cause?”
“It’s being called discipline, but there’s no justifiable reason for it.”
He nodded. “And this order is coming from . . . ?”
“Territory Queen to Province Queen to District Queens.”
“The Territory Queen is deciding this is to be done?”
“No. Apparently the Territory Queen is given secret orders about this discipline, along with the other assignments for the day.”
“Secret orders given to the Territory Queen by someone who outranks her? Hypothetically.”
“Yes.” Raeth hesitated. “Can’t tell the adults or the whole court will be punished.”
“Adults” meaning the instructors, senior staff, and, most of all, Sadi. “What kind of punishment?”
“That’s not specified. At least, the Warlord Princes haven’t been told what will happen.”
“Did you slap someone?” he asked quietly.
“Was supposed to slap three of the girls, but after the first . . .” Raeth shook his head. “Couldn’t.”
“Will the slap leave a mark?”
“No.” A flash of rage, quickly leashed. “It’s not right, asking us to do that.”
No, it wasn’t. Did the author of this game have any understanding of the nature of Warlord Princes? The tempers of the other Warlord Princes might not be close to snapping the leash, but he’d bet his quarterly allowance that Raeth had already sharpened his knives in preparation for a fight. “Whose court are you in today?”
“Zoela’s.”
Hell’s fire. “Keep an eye on Jaalan. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Brenda stared out the window. Something was happening here. A breaking of trust. A curdling of feelings. Oh, all the youngsters were being careful to hide the reason, whatever it was, but the adults noticed. Did the young Queens and their courts think the adults didn’t notice? She wanted to wade in and demand to know what the problem was, but she reluctantly agreed with Raine that they should give the youngsters a chance to figure out how to fix the problem on their own or come to them for help. And he agreed with her that they should keep a sharp eye on the youngsters and intervene if anyone did more than smudge a line that Prince Sadi had drawn for acceptable behavior.
She turned away from the window when someone knocked on her door. “Come in.” She smiled when Neala walked into the room. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Yes, Lady. I need some advice.”
Brenda gestured to two chairs. Once they were settled, she said, “Advice about . . . ?”
“I saw something,” Neala said. “Something I don’t think is right, but it’s hard to know with these odd lessons that have been going on.”
Odd lessons? Brenda felt a prickling beneath her skin. “Something besides Lady Dumm?” She and her selected helpers had gone a bit too far there—and had learned a lesson of their own about how the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan handled some problems—but the maids had aired out the clothes that had been worn that night. Eventually.
“Not like Dumm,” Neala said quietly. “These lessons . . . harm the body a little, but . . .”
But they break trust. Curdle feelings. “Tell me what you saw.”
Brenda listened, saying nothing as pieces came together. When Neala finished, Brenda stood and said, “Come with me.”
With the Scelt maid beside her, she strode through the Hall’s corridors, heading for Prince Sadi’s study.
Daemonar settled into a chair in front of Uncle Daemon’s desk. He wasn’t sure whom he’d be facing a minute from now, but for the moment he was dealing with his uncle.
“Hypothetical question,” he began.
Daemon leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers, and rested the forefingers against his chin. “Why do you always bring hypothetical questions?”
“I’m curious about things?”
“Uh-huh. Did anything blow up?” A mild, amused question.
“Not physically.”
A chill in the air replaced amusement. “Explain. Hypothetically.”
Daemonar repeated what Raeth had told him, including the part about the Queen’s whole court being punished if the Queen complained to one of the adults.
“Do you think I would have added such an instruction?” Daemon asked too softly.
“Of course not. But someone added those instructions—and they were careful to make sure you wouldn’t find out about it.” Daemonar thought for a moment. “I doubt Brenda or Raine knows about this, although you’ve all probably noticed a degree of idiocy that wasn’t there a couple of weeks ago.”
“That’s one way of putting it. I wondered if shuffling the ‘courts’ every day was too much of an adjustment.” Daemon raised an eyebrow, turning the comment into a question.
Daemonar shrugged. “Maybe give each ‘court’ a week to work together before shuffling who serves which Queen. A day isn’t long enough to figure out who can do what—or who will stand and fight and who will crumble in order to avoid paying a price.”
“Sometimes a day is all you have to make that kind of decision,” Daemon said quietly. “But your point is valid and—”
A thump of fist on wood before Brenda walked into the study, followed by Neala. When she spotted Daemonar, Brenda stopped for a moment, then approached the desk, herding the Scelt maid.
“Neala has something to tell you,” Brenda said.
Daemonar started to push out of his chair. “I’ll—”
“Sit,” Daemon said, turning that one word into a command. He pointed to the other chair. “Neala.”
Brenda stood beside the chair, one hand on Neala’s shoulder. Supportive rather than restraining.