“Are you expecting a letter from any of them?”
“All of them.”
He smiled. “Pick one. Call in the last letter you received from that person.”
After Jhett called in the last letter she’d received from her aunt, Daemon talked her through making the summoning web, strand by strand. When everything was placed correctly, he taught her the four-note sequence that went with the spell.
She gave him a look that was equal parts nerves and excitement, then activated the spell.
A letter leaped out of the basket of incoming correspondence, hit the edge of the table, and slid halfway across like an eager puppy on ice. Startled, Jhett stopped singing, which ended the spell.
“Well done, especially for your first try,” Daemon said. “Now, put a shield around that web and take it to your room. Once you’ve made a sketch of the web in your notebook, along with the sequence of notes that need to be sung with the spell, break the threads.”
“Notebook?” Jhett attempted to sound innocent.
Daemon just looked at her. He didn’t know about the other girls, but he knew—because Allis had told him—that soon after Lady Karla’s visit, all of Zoey’s friends had gone to the stationery store in Halaway and purchased blank notebooks.
“Notebook.” This time her voice confirmed she had one.
“Go away, witchling. I have work to do.”
Jhett gathered up her things, including the newly arrived letter from her aunt, and hurried to her room.
Daemon took a moment to inform Weston that Jhett would be requesting entrance to the Queen’s square of rooms in order to reach her bedroom. Then he broke the seal of the letter Dinah had sent to Cara—and learned who else was involved in mischief that had taken on the kind of edge that Lucivar used to blunt with slaughter.
SIXTY-EIGHT
The Winds looked like shining webs of power in the Darkness, with radial lines and tether lines. They began at Ebon Askavi and ran to the farthest reaches of each Realm. But they weren’t all equal. Winds that corresponded to the darker Jewels had more radial and tether lines—and more speed, which required more strength and control. A White Web ran the slowest and had the fewest radial and tether lines. On the Ebon-gray the distance between Ebon Rih and the Hall still took time, but Lucivar could reach a destination in a quarter of the time—or less—that it would take someone riding the lightest Winds.
After Zoey had her audience with Witch, Lucivar had brought the girls back to the eyrie. Marian had fussed over the young Queen until the girl settled enough to eat a bowl of soup and a slice of toast. She didn’t fuss over Grizande, knowing that warriors didn’t respond to fussing in the same way as Queens. Instead, she had taught the Tigre girl how to make scrambled eggs—a simple thing, but Grizande almost glowed with the pleasure of having those few minutes of Marian’s undivided attention.
Thinking about that, Lucivar now rose to a Red Web when it lined up with the Ebon-gray. Then he rose to the Green. When he rose to the Opal, the Coach was still far enough away from Halaway and the Hall for a lesson, so he said, “Grizande, come up here.”
Wary but not afraid, she took the second driver’s seat.
“We’re running on the Opal Winds. Can you feel it?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You’re going to take over driving the Coach. Ready?”
“Ready.”
It was like rolling a large ball of yarn in front of a kitten. She almost pounced on the opportunity the moment he released his control of the Coach.
He didn’t have an hourglass to mark the time, but he figured it took her only about a minute to start a familiar grumble.
“Why we use Opal?” Grizande asked. “I can fly on Sapphire. Or Green.”
“You’re flying on Opal because that’s what I want you to do,” he replied.
“Why?”
He gave her the same look he’d given Daemonar when his boy had given him the same argument while being taught to drive a Coach. Grizande met his look for a few seconds before refocusing on the Coach and grumbling under her breath. She could grumble all the way to Halaway, but if she wanted to be trusted to drive a Coach, she would follow his orders. Very few people survived making a mistake while riding the Winds unless they were lucky enough to catch another Wind when they fell through the Darkness.
One day soon he would do the same thing he’d done with Daemonar—take her in a Coach and toss it off the Wind they were riding, giving her a taste of what it felt like to fall, out of control. There were places where he could do that and then catch the Red or Ebon-gray after a few heart-pounding seconds of blind fear. He’d chosen those places because Daemonar, wearing the Green, would not have been able to save himself in that way. Grizande would learn the same lesson.
A warrior’s lesson.
She settled a lot more quickly than his boy had to the task of driving the Coach at the speed he wanted. Then again, Daemonar had taken for granted that he could have his father’s and uncle’s time and attention. Lucivar suspected that Grizande, not having had that, would never take for granted what he and Daemon offered.
What is the Queen’s purpose? What is the Queen’s duty? What is the Queen’s price?
Zoey had spent the journey back to SaDiablo Hall thinking about that, about how a Queen protects her people, no matter the price to herself.
Not necessarily a physical price, although the Queen who had stood before her had certainly paid that. It could be as simple as taking a stand that wouldn’t please some of the people under her hand, might even make enemies for the Queen who drew that line. A Queen who did that might lose her court, or the Queen who ruled above her might strip her of her territory, even if it was only one small village.
Everything had a price—and the Queen’s price was doing what was right, regardless of the cost.
By the time the Coach landed in Halaway, Zoey knew what she needed to do.
“Why we land here?” Grizande asked. “Hall has landing web. We can go there.”
“Can we?” Lucivar countered. “Do you know how to send out a psychic probe to test what’s around you?”
She nodded.
“Do it. And be careful.”
Not a dismissal of what she knew or could do. This was a warning, because he knew what she would find—and it could hurt her.
She released some of her Sapphire power, letting it flow quietly through the village. Nothing immediately dangerous here. No reason—
Before she realized it was there, the Black shield sucked out half of the power she’d put into the probe.
Grizande pulled back, startled. Frightened.
Lucivar just watched her. “You and I? When we fight, we leave carnage behind in a way that leaves no one in doubt of our intention. That is the nature of our races and how we fight. But Sadi? He’s quiet when he kills. Clean. And devastating. Something he has in common with his father. The Hall is locked down. So is part of the estate. So is the landing web. Maybe we could land there safely, but we’d be trapped within the shields until Sadi decided whether he’s dealing with friends or enemies. Maybe if we try landing there it would be like trying to survive being hit by lightning multiple times. Some of us in this Coach might survive, but not all of us.”
“He angry because we took Coach to see Queen who is more than a Queen?”
“No, witchling. There is an enemy inside the walls of SaDiablo Hall. An enemy who is now trapped inside—with him.”
“Ah.” She was still learning, like a young cat learns by watching the adults. But . . . “We could help hunt.”