“I’m s-sorry.”
“I know, witchling.” He kissed the top of her head. “Make things right with your brother. You hurt him.”
He held her while she cried. She’d be heartsore as she worked things out for herself, but she would work things out.
*Prick?*
*Bastard?*
*I’m taking Grizande and the kitten for their audience with the Queen. Zoey will be alone in the sitting room.*
*Daemonar?*
Amusement. *I think your boy was waylaid by the scent of food.*
*He must be feeling better.*
*It would seem so.*
When Daemon broke the link, Lucivar said, “Come on, witchling. There’s a washroom attached to that other sitting room. You can tidy up there.”
After leading Titian back to the sitting room and pointing to the washroom door, Lucivar looked at Zoey and saw a scared young girl who was trying to be brave but was starting to wonder if she had been wrong.
Wondering was good.
This wasn’t the best way for Zoey to meet Witch, but he was sure it was a meeting the young Queen would never forget.
Daemon walked into the sitting room that was opposite the Queen’s and Consort’s suites in Witch’s part of the Keep. Grizande trailed behind him with the kitten following her.
As he approached his Queen and bowed, he wondered about the change in her dress. This dress was black and sleeveless, as usual, but instead of ending around midthigh, it fell to her ankles—or hocks—revealing the hooves. He doubted she was as calm as she looked, but she stood absolutely still while the girl approached, step by trembling step.
What do you see, Jaenelle? What do you want me to do with this Sapphire-Jeweled witch who came seeking help?
He knew what he wanted to do, what everything in him demanded he do. But Witch’s will was his life, and he would obey.
Daemon called in two sheets of paper. “Lady Grizande brought her bloodlines, as well as the bloodlines for Prince Jaalan.”
“I don’t need to see them.” Witch’s haunted sapphire eyes focused on the girl. Then she smiled. “Blood sings to blood, and I can hear a little of my friends’ song in the blood that runs in your veins.”
He wondered if she was being poetic or literal. With Witch it was hard to tell.
Witch held out a fair-skinned hand and flexed her fingers, revealing the retractable claws. “Your people were among the dreamers.”
Grizande raised her hand—tawny skin with dark stripes—and flexed her fingers, revealing claws. Common ground.
The look in the eyes of a girl who had already seen too much was also common ground.
“The Keep is important as a sanctuary and as a place of learning, and it is my home, but it is not the best place for a witch your age to spend a lot of time,” Witch said. “If you are willing and comfortable being there, I suggest that you stay at SaDiablo Hall, where you can meet a variety of people and receive an education in many areas that will be useful, including improving your command of the common tongue.”
Grizande looked ashamed and lowered her eyes.
“It’s foolish to feel ashamed simply because you didn’t have the opportunity to learn something.” The sudden anger in Witch’s voice was a distant thunder that warned of a rising storm. “It’s even more foolish to let anyone try to make you feel ashamed. Some will. Take note of them. They are not worthy of your time.”
Grizande looked up—and Daemon wondered how many people had tried to make her feel ashamed as a way to control a witch whose power would have few equals when she came of age.
“You and Lady Zoela did not start out on easy ground, but I would like you to consider residing in a room in the same square in the Hall. There are seven young women in that square, and occasionally Lady Karla. You may like some of those women or none of them, but those rooms are close to Prince Sadi’s suite as well as Prince Yaslana’s, so the men would be in easy reach if you needed help.” Witch waited until it was clear the girl wasn’t going to respond. “Or you can reside in another square of rooms, where you wouldn’t have to deal with the other people who live at the Hall. I ask that you try to live among the others before choosing solitude. I think in many ways you’ve been alone too long already.”
“Jaalan?” Grizande asked, lowering her hand to touch the kitten’s head.
“He has lived with you?” Witch asked.
Grizande nodded.
“He is an orphan?”
The girl touched her chest. “We . . . orphan.”
“Then he will stay with you and learn the rules of the house and receive his own training.”
Grizande looked wary. “Liath?”
“Among others.”
Big sigh. “Liath. Bossy stern teeth.”
Witch’s silvery, velvet-coated laugh filled the room. “Well, you’ve already learned that much.”
Grizande nodded—but for the first time, Daemon saw a hint of amusement in the girl’s green eyes. Then the amusement faded.
“I live around Queen,” Grizande said. “Must . . . obey?”
“You answer to no other Queen than me.” Amusement forgotten. The distant storm was rising again. Getting closer. “However, at the Hall, you are under Prince Sadi’s hand, and I expect you to obey him. Usually.”
Daemon raised an eyebrow.
Witch shrugged. “No one is obeyed all the time. Even Saetan didn’t expect that.”
“Saetan was dealing with you when you were Grizande’s age,” Daemon said sweetly.
“Exactly.” She gave him a bright smile before turning back to Grizande. “Can you agree to that?”
“I live at Hall?” Grizande asked. “Learn?”
“Yes,” Witch replied.
“Jaalan too?”
“Yes.”
The girl said something in her own language, which Daemon assumed indicated agreement. Grizande was surprised when Witch responded in the same language. He didn’t understand what was said, but the rhythm of the Queen’s words held a formality that resonated through him. Ritual. Protocol. The claim Witch made just now put Grizande beyond the reach of everyone except those who also served the Queen.
Daemon opened the sitting room door and, with a graceful move of his hand, indicated that Grizande and Jaalan were to leave.
“Wait for me,” he told them. “I’ll escort you back to the other room in a minute.”
Closing the door, he returned to Witch.
“You’ll teach her?” Witch asked.
“I will teach her. And I’ll keep her safe.”
Jaenelle suddenly took great interest in the carpet’s pattern. “A tiger needs to learn how to hunt like a tiger.”
“So . . . ?” Easy enough to guess what was coming. Daemon tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. Less temptation to try to strangle her. Not that he’d succeed. Her form was a shadow, an illusion made of Craft and power.
“You do have access to a tiger. An appropriate one, considering Jaalan’s bloodlines.”
“You want a shadow of Prince Jaal to teach that kitten how to hunt?”
“Can you think of anyone better?”
Daemon stared at her. She smiled at him. Bright, bright smile.
Pick your battles, old son. You’ve already lost this one. He sighed—and surrendered. “Fine. Maybe shadow Jaal will balance what the kitten learns from Liath.”
He took a step closer. “You asked Grizande if she was willing to do this. You didn’t formally ask me.”
Witch laid a hand against his cheek. “I didn’t have to ask. I saw the look in your eyes when you walked in the room. You’d already decided to protect them before you arrived at the Keep. I simply acknowledged your choice—and gave Grizande a way to be around Queens without feeling threatened.”
“A witch her age who wears Sapphire needs careful handling.”