“And the rough-and-tumble handling of an Eyrien boy and Scelties, along with adult supervision and encouragement to learn the things that will help her. She will be formidable and dangerous.”
“She already is those things,” Daemon replied.
“Yes.” She lowered her hand, let it rest on his chest for a moment.
“We’ll all be going to Lucivar’s eyrie, but I’ll be staying at the Keep tonight. When I return, I need to talk to you about Saetien.”
“All right.” Witch stepped back. “I think Lady Zoela has had enough time to stew—don’t you?”
“I’ll bring her to you.”
Daemon almost escorted Grizande and Jaalan back to the sitting room where the others waited, but Daemonar suddenly appeared in another doorway holding a plate with a huge piece of steak and ale pie.
“There’s more.” Daemonar waved a fork at something over his shoulder as he looked at Grizande. “You want some?” Then he looked at the kitten and growled, “No pouncing.”
Grizande glanced at Daemon.
“Go ahead,” he said, keeping his voice mild. He stared at his nephew. “Just remember that your mother expects you at dinner, so don’t stuff yourself.”
The boy snorted and stepped back. As soon as Grizande had walked past him and couldn’t see, Daemonar winked at his uncle before returning to the table filled with what Daemon hoped was enough food for the three of them.
Zoey didn’t know what to expect as Prince Sadi led her past an ornate metal gate and opened the door to a room.
She hesitated. “You’re not coming in?”
“No,” he replied. “This is between you and Witch.”
Mother Night.
She walked into the empty room. Prince Sadi closed the door.
The room turned cold and was no longer empty. What stood before her . . .
Human. But not human. Delicately pointed ears. A tiny spiral horn in the center of her forehead. A gold mane that wasn’t quite hair and wasn’t quite fur. Hands that had retractable claws instead of fingernails. Hooves. And sapphire eyes that looked like a window into a place that held so much power, a person couldn’t hope to survive there.
Couldn’t hope to survive her.
I’m a Queen, Zoey thought desperately. I. Am. A. Queen.
“There’s something you want to discuss with me?” Her voice shook. So much for bravado.
“Yes, there is.” A midnight voice. “I want to discuss how a Queen could reach your age without any education or training in the workings of a court—and without any knowledge of the basic Protocol you should have begun learning as soon as you acquired your Birthright Jewel.”
Zoey blinked. “What?”
Witch stepped closer. Her fury became a smothering storm. “How dare you challenge Lord Beale’s authority? He wears the Red; you wear Opal. How dare you ignore an order from him and put yourself and another girl at risk?”
“I—I didn’t!”
“Did you learn nothing from what happened at that house party when Saetien overruled Beale?”
“This wasn’t the same,” Zoey cried.
“How do you know?” Witch demanded. “You’re a Queen in training. That means there are a great many things you don’t know. What if that girl had been sent to kill you, or any of the Queens in residence?”
“But she wasn’t!”
“How did you know? She could have been hired by one of the families who would like to blame you for their offspring being executed. When Daemon is conveniently absent, a stranger comes to the Hall, asking for help, for sanctuary. Maybe the need is sincere. Maybe it’s a way to get inside.”
“But—”
“Maybe you should ask Lady Surreal how she got into places when she was hired as an assassin. You might find it illuminating.”
“I was trying to help!” The words came out as a plea.
“Beale told you he would take care of it. Daemonar told you they would take care of it. If you don’t understand what that phrase means within a court, then you have missed an important lesson.”
“But the Hall isn’t a court.”
“Child, what do you think it is? It’s a training ground, no different than if you were apprenticing in another Queen’s court. The senior staff at the Hall should be considered the equivalent of a First Circle. They are adults. Their experience counts. You tried to blunder in for who knows what reason and could have gotten yourself and that girl killed. She wears Sapphire. You wear Opal. You would stand no chance against her in a fight.”
Zoey’s legs trembled. She wished she were allowed to sit down.
She wished she had the courage to ask if she could.
“But let’s suppose that Beale had abandoned all sense of duty and allowed you to have your way, and let’s suppose a witch like Grizande, who loathes Queens, wouldn’t have eviscerated you as soon as she got close enough. What were you going to do? A powerful witch arrived at the Hall, exhausted and frightened because of what she’s endured. What were you going to do? Invite her to your square of rooms, where she could sit quietly and have some food? Sit quietly with you? Only you?”
Zoey didn’t answer. Didn’t know how to answer.
“Or would you have invited Titian to meet a girl who is just learning the common tongue and feels self-conscious about the struggle to communicate? Now there are two girls trying to be friendly. Talking and talking. And the rest of your coven? If they became curious about someone from a people that has rarely been seen in centuries? Would you have told them they had to stay away? They’re all friendly, too, aren’t they? Would you, having taken responsibility for this girl’s well-being, to say nothing of a young tiger who would be uneasy around strangers, have done your duty as a Queen and told your friends to stay away? Even Titian? Even if they pushed to meet the girl? Would you have stood for her as a Queen, disappointing your friends?”
“I didn’t think . . .” Tears ran down Zoey’s face.
“No,” Witch said gently, “you didn’t think. You followed the instincts of a Queen, and usually there is nothing wrong with that. But in this case you chose to ignore the experience of two men who understood the dangers and needed you to leave so that they could help the girl without compromising your safety and the safety of everyone else in the Hall. The moment Beale said he would take care of it, you should have retreated. If you wanted information, there are ways to ask for it—and Beale would have come to you when everything was settled and answered your questions. As it was, you put Daemonar and Beale in a difficult position. While your intentions weren’t the same, your attitude about Beale’s authority was not that different from Saetien’s—and look at the price so many paid for that. Including you.”
Zoey called in a handkerchief and cried as quietly as possible. She wanted to wail, but she wasn’t a child anymore.
“You probably never did anything wrong,” she said in a small voice.
A silvery, velvet-coated laugh filled a room that suddenly warmed. “Oh, I sat across from my father more times than I want to count, receiving a sharply worded lecture on why a Queen doesn’t do whatever it was I did. Although sometimes I—and other members of the coven—sat across from him and tried to explain something like a spell that had gone wrong, which was difficult since we were usually summoned to his study before we’d figured out that part.”
Zoey wiped her nose and vanished the handkerchief.
“A natural Healer instinctively knows how to do some things, how to heal some wounds. She still needs training. The same is true for a Queen. A good Queen—a potentially great Queen—needs to harness instinct to training and experience. You have the instinct, Zoela. You’re just beginning to acquire the training and experience. You’ll make mistakes—and you’ll face consequences. That’s part of the experience. And if someone is trusted to stand for you and protect you, don’t ignore what they’re telling you.”