“She deals with girls who have been broken, not with girls who feel entitled because of their caste or because their families are aristo. And after getting the girls to safety, she doesn’t deal with them all that much. At least, that’s my understanding.”
He couldn’t deny the truth of that. Or the niggling worry about her wading into what she’d called “the bitch drama-trauma.” “I had intended to be back tomorrow. I told her that she didn’t have to interact with any of the youngsters, but she had other thoughts.”
“Hell’s fire,” Lucivar said. “All right, I’ll take the children back to the Hall and spend a couple of days there. That way Surreal can leave, or we can have one of our bracing discussions.”
“Thank you.” Daemon hesitated, reluctant to scrape Lucivar’s temper but feeling the need to explain. “Saetien wants to go to Scelt to find out about Wilhelmina Benedict.”
Lucivar’s silence took on the weight of stone. “You agreed to that?”
“If I can make some particular arrangements for her to stay in Maghre, then yes, I’ll agree to it.”
“Will Witch?”
“That’s what the Lady and I will discuss tonight.”
Zoey and Titian had spent the afternoon in Titian’s room. Hiding. She’d been hiding; Titian had stayed with her. No one had demanded that they come out and be friendly with the Tigre witch. No one had seemed to notice that they hadn’t participated in whatever everyone else had done that afternoon.
Had anyone even remembered that they were there?
She didn’t want to be noticed—but she did want to be noticed. Unless it would get her into more trouble. She didn’t like being in trouble.
What had the other girls thought about her leaving with Prince Sadi this morning? Her friends had been concerned that she’d been summoned to the Keep. Did the rest of the girls know where she’d gone? Dinah would be envious and make more sly remarks about why Zoey was favored by the SaDiablo family.
She’d been friends with Saetien since they were young girls. She’d been hurt during the house party Delora had tricked Saetien into having at the Hall a few months ago. Her grandmother was friends with the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan. Those were the reasons she was more familiar with Prince Sadi than the other girls.
Now she had to figure out how to be friendly with someone who didn’t want to be friendly, because she and this Tigre girl would be living in the same square of rooms and would be crossing paths in the communal rooms and in their classes.
Why hadn’t she listened to Beale? Had she really crossed the same line that Saetien had crossed at the house party? Saetien, who was Prince Sadi’s daughter, had been banished for crossing that line.
“What if I’m not allowed to stay at the Hall anymore?” Zoey whispered, wrapping her arms around her knees. “What if I’m banished like Saetien?”
“You didn’t do anything that bad,” Titian replied. “We’ll be friendly but not pouncy friendly.”
“Pouncy friendly?” That made her smile. Then she sighed. “Being around other Queens. It feels like we’re in a competition, but I don’t know what we’re competing for. It will be ages before any of us are old enough to form a court, and Queens are supposed to work together for the good of the Territory. Aren’t they?”
“Kathlene’s nice. So is Azara. And Felisha.” Titian made a face. “But Dinah is a b-i-t-c-h.”
“She was on the list of Queens who were targeted by Delora and the coven of malice,” Zoey pointed out. “Delora wouldn’t have done that if Dinah was too b-i-t-c-h.”
Titian shrugged.
A quick knock on the door.
“Yes?” Titian said.
The door opened enough for Daemonar to lean into the room. “Mother wants the two of you to come out and help set the table. Dinner is almost ready.”
Titian scrambled to her feet. “Daemonar . . .”
He gave his sister a long look. “Apology accepted. We can talk later if you want to talk.”
They made their way to the kitchen. The Tigre girl was already there, watching Marian.
“We’re eating in the dining room this evening,” Marian said as she started handing out stacks of plates to the girls. “Titian, you show the others where to go and how to set up the table.”
When they reached the dining room, Zoey looked at Grizande and was determined to say something friendly but not pouncy. Except . . . The look in the girl’s eyes. Distrust. Loathing. As if everything Zoey might say was a trick or a lie. As if everything she might do was a trap that would cause pain.
That’s not what Queens are supposed to be, Zoey thought.
Prince Sadi walked in, carrying stemmed wineglasses for the adults. Daemonar followed him with water goblets for the non-adults.
Four wineglasses. Four water goblets.
Zoey felt an odd jolt as she realized the significance. Daemonar was an adult. She didn’t think of him that way. He was Titian’s brother. He attended classes.
He also taught sparring and the first level of training in weapons.
Adult. Not all the way. Not until he made the Offering to the Darkness, but the simple fact of who had what glass suddenly made the line so clear—and made clear how much his experience and training outstripped hers.
Painfully aware that Prince Sadi was still in the room, Zoey turned to Grizande. “My apologies if I made you uncomfortable yesterday. It was not my intention. I wanted to make you feel welcome, but I didn’t do it the correct way.”
“Not your place to welcome.” The words came out slowly, as if each had to be found.
“No, it wasn’t, but I didn’t think about that.”
Prince Sadi glided past Grizande on his way to the door and said softly, “She, too, has much to learn.” Then he was gone.
Grizande stared at Zoey, a feral look in those green eyes—a look that gradually faded. “We will learn.”
“And one thing we learn,” Daemonar said as he walked out of the room, “is not to delay getting the food on the table.”
Daemonar wasn’t sure what had gotten the girls all stirred up, but they seemed to have called a truce.
He picked up the bowl of lightly dressed greens, then handed the basket of biscuits to Grizande.
“Jaalan?” she asked, glancing toward the glass doors where Lucivar stood whistling for boy and kitten to come in for dinner.
“We have a bowl of food for him,” Daemonar replied as Andulvar and Jaalan entered the eyrie and pelted toward the kitchen.
“Wash up before you eat,” Lucivar said, his voice thundering enough to stop the boy.
The kitten wasn’t quite as quick to give up on a possible meal, but he did stop before he entered the kitchen.
“But . . . Papa,” Andulvar said, “we’re hungry.”
“And you’ll stay hungry until your mother says your hands are clean enough for you to sit at her table.”
Head down, shoulders rounded, the picture of a dejected boy, Andulvar shuffled toward the bedrooms and bathrooms. Jaalan, observant and learning from his new friend . . . Head down, tail down, the picture of a dejected kitten shuffling after the boy.
Daemonar didn’t dare look at Grizande. “Kindred are very impressionable at that age. I learned that from the Scelties.”
“Are you two going to stand there, or are you going to get the food to the table?” Daemon asked from behind them.
Daemonar led the way, but he was close enough to hear his father laughing when Lucivar went into the kitchen to wash his hands.
“Jaalan. Andulvar. It . . . funny,” Grizande said, smiling.
“Oh, yeah,” he agreed, grinning.