“Oh?”
“If it had been more than disappointment and a bruised heart because someone wasn’t what he’d seemed, I would have taken care of it before now. Which isn’t to say that Brenda hadn’t taken care of things at the time and didn’t tell the family. But I think that’s part of the reason she doesn’t want to deal with an official court. She says that’s no place for a country girl.”
“Morghann was a country girl as well as a strong Territory Queen,” he pointed out.
Kieran gave him a look that asked a question without saying the words.
Daemon shook his head. “Brenda wouldn’t fit in with the rest of the female students. They’ve lived centuries more than she has, but emotionally they’re still girls. Your Brenda is a woman.”
Kieran focused on the horses. “Ah. Well.”
Daemon heard the disappointment beneath the acceptance. “So what can she teach?”
A hesitation before Kieran looked at him. “Teach?”
“Yes, teach. I have room for another instructor, and I see no reason why I can’t share some of what I’ve learned about Craft with the other adults at the Hall. In fact, one of the instructors is a Prince from Dharo who has a family connection to Prince Rainier and came to Dhemlan out of curiosity about a man who had served in Jaenelle’s Second Circle.” Another thought occurred to him. “Lucivar’s Jillian is working at a sanctuary Surreal set up for girls who need a safe place. She’s . . . Well, I think she’s like an older sister the girls can talk to and ask about things they might not be easy asking an adult about. Perhaps Brenda could do something like that. There are five young Queens in residence. They’re not enemies, but they aren’t friends with each other. Not in the way that Jaenelle and the coven were friends.”
“Rivals?” Kieran asked.
Were they? “Let’s just say they’re still sorting themselves out.”
A beat of silence. “Lucivar’s Jillian?”
Daemon winced. “I’ll thank you to forget I phrased it that way. We’re just . . . Jillian is ready to have her Virgin Night, and we’re feeling a bit . . . possessive.”
Oh, the twinkle in Kieran’s eyes. “You’re having a party afterward?”
“A quiet celebration the next evening, if she’s up to it then.” He could feel the ground turning slippery. He just didn’t know why.
“Our Brenda had her Virgin Night. Significant event in a witch’s life, with her power and Jewels hanging in the balance. Father and I thought as you did—a quiet celebration with family and a few of Brenda’s close friends.” Kieran shook his head. “Ah, no. Brenda wanted a dance with plenty of food and music. She said she understood the importance of not having her Jewels and power always at risk, but she didn’t see what all the fuss was about when it came to the act itself. The man’s cock would stand at attention and do the deed, she’d bleed a little, and that would be that. Not much difference between that and a stallion covering a kindred mare the first time, and the kindred didn’t make a fuss about it.” He sighed. “Mother convinced her to stay in her room and rest that afternoon, to ‘appease male sensibilities.’ And that evening we had a party and danced until sunrise.”
Daemon stared at him. “That’s not . . .”
“That’s our Brenda. Country girl who has grown up watching stallions cover mares,” Kieran said. “The concern about a Virgin Night—and the reason for that concern—seems to be confined to the Blood in the human races. Or maybe it’s that the mature kindred females provide a sharp motivation for good behavior and attack any male who tries to mate with an unwilling female. Such attacks are usually crippling and often lethal.”
Daemon shook his head. “I saw too many witches who were broken when I lived in Terreille. I’ve seen the girls in Dhemlan who were broken by the coven of malice. I can’t be dismissive about the risks.”
“Nor should you be. But if Jillian is more like Brenda, she might not view the transaction with the same measure of alarm that you do.” Kieran’s eyes twinkled again. “Of course, knowing who’s paying attention to the proceedings will make any man with a desire to live take extra care in how he performs his duty.”
“Actually, Surreal is making the arrangements for Jillian, and she’s the one who will be there.”
“That’s really not any better.”
No, it wasn’t. Not from a man’s point of view.
And this wasn’t a subject he wanted to think about. Not today. “I have a couple of other stops to make, so I’d better get on with them.” He hoped the other stops wouldn’t hold any surprises—or require him to add to the number of the Hall’s residents. “If Brenda wants to come to the Hall, I’ll find a place for her as an instructor.”
“Thank you, Prince. I’ll let her know.”
Daemon looked at Kieran and wondered if Brenda already had her clothes packed.
TWENTY-FOUR
A long time ago, before he’d been known as Butler, he had lived in Beldon Mor, the capital city of Chaillot in the Realm of Terreille. He’d been young and alone, desperate and angry. So very angry when he’d learned a brutal truth. But he’d had no recourse against aristos who were corrupt to the very core of their Selves. He couldn’t save what had already been destroyed, wasn’t sure he could do anything to save himself.
Then one night, when he was drunk and sick, a young woman—a broken witch—dressed for a fancy evening wandered into the mouth of the alleyway where he’d collapsed.
“The Chaillot girl knows about the pretty poison. You should talk to her.”
“They’re all Chaillot girls!”
“Only one lives in the Black Mountain. At least, that’s what some of the girls whispered.”
He’d had sense enough left to sight shield before a man rushed up to the girl, grabbed her arm hard enough to bruise, and pulled her away from the alleyway, saying, “Bad enough you act like a fool without you talking to yourself now.”
Only one lived in the Black Mountain.
“I need to talk to the Chaillot girl!”
When he finally reached Ebon Askavi and was taken through the Gate to the Keep in Kaeleer, he’d shouted the words that had shaped his life ever after.
That Chaillot girl’s ancient sapphire eyes looked through him, seeing everything. She didn’t ask who he was or where he came from. She already knew. Just like she knew why he had come to the Keep looking for her. She didn’t allow anyone, not even the High Lord of Hell, to ask him questions about himself or his past or how he knew the living myth, and he never chose to tell anyone.
At his request—and hers—he spent a few years studying a variety of subjects, including some that were conducted in very private surroundings. During that time, he also served short apprenticeships in a variety of courts, learning the structure of service and observing the various personalities of the Queens who ruled the Shadow Realm. After he made the Offering to the Darkness, he learned how to mask the power in his Green Jewel so that people thought his Birthright Purple Dusk was his Jewel of rank.
At one time or another, he had worked for most of the Queens who had served in the Dark Court’s First Circle. He never served any of them, but he’d worked for them, taking on assignments for weeks or months at a time in order to be a Queen’s eyes and ears—and sometimes her knife. His credentials had been as substantial as water written on wind, but they had carried the seal of the Queen of Ebon Askavi, and the Dark Court accepted that that was all they needed to know about him.
Decades later, when he was finally ready to settle down, he’d been offered an assignment that would allow him to live in Maghre. Not all his reasons for accepting were benign, but no one had known that. Still didn’t know that.