“Depending on a witch’s power, drinking a couple cups of that tea every week can silence desire for good. If she hasn’t been drinking it very long and stops drinking it, sometimes desire comes back in a few weeks; sometimes it takes months. And sometimes it never returns. It doesn’t even take a year of drinking that tea to reach the point of never.”
Surreal raked a hand through her hair. “Mother Night.”
“And may the Darkness be merciful.” Witch sat in a chair opposite Surreal and leaned forward. “Now think beyond the Ebon-gray and Black. A woman who wears a Rose Jewel handfasts to a Warlord Prince who wears Purple Dusk. Even leashed, his heat is going to bother her at times. But there’s a tea she can get from a Black Widow or Healer that will quiet that. Does she talk to him, tell him she’s going to drink this tea and why, so that it’s a decision they make together? Or does she keep it a secret? What happens in a few months when he realizes she’s no longer interested in his pleasuring her—or in giving him pleasure? Does he assume she no longer has feelings for him? Unless she fills some other need in him, most likely he’ll choose not to renew the handfast because he’d prefer to be alone than be with someone who doesn’t want him.
“No longer living with a Warlord Prince, the woman stops drinking the tea. She enjoys being around men and emotionally would like another lover, but her body won’t respond. Desire was drowned one time too many. And once Warlord Princes figure out why lovers no longer respond to them? They learn the warning signs, and they walk away at the first sniff of that tea—especially if they feel some affection for the woman. They don’t consider a handfast or marriage to a witch who doesn’t wear a Jewel of equal or darker rank.”
Surreal shook her head. “If the tea was only provided by a Healer when the need was acute, and no one else knew how to make it . . .”
“Did Grizande tell you this tea was a secret?” Witch asked.
She hesitated. “Yes, she did.” And the girl had reservations about the tea.
“And what was the first thing you did when you arrived in Ebon Rih?”
“I thought it might help Marian!”
“I know, Surreal. I know. But Marian and Lucivar love each other, and they will get through this phase of the heat, just as they will get through the years when Marian goes through the physical and emotional changes that mark the end of her fertility. They don’t need that kind of help. And you will never drink another cup of that tea again. You will not sacrifice your ability to enjoy another man as a lover.”
Surreal studied Witch. “What aren’t you saying?”
“Daemon is dying.” Witch looked away, something she rarely did. “He agreed not to accelerate the process that will bring him to the day when he no longer walks among the living, but I had to agree not to do anything that would postpone that day. So, you see, his sexual heat won’t be a problem for you.”
Surreal sprang to her feet and paced around the room. “Dying? How? Why?”
“It doesn’t matter. When it comes it will be swift, and he’ll make the transition to demon-dead.”
“How long? Centuries from now?”
A painful silence. “Years, not centuries.”
She stared at Witch. She doesn’t want him to die. She doesn’t want him to give up his time among the living. He’s the one who wants this, maybe needs this. Because then he’ll be free to have the one thing he wants more than anything else.
“What can I do?” she asked.
“Nothing.” Witch gave her a sad smile. “There’s nothing we can do except respect the choice he has made. Hell’s fire, Surreal, even Lucivar isn’t arguing about it. That should tell you something.”
Lucivar knew and had said nothing. Not surprising.
Surreal resumed her seat, stared at the jar of tea leaves, and started thinking like a Warlord Prince’s second-in-command. Like an assassin. “Why give a girl Grizande’s age this tea?”
Witch’s smile turned feral. “My Sister, that’s a very good question.”
TWENTY-SIX
Jillian hurried to the front door of her cottage in response to the second knock. The two young Scelties who lived with her didn’t tend to bark. They usually used human speech to announce—loudly—when there was a visitor. In fact, they often used Craft to open the door and inspect the visitor before deciding if that person would be allowed inside. But they didn’t bark in response to the knock on the door, and they didn’t announce themselves or anyone else. They just stared at the door, whining softly as if uncertain about how to respond to this particular visitor, then trotted off to their beds in the kitchen—a sure sign that they knew they were too young and had too little power to deal with her guest.
Gray power on the other side of the door. Female. Not completely unfamiliar, but not Surreal. Who . . . ?
Swallowing nerves and trying to remember where she’d come in contact with that psychic scent before, Jillian put a double Purple Dusk shield around herself before opening the door. Then she blinked. “Lady Karla.”
“Kiss kiss.”
“Uh . . .” Jillian felt like she’d been tossed in the air by a storm-driven gust of wind. “I’m expecting . . .”
“Me.”
She blinked again. “Really?”
“Lucivar. Virgin Night. You wanted to talk.”
Oh, Hell’s fire. She opened the door wider and stepped aside for the Gray-Jeweled Black Widow Queen.
Karla walked into the cottage. “It looks lovely. Comfortable.”
“I’m pleased with it.” Jillian led the way into the sitting room. “I don’t have any yarbarah.”
“I brought some.” Karla settled into a chair, set her cane to one side, then called in a bottle and a ravenglass goblet. She poured a glass of the blood wine and warmed it over a tongue of witchfire. “I heard that your lover-to-be has a keen interest in wine.”
Lover-to-be. Is that how Stefan would be seen from now on? “He’s a vintner. Prince Sadi took a case of a new wine that Stefan had made.”
“Tell me about him.”
Jillian poured a glass of Stefan’s wine for herself. “Why do you want to know?”
“Think of it as foreplay before we get to the subject we’re here to discuss.”
“I’d rather just find out . . .” What could she ask? Karla wasn’t outside the family, so confessing that she’d already gone through her Virgin Night might not be the best idea, since she would have to explain who and how and where and why. “I don’t need details about the . . . act . . . just some idea of what to expect from Lucivar.”
“Typically Eyrien to be so direct. Just as well you don’t want details. It was Lucivar, and he does things his own way.”
Jillian gestured with the wineglass, indicating Karla’s Gray Jewel. “You obviously got through the Virgin Night.”
“I did, although the details I was aware of have gotten a bit fuzzy, which I’m sure is for the best. Do you know what free fall is?”
“Yes. It’s . . .”
“Uh-huh,” Karla said. “I made the Offering to the Darkness first. There aren’t many men powerful enough to see a Gray-Jeweled Queen through her Virgin Night, and at the time, the ones who could be trusted belonged to the Dark Court. Chaosti was married to Gabrielle by then, and he would have fought going to anyone else’s bed. Lucivar was interested in Marian but not formally attached in any way, so Uncle Saetan asked him to perform that duty.”
“Duty,” Jillian murmured. “Not exactly romantic.”
“Some women need the romantic setting, with candles and music and seduction. I like candles and music with a good dinner. I just don’t want it spoiled by a cock.” Karla drained her glass and prepared another serving of yarbarah. “Lucivar went the other way and told me about the only other time he saw a girl through her Virgin Night, and why he’d never done it again.” She looked at Jillian over the rim of her glass. “He saw her safely through, and the next morning the bitch spat on him because he was a half-breed bastard.”