Jillian set her glass on the side table before she dropped it. “What? She did what?”
“Spat on him. I was riled about that too. Anyway, he and I drank the brew we were supposed to drink to make things easier, and he suggested that I open my inner barriers and allow him to create a . . . scenario . . . as a bit of distraction. I think that’s what he said. Things got fuzzy.”
“Yes, you mentioned that. Men create a scenario?”
“Darling, we’re talking about Lucivar, not men.”
“Right.”
“One moment, we’re in the bedroom, in bed. The next moment, we’re outside and heading for the sky. Hell’s fire, that man has speed. I do remember that. Then he rolled us so I had a terrific view of the ground that was so very far away—and he folded his wings.”
“Free fall,” Jillian said, barely breathing.
“There I am, yelling at him and watching the ground come up to meet us and wondering how big a splat we’ll make when we hit and who will have to scrape us off the ground, when he finally opens his wings and glides to this quiet little lake and sets me down. I’m pretty sure I swore at him. I’m pretty sure I slugged him. At some point while I’m swearing, I blink and we’re back in the bedroom where we started, and Lucivar is telling me it’s done.”
“What’s done?”
“Exactly. While I was preoccupied with falling out of the sky, he took care of business. I can’t say we had sex in the usual sense, since I don’t remember any of that, but his cock did what it was supposed to do for a Virgin Night.”
“Hell’s fire.” Jillian gulped her wine too fast and started to cough. When she finally could wheeze . . . “That’s not . . . ?”
“Typical? No. Not even for Eyriens. But that was Lucivar.”
“You had a daughter. Was her Virgin Night . . . ?”
“More traditional? The second attempt was. Or so I was told. The first attempt . . . Let’s just say I was more anxious than I realized, and I informed the man that if anything happened to my daughter, I would prepare cock and balls soup and make him eat it while I melted his eyeballs. My Master of the Guard informed me that I threw the man so far off stride, there was some question about him ever standing at attention again. My Master took care of arrangements for the second time and asked me not to attend. Well, I gathered that was one of the conditions of anyone trying to perform the service.”
I am so glad Lady Surreal is arranging my Virgin Night. Then again, she also wears the Gray and is an assassin. Is that any better, even for a fake Virgin Night?
“Are you feeling better about your Virgin Night?” Karla asked brightly.
“I don’t think ‘better’ is the correct word,” Jillian replied.
“My advice? Surreal will make sure the man has the experience and skill to see you safely through the act, and she will stay nearby. But Lucivar and Daemon . . . You’re the first girl in the family to reach this age. Let them fuss over you, even if you think they’re being silly. They need the reassurance that you’re all right. Let them give you a party to celebrate.”
“Somehow I don’t think I want to send out ‘I survived my Virgin Night, come celebrate’ invitations.”
“You don’t need to explain anything. Invite your vintner. Give the boyos a chance to get used to the idea that he’ll be warming your feet—and other things.”
“Poor Stefan.”
“It will be safer for him if the two of you inform Lucivar and Daemon of your intention to be lovers,” Karla pointed out.
Hadn’t she already done that?
“Well, I certainly have a lot to think about,” Jillian said. And she would have plenty of time to think, since she was certain she wasn’t going to sleep for the rest of the week.
“Then I’ll take my leave. By the way, I like your hair.”
At the door, Jillian said, “There’s no such thing as cock and balls soup. That was a bluff, wasn’t it?”
Karla gave her a long look before saying softly, “Don’t ever underestimate Daemon Sadi when he’s protecting someone he cares about.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Daemon set the Coach down on the village’s landing web long enough to inform the guards on duty of his presence. Then, using Craft, he floated the Coach a hand span above the road, as if it were a wheeled Craft-powered coach, and guided it to the family estate.
He and Brenda had talked during the first part of the trip. He’d told her about the Hall and the young witches who were there for court training and also for protection in case Delora’s coven of malice wasn’t the only threat to the well-being of the Queens, Black Widows, Healers, and other strong witches who would eventually come into power in Dhemlan. He told her about the young men who were there for training, including five Warlord Princes. And he told her about the other instructors—and admitted that he wasn’t sure how many would still be there after dealing with Surreal and Lucivar for a few days.
She thought he was joking. That told him she’d never met Lucivar. Or Surreal.
In her turn, she told him about the skills she had and what she could offer his young charges as well as the staff at the Hall.
Bracing. That’s how he would describe Lady Brenda, assuming anyone needed any comments from him after spending five minutes with her. He had a feeling she could out-Sceltie a Sceltie—and may the Darkness have mercy on all of them. He just hoped she never turned that focus on him.
And he wondered if that strength was the reason she’d wanted to get away from Scelt in order to heal a bruised heart.
She’d fallen asleep, giving him time to think about another girl and how he should handle this permission to make a heart quest, as Eileen had called it.
How would Lucivar handle it? Yaslana would state the terms and draw the line, and then wouldn’t budge. His way or nothing.
Did Lucivar lie awake some nights wondering if his way was the wrong way? Probably not.
When they arrived at the estate, he set the Coach down near the house and touched Brenda’s arm.
“Are we here, then?” she asked, blinking at him.
“Actually, we’re at one of the SaDiablo estates,” he replied. “I have some business to take care of here. It shouldn’t take long. You can come into the house with me, stretch your legs and get something to eat. Or you can stay tucked in here and sleep.”
She blinked again and straightened in her seat. “I need to use a toilet before I embarrass both of us, so I’ll come out with you. Besides, I’m wondering what a Dhemlan estate looks like. Are you raising cattle or sheep here?”
“Mostly they raise grapes here.”
“Not much herding required, then.”
“Not on the estate.” The sanctuary was entirely another matter. Fortunately, the girls at the sanctuary kept the Scelties who were living there sufficiently busy that they hadn’t expanded their help to the villagers—yet.
Daemon led Brenda to the door of the Coach and offered a hand to help her step down.
He looked at her, amused, recognizing her desire to be independent and step down—or jump down—on her own.
She looked at him, amused, recognizing that the gesture of offering his hand was part of the dance between distaff and spear—and something he would not surrender.
She took his hand and stepped out of the Coach.