“Of course.”
“Your turn,” Surreal said. “What’s going to happen with Saetien?”
“If she agrees to the terms I set, I’ll escort her to Scelt in three days’ time. She’ll stay with Lord Kieran’s family while she’s on what Lady Eileen called a heart quest.” A beat of silence. “Brenda is Kieran’s sister.”
“A student?” Surreal guessed.
“Instructor.”
“Teaching . . . ?”
“Whatever she tells me she’s going to teach.” Daemon studied the carpet. Nice carpet. Good colors and pattern. “Her kindred friend will be arriving later today. Lord Shaye. A horse.” He blew out a breath. “A mountain of a horse.”
Lucivar narrowed his eyes. “When did you last eat?”
“Had breakfast while I waited for Saetien and Jillian to arrive at the estate,” Daemon replied.
“Sleep?”
“Is a fond memory.”
“Well, Hell’s fire, you’ll be less than useless in another hour. Go to bed, Bastard. Surreal will take the bitch-brat back to her family, and I’ll deal with the rest of the youngsters.”
“And I will be the benign presence,” Daemon murmured.
“Sure,” Lucivar agreed. “Time for a little chat with Zoey and Titian.” He dropped the Ebon-gray shield and walked out of the study.
“This tea . . . ,” Daemon said softly.
Surreal shook her head. “No need to say anything about it.” Then she smiled—or tried to, anyway. “Lucivar’s right. You’re almost asleep on your feet. Get some rest, Sadi. You’re going to need it.”
Might have been a warning. Might have been a threat. Either way, he didn’t argue, especially after he almost ran into Holt when he left his study. His secretary took one look at him and said there was nothing that couldn’t wait. When was there nothing that couldn’t wait when he’d been gone for a couple of days?
When he reached his suite, he put a Black lock on the door and Black shields around the rooms, remembering to leave a Sceltie-sized hole in the shield on the courtyard side. He opened the glass door that led to the balcony, ignoring the brisk air. Breen was still a puppy, and while she could air walk now, she hadn’t progressed to the Craft lessons about passing through a door or wall. As soon as she realized he’d returned, she would come running to greet him. And woe to the man who was in the shower when she arrived and found herself locked out of the room, because then she’d call on the rest of the Scelties for help. He’d watched tragedies in the theater that didn’t have as much pathos as a chorus of Scelties standing outside a closed door that they couldn’t get through.
By the time he got out of the shower and pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms, Breen was in the sitting room, wildly happy to see him.
*Daemon!*
Sitting in a chair, he cuddled her. “How’s my girl? Have you been playing with the other Scelties and having your lessons with Mikal?”
*Yes! And playing with tiger friend.*
Was that safe? She was so small, and the kitten was . . . not small. He had to trust Mikal and the other Scelties to keep her safe when he wasn’t there.
“Breen, I have to sleep.” Daemon put her down and went into his bedroom. He was in bed and drifting toward sleep when he felt her tumble onto the mattress before cuddling against his chest.
He’d got halfway through the thought of telling her to get down and use her own bed when he dropped into sleep.
Lucivar strode toward the training room. A quick psychic probe told him the girls were in the room—minus Zoey and Titian, who were hovering in the corridor waiting for him, and that bitch-brat Dinah, who should be in her room packing. The boys were milling around looking uncertain. Well, with Morris gone and Brenda settling in, he wasn’t sure where the boys were supposed to be—or if Raine was supposed to be teaching this morning. Didn’t really matter. No one’s brains were going to be on lessons today. At least not the kind found in books. So he might as well give them other kinds of lessons.
“Prince Raeth,” he called. “Get the girls started on the warm-up with the sticks.”
“Sir?” The boy sounded like he’d just been ordered to strip naked and leap onto a bed of knives.
“Girls. Warm-up. You. Go.” He pointed at Zoey and Titian. “You two with me.”
He led them around the corner and put an aural shield around the three of them. Then he focused on Zoey. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she replied in a low voice.
“You know that’s shit, and I know that’s shit. So let’s try it again. What’s wrong?”
“Papa,” Titian protested. “Zoey is upset.”
“I can see that, witchling. I want to know why.”
“I failed!” Zoey cried. “How can I rule even a tiny village if I fail at being a Queen?”
Lucivar leaned against a wall and studied this girl who seemed to be shattering right in front of him. “If you’ve reached your age without ever taking any kind of misstep as a Queen, then you have been very sheltered, or very lucky that your instincts didn’t get you into trouble before now. My guess? Your instincts are sound, if inexperienced, and Weston has been very good at protecting you.”
Titian called in a handkerchief and handed it to Zoey.
“Grizande hates me,” Zoey said, sniffling.
He didn’t disagree with that, since it was probably true. “She doesn’t trust you because she’s learned that Queens can’t be trusted. That’s her burden. It has nothing to do with you personally.”
“If I’d listened to Lord Beale . . .”
“Yeah, if you had it would be easier. But you didn’t yield until you were pushed back. At another time, in another place, you may have to stand your ground despite what other people say. But you will have this lesson as a balance for instinct, and the next time—because you are a Queen and there will be a next time—you will make a deliberate choice of whether to yield or to fight, even if that fight is with your own court. You skinned your knee, Zoey. That’s all. Now it’s time to clean the wound and stand up.”
He waited.
“The other girls have been mean,” Titian said when it became obvious that Zoey was still having trouble standing up after what was, in the end, a small mistake.
“ ‘Mean’ as in a physical punch or a verbal one?”
“Words.”
“Sometimes those hurt worse than a fist and take longer to heal.” He waited a beat. “Which girls?” He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t demand. The alarm in his daughter’s eyes told him she knew exactly what would happen if she gave him names. “Anyone besides Dinah?”
“No, Papa.”
Probably true. But the other girls, the other Queens, hadn’t stood up against Dinah’s attack either. Something to think about when it came to the harsh kinds of lessons.
“All right,” Lucivar said. He considered what to say that might help Zoey. “Witchling, just because you’re offering friendship doesn’t mean Grizande is obliged to accept it—or can accept it—from you or any of the other Queens who are living at the Hall. Some scars never heal. For her, being around Queens might be one of them. Or maybe, given time, Grizande will see that people she does trust also trust you and consider you a friend, and she’ll take a chance that you will be different from what she’s known. Do you understand?”
Zoey nodded.
He wasn’t sure she did, but he said, “Go on, then. Sweating will do you both some good.” He dropped the aural shield and watched the two girls hurry away.
Lessons. He thought about some of the lessons Saetan had prepared for the coven. Most were stunningly unsuccessful for their original intent because the coven either laughed themselves silly while trying to perform the scenarios or turned on Saetan with a united anger that told the future Steward of the Dark Court a great deal about the Queens who would rule Kaeleer.