This Queen wasn’t his concern. But the girl, and her reasons for revealing this secret, was very much his concern.
A knock on the study door. Daemonar entered, followed by Grizande. The boy took one look at the Tigrelan Queen, shoved the girl back a couple of steps, then called in his Eyrien war blade.
“We’re here to talk, Prince, not fight,” Daemon said quietly.
Grizande stepped around Daemonar, earning a snarl of temper from the boy. One of her hands flexed, revealing her claws. The other hand held a knife Daemon was sure she hadn’t owned when she arrived at the Hall.
The Tigrelan Queen stood. “Do you remember me? Your mother and I were cousins.”
Everyone in the study waited for the girl’s answer. Finally, Grizande said, “Maybe remember.” A sullen response.
Daemon raised an eyebrow.
Grizande looked at him, then looked away. “I remember.” Another grudging response.
Using Craft, Daemon moved a straight-backed chair closer to the sofa. “Sit down.” An implacable command beneath quiet courtesy.
Grizande sat in the chair. The Tigrelan Queen sat on the sofa. Daemonar stood next to the girl’s chair, his eyes—and temper—focused on the Queen.
Daemon went down on one knee and put a hand on Grizande’s forearm. “Why did you make the secret tea the other day? I wasn’t here, and you weren’t dealing directly with Lucivar. Did traveling in the Coach with him bother you that much? Daemonar shouldn’t affect you. He’s in the first phase of the sexual heat and wears the Green. Your Sapphire power should have provided enough protection.” He gave her arm a gentle squeeze and repeated, “Why?”
Daemonar vanished his war blade and went down on one knee on the other side of the chair. “You showed me because you wanted to help my mother. Isn’t that it?”
Grizande nodded. “Marian mother is kind. Good woman. Good witch. Loves Prince Yaslana.”
“You thought this might help her deal with Lucivar’s sexual heat?” Daemon asked.
She nodded. Then she frowned. “Maybe help. Something Tigrelan Hourglass not say about tea. Maybe Hourglass here know more?”
So Grizande showed Daemonar this secret tea guessing, correctly, that the boy would talk to his father and uncle—and one of them would take that tea to the strongest Black Widow they knew. “Did the Black Widows who gave you this tea tell you how to use it?”
“Make tea.” Grizande raised a hand and held it out, open. “Drink one cup.” She moved her hand slightly and made a fist. “Next day, no drink.” Another slight move as she opened her hand. “One cup. Fertile days, drink, drink, drink. Moon days, no drink.”
Suppress desire during the fertile days, when desire would be at its peak. That might protect a girl from making an imprudent mating before she was safely on the other side of her Virgin Night.
“When did you start drinking the tea?”
She shrugged. “Didn’t drink while traveling. Needed . . . sharp feelings?”
“But you did drink the tea while you lived with the Hourglass?”
She nodded. “Drank tea two times before Hourglass said must run and find this place or be caught.”
Daemon twisted around enough to look at the Tigrelan Queen.
“I don’t know,” she said in answer to his unspoken question. “I’ve only used it a handful of times over the years, when I’ve had to deal with a Warlord Prince who wears Jewels darker than mine and isn’t a trusted member of my court. To use it as Grizande describes? I don’t know how long it would take to smother desire forever. But if she only drank the tea a couple of times, she should be all right.”
“Not safe? You sure?” Grizande sounded alarmed. She grabbed Daemonar’s arm hard enough to make him wince, despite the boy’s protecting himself with a tight Green shield. “Must warn Marian mother.”
“Lucivar knows about the tea,” Daemon said. “Marian is safe.”
The girl sagged in the chair and released Daemonar’s arm.
“Is the tea really needed here?” Daemonar asked. “I know the sexual heat affects some people at the Hall more than others, but it’s not that bad anymore. Is it?”
Grizande shook her head. “Queen blanket protects.”
The Tigrelan Queen shifted on the sofa until she sat on the edge of a cushion. “Queen blanket?” She looked around. Sniffed the air. “Male—and heat—here.”
“This room,” Grizande agreed. “Some rooms. Other rooms still feel like Queen who was more than a Queen. Blankets male heat.”
“You feel Witch’s presence here after all these years?” the Tigrelan Queen asked.
Grizande nodded warily.
“Under her hand,” the Queen whispered. “Who else could hold that leash?”
If this girl had lived at the same time as Jaenelle, she would have served in the Dark Court’s First Circle, Daemon thought. That thought was followed by another. Do any of the other children residing here feel that presence, feel that “blanket”?
He didn’t count Daemonar since the boy had never lost the connection to his beloved auntie J. Were the girls living in the Queen’s square of rooms more protected from his sexual heat because in those rooms Jaenelle’s power still saturated wood and stone from the few years she had worn Ebony while she walked among the living?
Too many questions and only one answer.
“Listen to me, Grizande,” Daemon said. “Listen carefully. There is a steep price attached to drinking that tea, but the choice is yours to make. However, if you feel uncomfortable being around me or Lucivar, I want to know before you drink another cup of that tea. You’re a young woman. I don’t want you to pay a heavy price if there is another way to ease your discomfort. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
He switched to a psychic communication thread. *Would you like time to talk to the Tigrelan Queen? Would you like to be alone with her?*
*Talk, yes. Alone, no.*
That was clear enough.
Daemon rose and looked at Daemonar. “Thank you, Prince. You’re dismissed.”
Hot temper and a challenge in the boy’s eyes before Daemonar yielded. He gave the Tigrelan Queen a precise bow and walked out of the study.
“I’ll give the two of you time to talk,” Daemon said. “I’ll be at my desk, working.”
Chaperon. Escort. Sword and shield. Call it what you like; he knew the Tigrelan Queen understood this was all the privacy she would be allowed around Grizande. What confirmed her sincere concern about the girl was her approval of the way he balanced privacy with protection.
Queen and girl talked for an hour. Daemon listened to tone rather than words. Listened for anger or distress—and heard none.
At the end of that hour, he escorted the Tigrelan Queen to the landing web, where a full complement of escorts and guards waited around the Coach that had brought her to the Hall. They looked relieved to see her. He wasn’t sure if it was because their Queen had come away from an audience with the High Lord unharmed or because they could get away from the scrutiny of Liath and Shaye, who stood at the edge of the gravel drive. Watching.
“What is that?” the Tigrelan Queen asked quietly.
“He’s a horse,” Daemon replied.
“Truly?”
“That’s what I was told.”
A little snort of laughter.
“Jaalan is here somewhere,” he added.
“Jaalan?”
“A tiger Warlord Prince. A kitten. He came with Grizande.”
“You accept this?”
“He’s not the first tiger who has lived at the Hall.” But the kitten wasn’t with Liath, so . . . *Tarl? Please send someone to check on the chickens.* Despite the home farm, which supplied a good portion of the food that was needed, the Hall’s staff still bought most of the meat and dairy from shops in the village, and also supplemented the kitchen garden with fruits and vegetables from beyond the estate. But Mrs. Beale had always kept a few chickens to have fresh eggs available—and to give the Scelties something to herd besides people and horses. Daemon just wasn’t sure anyone had told Jaalan to keep his paws off the squawky birds, and he really didn’t want to have a conversation with Mrs. Beale and her meat cleaver about chickens devoured without her permission.