A week later, angry and defiant, the youth dove into the canyon to make the Blood Run on his own.
Daemonar had watched with Alanar and Tamnar as Lucivar and his men walked the canyon floor to find what they could. He saw the look of sorrow and anger on Lucivar’s face as the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih took the grisly remains to the Keep, where the High Lord of Hell waited to escort the youth to the Dark Realm—and send him to the final death once the Eyrien made the transition to demon-dead.
“I’m ready for this,” he said.
Lucivar nodded. “I know you are.”
Daemonar glanced at the group of Eyrien men. Women were not permitted to stand witness. They would attend the celebration later. But there was someone missing among the witnesses. “Uncle Daemon isn’t coming?”
“He’ll be here.” Lucivar brushed a hand over Daemonar’s hair. “Sun’s in the best position now, so whenever you’re ready.”
As Lucivar walked away, Daemonar saw Rothvar, Zaranar, and Tamnar spread their wings and fly to the other side of the canyon. Hallevar, Endar, and Alanar stayed on this side. And Lucivar would be flying above the canyon and behind him to avoid casting a distracting shadow. But if he got in trouble, his father would be there to pull him out, just as Lucivar had been there to watch over Tamnar’s and Alanar’s Runs.
Staring at the canyon below, Daemonar opened his wings their full span, then closed them softly. He’d warmed up his muscles earlier. There was nothing more to do except leap toward his future.
No fear. Just the thrill of the challenge.
He took a deep breath. Then he dove into the canyon, caught the Tiger Eye Wind, and began the Blood Run.
Wings open to catch air currents. Wings tight and body turned as he followed the Tiger Eye between two stone spears before switching to the Purple Dusk and running on that thread. Hell’s fire, the difference in speed! Up. Down. Catching the Opal, then dropping back to Summer-sky to keep as close to the center of the canyon as he could while weaving between obstacles. It was a hundred times better than riding the rapids on that raft he and Jaenelle Saetien made all those years ago.
Back to Purple Dusk, and there was the end of the canyon—a wall of stone. Time to head for the sky, pumping his wings. Pumping and pumping to get himself above that stone wall.
Up. Out. He kept heading for the sky and then turned to circle back to the land above the canyon—where Daemon Sadi waited for him.
He backwinged and landed as the other Eyriens flew toward that spot to meet him. He had fulfilled the rite of passage. He was a man now.
He let out a whoop and leaped into his uncle’s arms.
Laughing, Daemon swung him around once before setting him on his feet. “Well-done, boyo. Well-done.”
Grinning, Daemonar stepped away from his uncle and looked at his father when Lucivar landed nearby.
“So,” Rothvar said. “We’ve got another Eyrien man among us.”
“Now you’re old enough to stay out as long as you please,” Zaranar said.
Lucivar made a rude noise. “The first time his mother worries, he’ll find his bed on the flagstones outside the eyrie.”
“And you’re old enough to walk into any tavern and drink yourself stupid,” Hallevar said. “Just don’t expect any of us to hold your head while you puke up your balls.”
“So I’ve just spent decades training to do something that will allow me to get drunk and sleep outside?” Daemonar asked.
“Sounds like it,” Daemon said dryly.
Daemonar looked at all the men who watched him. He was the Demon Prince’s firstborn son and, by Eyrien tradition, he was a man. Everything he did from now on would matter.
“Do we get anything to eat?” he asked.
The men laughed.
“There’s a feast waiting for you at the eyrie,” Lucivar said. “Your mother’s part of the celebration, as well as edible tributes from Manny and Mrs. Beale.”
Daemonar’s mouth watered, and he didn’t even know what was going to be served.
“Why don’t the rest of you head up to the eyrie?” Lucivar said. “We’ll be along in a few minutes.”
Daemonar felt the ripple of concern that passed from man to man, and shrugged in response to the questioning looks Tamnar and Alanar gave him. His own concern heightened when Uncle Daemon put a hand on his shoulder and led him farther away from the canyon’s edge.
“There is another Eyrien tradition that is part of this rite of passage,” Lucivar said.
Pretty sure what was coming, Daemonar tried to take a step back, but Uncle Daemon’s hand was now between his shoulder blades, holding him in place.
“I can’t say my experience was a good one, and I’d like yours to be better,” Lucivar continued. “Being a man in this family can be a delicate, and difficult, position. And somewhere, somehow, you need to learn how to be a lover.”
No, Daemonar thought, pressing against his uncle’s hand. I’m not ready for that.
Oh, he was plenty interested in what he and a girl could do together, but when you were Blood and male, it wasn’t that easy—and the price for pleasure could be terribly high.
“Which is why, with your parents’ permission, your aunt Surreal and I are giving you this as our gift.” Daemon called in a thick envelope and held it out.
Not seeing a choice, Daemonar took the envelope and opened it.
Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. His stomach flipped and his knees went weak. He enjoyed kissing girls. He really did. But . . .
“Lessons?” His voice cracked.
“While there aren’t Red Moon houses in Kaeleer as there were in Terreille, there are establishments where young men can receive instruction on how to be a lover,” Daemon said. “It’s required for consorts, and recommended for any man who wants to be a husband who is welcome in his wife’s bed.”
Leaping back into the Blood Run was sounding like a good idea right now.
He looked at his uncle. “Couldn’t I just keep talking to you about . . . stuff?”
“Of course you can,” Daemon soothed. “And those conversations can be as basic or explicit as you want them to be. But you will need some experience in areas that I will not teach you.”
*And that line has been drawn at my request,* Lucivar said on a psychic thread directed at him.
“This place is very exclusive and discreet,” Daemon said. “Among its clientele are the sons of Queens because those are young men who, otherwise, could be vulnerable when they are first learning about the pleasures of the flesh. It’s located in Amdarh, so it will be easy to arrange for a lesson when you come to visit.” A beat of silence before he added, “Beron received his instruction at the same establishment. You could talk to him before making a decision.”
Instructions away from Ebon Rih. Private. Discreet. Nothing the girls in Riada needed to know about—especially girls who might be having their Virgin Nights soon and would be free to indulge in having lovers.
“If you’re worried about being cornered by a girl who expects you to be accommodating now that you’ve made the Blood Run, you can tell her your father and uncle are being pricks and holding you to the no-sex-without-permission rule,” Lucivar said. “We’ll back you.”
“Against anyone,” Daemon purred.
“Thank you.” Not sure what else to say, Daemonar vanished the envelope. “Can we go eat now before all the food is gone?”
Father and uncle laughed and said, “Sure.”
Daemonar just shrugged as they all caught the Green Wind and headed for the Yaslana eyrie.
Sex was all well and good, but a man had to set his priorities.
Later that evening, Lucivar and Daemon dropped from the Winds and walked toward the southern-facing Sleeping Dragon. Some stories said the Sleeping Dragons were actual dragons from the legendary race that had created the Blood. Other stories said some ancient hand sculpted stone into the shape of two dragons, one facing north and the other south. Didn’t matter which story might be true. What mattered was the northern-facing dragon was at the end of the Khaldharon Run—and between the stone teeth in its gaping mouth was the entrance to a Gate between the Realms.