“I’ve heard talk—whispers not quite behind the hand—that Eyrien men aren’t suited to live with women and children,” Tamnar said. “That Eyrien men living with their families is unnatural, just like having male children remain at home instead of being fostered at a hunting camp isn’t natural.”
Daemonar snorted. “Tell that to Rothvar or my father. Tell that to any of the men who have started families and live with those families. That’s Terreillean thinking, and it has no place in Kaeleer.” He thought about what Lucivar and Daemon had found at the Sleeping Dragons, then looked at his friends. “Someone is stirring up trouble, and I may not be the only target. You need to be careful.”
“Tamnar and I are going ahead to establish a bachelor eyrie,” Alanar said.
“Are you going to join us?” Tamnar asked.
They had talked about it before he’d made the Blood Run. But this encounter with Orian showed him why he shouldn’t leave the protection of living under his father’s roof. He’d be battling her every damn day, and eventually she would end up bloody because he wasn’t going to let her corner him into any kind of commitment.
“No,” he said. “Not yet, anyway.”
They kept him company while he went to another shop and selected greens for the salad before heading to The Tavern to pick up the steak-and-ale pies.
“You’ll be all right?” Alanar asked when they reached The Tavern.
That was as close as any of them came to acknowledging the way Orian and her coven had followed them from place to place.
What in the name of Hell was wrong with that girl? “I’ll be fine.”
Tamnar and Alanar spread their wings and leaped for the sky. He went into The Tavern.
The current owner of the tavern and inn could trace his line back to Merry and Briggs, who had run the place when Lucivar first came to Ebon Rih. It was still one of his father’s favorite places to stop for a glass of ale or a meal, and the steak-and-ale pies were a recipe that had been handed down through the generations.
He felt Orian’s presence the moment she entered The Tavern, felt his temper flash hot as he began rising to the killing edge. And then . . .
“Hey, boyo. Why aren’t you out kissing sky?”
Daemonar turned and let out a whoop as anger vanished, conquered by delight. “Jillian!”
Dropping the Green shield, he grabbed her and spun them around so many times they had to hold on to each other for balance when he finally set her on her feet.
“You’ve gotten tall,” Jillian complained.
“Nah, you just stopped growing—at least upward.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Watch it.”
He grinned, unrepentant. She wasn’t boyishly lean anymore. Then again, she wasn’t a girl anymore, and while she wasn’t soft, her body said woman now.
“Are you here for a visit?”
“Going to stay a while.”
“We’ll see about that,” Orian muttered.
Daemonar swung around to challenge—and hit the fist Jillian thrust in front of his chest. He started to protest, then saw her give Orian a smile so sharp, it could have cut leather.
“Yes, I guess we’ll see about a lot of things, won’t we?” Jillian said. “But if people start dumping shit on my doorstep, I’ll know exactly where to find the buckets—and I know exactly what to do about it.”
Daemonar collected the pies and hustled Jillian out of The Tavern.
“That girl is going to be trouble,” Jillian said.
“Yeah, I know.” And now Orian had Jillian in her sights. “Maybe you should stay with us while you’re here. We’ve got plenty of room.”
She hooted. “Not a chance.” She linked arms with him. “I appreciate the offer. I do. But you’re a man now, and being around the sexual heat of two Warlord Princes?” She shook her head. “You might want to consider that Orian’s reaction to you isn’t all her doing. Your heat isn’t overpowering, but it is noticeable.”
If Jillian was right, then living in Ebon Rih was going to become intolerable. “Where are you staying? With Nurian and Rothvar?”
“Not exactly. Nurian kept the Healer’s eyrie, and my room is still available there. So I’ll stay there, visit with my niece and nephew, and have my own space when I don’t want company.”
“Alone? You’re going to stay on your own?” His voice rose loud enough to draw attention to them from people on the street.
“I’ve been on my own for quite a while.”
“You’ve always had someone with you, a companion.” He felt the tension in her, the grief. “Ah, Jillian.”
“Kindred don’t usually become demon-dead. Did you know that?” she asked softly. “I don’t know why that’s so; it just is. But Khary made the transition and stayed with me for a long time after his body died of old age. Their lives are so short compared to ours. A few decades at most. But he stayed with me while I learned so much.”
“When did your . . .” What word could he use? Current companion?
“A couple of weeks ago.” Jillian sniffed, blinked, looked away from him. “I finished a project I’d been working on, and when he became a whisper in the Darkness, I knew it was time to come home for a while. Lady Perzha and the current Queen of Little Weeble agreed.” She sniffed again. “That’s something I need to discuss with Lucivar.”
“You might have to get in line,” Daemonar said. “Titian didn’t come to the village with me today because she wanted to have a private talk with Father.”
“Oh, no,” Jillian breathed. “She’s reached that age, hasn’t she? Poor Lucivar.”
Well, that didn’t sound good. “Come on. I’ll escort you home—and if you don’t make a fuss about it, I’ll give you a share of one of the pies and part of a loaf of bread so you’ll have something to eat while you get settled in.”
She studied him. “You’re bossy—you can’t help that—but you’re clever about it. All right. Escort me home and then let your father know I’d like to talk to him at his earliest convenience.”
Once they’d reached the eyrie Jillian had once shared with her sister, Daemonar gave her a third of a pie and half a loaf of the herb-flavored bread.
“Do you need anything else?” he asked.
“I did pick up a few supplies before I spotted you going into The Tavern,” she said with a smile. “I won’t starve.”
So she probably didn’t need the steak-and-ale pie. Which wasn’t the point. She was family, and Warlord Princes took care of family.
“Be careful who you let in when you’re on your own,” he said.
“If I need help, I’ll holler. I promise.” She gave him a hug and pushed him out the door.
When he arrived home and walked through the big front room on his way to the kitchen, he glanced toward the glass doors that opened onto the yard and stopped, frozen by the sight of Titian kneeling in the grass, looking miserable as tears ran down her face.
A few minutes later, after he’d coaxed her to tell him why she was upset, he stormed into his father’s study, ready—hoping—for a fight.
Lucivar tossed a report on his desk and leaned back in his chair. “I take it you’ve talked to your sister.”
“Talked to her?” Daemonar snarled. “She’s out in the yard crying her heart out because you’re putting her through exercises she can’t possibly do.”
Lucivar’s eyes glazed, a warning of temper being held on a tight leash. He rose slowly and opened his dark membranous wings their full span before closing them again.
Daemonar opened his wings halfway for balance and settled his feet in a fighting stance. If they were really going to fight, he would end up bloody, but he wasn’t backing down. Not after seeing his sister hurting so much.