“What I’m asking of her is what I need from her in order to let her go,” Lucivar said. “She has to be able to build shields fast enough and strong enough to withstand an attack—and she has to hold those shields until help arrives.”
“So you’re going to keep testing her?”
“Yeah, I am. And you’re going to help her hone those skills so that she passes the test and can go to school in Amdarh for her art.”
Daemonar felt his jaw drop. He’d thought this was some kind of trick to keep Titian home—and that made him feel ashamed of himself because Lucivar wouldn’t stoop to a ruse for any reason.
“You’re really going to let her go to school in Amdarh?”
Lucivar huffed. “It’s not the other side of the Realm, boyo. It’s in your uncle’s Territory. In fact, it’s the capital of your uncle’s Territory.”
“But Uncle Daemon doesn’t live in Amdarh.”
“Not all the time, no, but he’s there often enough.”
He felt panic rising at the thought of Titian being out of reach if she needed help. “But he’s not there all the time. What if he’s staying at Ebon Askavi when she needs help? What if he’s in Scelt? That is on the other side of the Realm.”
“If Daemon is away from Dhemlan, then Surreal will be in residence, either at the Hall or the town house in Amdarh,” Lucivar replied. “If neither of them are close by, Titian can ask for help from Lady Zhara or anyone in her court.”
Daemonar paced, feeling the room closing in around him.
“This is important to her, Daemonar,” Lucivar said quietly. “Important enough that she came to me and asked for my permission. If she meets the terms I set, I will not refuse to let her go. And neither can you.”
“She’s not strong.” He heard the plea in his voice—protect her.
“She’s not a fighter like you—or me. That doesn’t make her weak. That just means she has a different kind of strength. All we can do is help her prepare to meet the challenges she’ll face and to let her know we will always have her back. Always.” Lucivar came around the desk until they stood barely an arm’s length apart. “Can’t clip her wings, boyo. I won’t do that to her.”
“She’s vulnerable.” He meant sex, meant the risks a young witch faced on her Virgin Night, but wasn’t going to say that. Titian was way too young for that.
“You’re vulnerable too,” Lucivar said quietly.
“That’s beside the point,” Daemonar snapped. “I’m older than Titian, and I can take care of myself.”
“Well, your mother and I made sure you know how to cook. Now all you have to do is remember that underwear doesn’t walk itself to the laundry tubs.”
“You’re just twisting my balls because you’re worried about Titian.”
“And worried about you.”
Daemonar saw that truth in his father’s eyes. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve been trained by the best.”
Lucivar smiled. “Yes, you have. And what did she say?”
Daemonar shrugged. “I just found out about Titian wanting to go to school, didn’t I?” He’d have to think about how to present his concerns to Auntie J. to avoid getting a whack upside the head if he sounded like he wouldn’t support his sister. He would support her. He just needed time to get used to the idea of her being gone.
“Ice on a cliff’s edge and a long drop to the river if you lose your footing.”
Meaning his father had a really good idea of how Witch would react if he didn’t support Titian—or sounded like he didn’t support her.
“What about you?” Lucivar asked. “I have concerns about you joining Alanar and Tamnar, but if you felt strongly about it . . .”
Daemonar shook his head. “I don’t like being hunted.” Would he ever think of the Ring of Obedience without a kick of fear?
Lucivar leaned against the front of the blackwood desk. “Well, Alanar couldn’t refuse to let his sister in if she came for a visit, just as he couldn’t say much if that sister, who is also a Queen, decided to take a nap in his friend’s bed.”
“You think I’m a coward for not wanting that fight?”
“Never that. It’s not cowardly to want to feel safe in your own home.”
Daemonar looked into his father’s eyes and felt chilled by what he saw there.
“Orian is a cat trying to play with a mouse, refusing to recognize that the mouse is a wolf who can snap her in half,” Lucivar said softly. “Witches tried to play those kinds of games with me. The ones who survived didn’t walk away unscathed. Hopefully Orian will outgrow this latest bitch phase and show some potential to be a good Queen. But if she starts playing cat and mouse with other young men who aren’t so well able to defend themselves, I will break her, Daemonar. I will strip her back to basic Craft. If that isn’t enough to stop her from causing harm, then I will bury her. You understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lucivar seemed to shake off the edge of temper. “Well . . .”
“Jillian is back. She wants to talk to you.” He should leave it at that. He should. “She’s staying at the Healer’s eyrie. On her own.”
Lucivar stared at him, then made a twirling motion with one finger. “Turn around.”
“What?”
“Turn around.”
Not sure what was about to happen, he turned around.
“Hmm,” Lucivar said. “Since I’m not seeing a dent in your ass the shape of Jillian’s boot, I’m guessing you didn’t say outright that she couldn’t take care of herself and stay on her own.”
He chose not to confirm or deny.
Lucivar laughed. “While you were busy evading one female and trying to boss around another, did you remember to pick up the food?”
Turning, he narrowed his eyes at his father. “Yes, I picked up the food—but I gave some to Jillian when I escorted her to her eyrie.”
“Of course you did. She’s family.”
In harmony with each other, they went to the kitchen to put together the midday meal.
Titian sat by the pool that was fed by a mountain stream. A small defiance, refusing to hear her father’s call to come in and eat. Maybe not the best defiance, since Daemonar told her he’d bought steak-and-ale pies from The Tavern, and she really was hungry. But it was a way to get back at her father for setting this impossible test that she had to pass in order to go to school and study art. Her refusing to eat would upset him. A lot. Not that she wanted him to be upset. Not for long, anyway. But . . .
A plate with a piece of pie, lightly dressed greens, and bread generously spread with butter appeared before her.
“You going hungry will make Lucivar crazy, but it won’t make him back down,” Jillian said as she settled on the grass beside Titian. She held out a fork. “So you might as well eat.”
“He’s not being fair,” Titian said. She took the fork, her resolve wavering as she breathed in the pie’s delicious smell.
Jillian smiled. “Actually, he’s being very fair. And I say this as someone who fought a few battles with him when I was your age.”
She didn’t remember a lot about that time, just that Papa and Jillian seemed to wrangle a lot over some boy, but this wasn’t about a boy. This was about her life.
“I want to go to school in Amdarh,” she said.
“And he wants you to be able to defend yourself. If you and a good friend were out walking and you were suddenly attacked by a . . . by a crazed dog as big as a pony, wouldn’t you want to be able to form shields around yourself and your friend to avoid being savaged? Wouldn’t you want those shields to hold until the city’s guards could reach you and deal with the dog?”