“Where is Jaenelle Saetien going?” Daemonar asked.
“She wants to get settled on her own,” Daemon replied.
Lucivar eyed his brother, not fooled by the mild tone. *You teach them to be independent. Then when they are, it’s a kick in the balls.*
Daemon laughed softly. *Yeah.* Then the amusement faded. *But independence shouldn’t eliminate good manners.*
Picking up a bit of ice at the level of the Black, Lucivar brushed against Marian’s first inner barrier. *Can you and Surreal find something to do? Go look at something?*
“I’d like to see Titian’s room,” Marian said, turning to Surreal. “Come with me?”
Surreal glanced at him and then at Daemon—and went off with Marian.
Now he focused on the boys and his daughter. “Witchling, you have a stack of books and supplies to haul up to your room, and you have two pack mules available today. Make use of them.”
“Pack mules?” Andulvar asked. “Where . . . ?”
“Father means us,” Daemonar said. “Come on, Titian. We’ll help you get settled in.”
“She’s happy and excited and didn’t realize that you’ve cleared the field,” Daemon said quietly.
“Yeah, she and Andulvar haven’t figured that out.”
“What do you think?”
“A cluster of males and females keeping to the shadows. No dark Jewels among them—yet. They send out a scout and measure the response.”
“And Jaenelle Saetien took the bait.”
“Or she waved at a girl she had met at a social gathering but never mentioned to you, and we’re reacting to a pricking on our skin caused by a memory, like an itch on a missing limb.” Lucivar scanned the area around the green. That cluster of youngsters was gone now. Would have been smarter to have shown themselves and just gone about their business. That choice to stay hidden gave him a reason to pay attention. “What’s wrong with your girl? Aren’t we good enough for her anymore?”
“Well, Surreal and I are on the wrong side of some line most days, and damned if we can figure out why—except that Jaenelle Saetien has me for a father, and that’s . . . difficult.”
Lucivar gave his brother his full attention. “Why?” Not that he didn’t think it was true. His being who and what he was wasn’t easy on his children either.
“I’m damaged and always will be.”
“Dangerous, yes. Damaged? Not so much anymore. Not from where I’m standing.”
Daemon studied him. “You can say that after . . . ?”
“Yeah, I can. I want everything you are keeping my daughter safe. Everything. Understand me?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“As for your girl, just keep an eye on my firstborn. If Jaenelle Saetien is heading for any real trouble, Daemonar won’t stand aside and let her fall. He never has.”
“And maybe some things will be easier to swallow if they come from him instead of me.”
And she’ll tell the boy things she won’t tell either of us.
“Prince!”
The girl running up to them wore a short-sleeve shirt and the bib overalls he associated with farmers and gardeners, but she was definitely a Queen and wore Opal as her Birthright. A light Opal, but that still gave her considerable power.
The last time he saw a Queen dressed like that was when Jaenelle Angelline and the coven were around the same age.
May the Darkness have mercy on whoever is trying to hold the leash on this one.
“Lady Zoela,” Daemon said. “I don’t believe you’ve met my brother, Prince Lucivar Yaslana.”
He’d heard her name for years and had wondered why a formal introduction had never quite happened—or why Titian had never asked to have this friend stay with them in Ebon Rih. Now Zoela beamed so much excitement and goodwill toward him, he felt wary.
“Is Titian here yet?” she asked.
“She’s gone to the book exchange with her pack mule brothers,” Daemon replied. “Have you picked up your supplies?”
“Weston helped me this morning.”
“My sympathies,” Daemon murmured.
She laughed. “Grandmother said he isn’t going to stay with me when I’m on school grounds, but he will stand as escort whenever I’m out and about in the city.”
“That’s reasonable.”
“Weston wasn’t happy about that. About not staying with me at the school, not about standing escort the other times.”
“You’re a Queen. He’s your escort as well as being family. You can’t expect him to be happy about you being on your own.”
“That’s what Grandfather said.” Zoela let out a sigh, then beamed more goodwill at both of them. “I’ll go help Titian pick out the art supplies. We have a pottery class together.”
And off she went, a running bundle of energy.
Lucivar looked at Daemon.
“Lady Zhara’s granddaughter,” Daemon confirmed.
“So that’s Zoey.” When she wasn’t at the SaDiablo town house visiting Jaenelle Saetien and going on excursions Daemon had arranged for the three girls, Titian had waited for letters from her friend Zoey. He frowned. “Pottery. That’s making misshapen things out of mud?”
“Expensive mud, and the end result will be admired.”
“Of course.” Admiring it wouldn’t make it any less misshapen.
Daemon bumped shoulders. “Let’s take a look at the rest of this place.”
By the time they circled back to the green and met up with the girls and took some of the load the boys were lugging, Lucivar knew the position of every building and every piece of open ground. If this place became a killing field, the Demon Prince knew exactly where and what to strike in order to destroy the enemy.
SIXTEEN
“The first dance is so important,” Delora said. “Especially for the new students.”
“Making the right friends is critical,” Hespera added. “And not just for the time in school.”
“The friends you have now will be your friends forever.”
Jaenelle Saetien drank in this wisdom, flattered that Delora and Hespera would take the time to tell her these things. They were just enough older to have been at this school for a few years. They knew so much about how to go about in aristo society and who should be cultivated and who should be avoided. She didn’t understand why Zoey was so dismissive of the things Delora and Hespera had to say. Shouldn’t a Queen want to cultivate the people who would serve in her court? And Titian . . .
She’s delightfully rustic. That was how several girls had described her cousin. They said it kindly and with a smile, but inviting Titian to join Delora’s circle for girl talk was always an afterthought. After the first couple of times, when it became clear that Titian didn’t know anything about anything aristo, she declined to join them—to everyone’s relief.
“You’ll want a new gown, of course.” Delora held out a piece of paper. “Something exquisite since you come from such an aristo bloodline. Here are the names of two shops that cater to girls our age. They do custom-made clothes, of course, but they also have designs that are already made and just require the alterations for a perfect fit.”
Jaenelle Saetien looked at the names on the paper. “I don’t know. My mother prefers . . .”
Delora rolled her eyes. “Whose mother doesn’t prefer? But who is going to make the right impression wearing fusty clothes suitable for older women?”
“Well . . .” Surreal might kick about her going to another dressmaker, but if she could get her father to agree, her mother couldn’t say anything, could she?