“You are,” Lucivar replied. He nodded to Hallevar, Tamnar, and the others as they entered the communal eyrie. Then he tipped his head to indicate that Rothvar and Nurian should follow him outside.
Rothvar must have tapped Zaranar because the other warrior turned and went out with them.
“Zaranar should stick with Endar today,” Rothvar said.
“You think he’s going to try the Khaldharon as a suicide run?” Zaranar asked.
“I guess we’re all thinking the same thing,” Lucivar said. He blew out a breath. “If it looks like he’s heading in that direction, we’ll stop him.”
Zaranar flew off to find Endar.
“I think Alanar will miss the mother Dorian had been when he was young,” Nurian said. “But I also think he’ll be relieved not to have her as a shadow hanging over his life or his choices.”
The boy would do all right. For Lucivar, the question was whether Endar, who had once taken pride in being a teacher for the Eyrien children, would find that pride again after years of Dorian’s disappointment scraping away his feeling that he was of value to the Eyrien community.
“I’ll be at the Keep for a while,” Lucivar said. “I need to find out how to sever a marriage contract. I’d like to give Endar that much peace of mind before I send Dorian and Orian back to Terreille.”
He spread his wings, glanced at Nurian, then folded them again. “You going to the Healer’s eyrie?”
“Yes,” she replied. “I have some tonics to make and a couple of patients who are coming in.”
He nodded. “Your sister is a bit exercised over this.”
Nurian looked at him with wide eyes. “Jillian knows that Orian threatened Daemonar?”
“Yeah.”
Rothvar swore. “You left that girl alone when she’s feeling exercised?”
“There’s an Ebon-gray shield around Dorian’s eyrie. Jillian can’t get to either of them.”
“I seem to recall an Arcerian cat who could get through any shield, including the Black.”
“Jillian deals with Scelties, not Arcerian cats.” Besides, Kaelas was the only cat who had managed that particular bit of Craft. On the other hand, Scelties still had a bond with the Arcerian cats, so he couldn’t be sure what skills Jillian might have picked up. “Hell’s fire.”
“If she’s not at the Healer’s eyrie, I’ll let you know,” Nurian said before she flew off.
“Sun’s barely up, and we’ve already had a full day,” Rothvar said.
Lucivar snorted. “Wait until your two are a little older. This will be normal.”
“May the Darkness have mercy on me.”
*Prick.*
Lucivar sighed as Daemon tapped him with a psychic communication thread. Well, that didn’t take long. *Bastard? Is the boy going to that school?*
*He is.*
*At least he’ll be a pain in your ass for a while instead of mine.*
*Thank you very much.* A beat of silence. *Are things settled in Ebon Rih?*
*They will be.*
*I’ll be at the Keep tomorrow evening. We need to talk.*
*About all kinds of things.*
But who would be more dangerous once he told them who had been expecting to receive one of the smuggled Rings of Obedience? The Sadist—or Witch?
TWENTY
Daemon listened to Lady Fharra, the school’s administrator, and wondered what it was about the woman now that had him quietly rising to the killing edge when she hadn’t provoked his temper during their other meetings. She struck him as being ambitious, but there was nothing wrong with that. She and the senior instructors made sure the school catered to the wealthiest and most influential aristo families in Dhemlan, and there was nothing wrong with that either. But there was a faint echo to everything she was saying—not the words themselves, but the way she said the words. It was an unsettling sensation, like a cobweb brushing against his face—a wisp of memory there and gone. Something he’d seen? Something he’d known long ago? Something to do with Lucivar and schooling?
Or was something scratching at him now because of the boy sitting beside him?
Yes. Daemonar, not Lucivar, was part of that wisp of memory, was part of something . . . dangerous.
Odd that Fharra was putting up barriers about Daemonar attending the school when she’d shown no resistance to having Titian among the students. Did she have a reason for not wanting a Warlord Prince studying at the school? He hadn’t sensed any others within the school grounds, so she might not be comfortable with dealing with a male of that caste. Or was she worried about having a young man with all the arrogance of a trained Eyrien warrior living at the school and observing the instructors and other students?
And wasn’t that exactly why he was helping Daemonar attend this school? To have a warrior who was family walking among the other students and stirring things up enough to discover if Jaenelle Saetien’s behavior was adolescent female drama or something that would require his own kind of savagery?
He would have listened to Fharra for hours, letting her resistance and excuses reveal more and more of what might require his attention, but the boy was getting restless and, being Eyrien, was more inclined to meet a challenge head-on.
“Lady Fharra.” Daemon smiled and watched the woman try to suppress a shiver. “I’m aware that classes started a few weeks ago. I’m aware that my nephew might not have the same foundation of education that your other students enjoyed. That doesn’t mean he is without education. He has studied with several individuals to advance his knowledge of subjects that are of interest to him. And the time he has spent with his father and with me as we’ve gone about our duties as rulers of our respective Territories means he has as good a grounding in the workings of a court as any other student here. Probably more.”
“My concern is that Prince Yaslana will have difficulty catching up with the classwork at this point and might benefit from starting next year,” Fharra said.
“When my daughter and my niece were enrolled a few weeks ago, you assured me that the instructors here were willing to tutor students one-on-one or with two or three other students in order to help them keep up with the classwork. I would think those instructors would be willing to work with a student to create an individual plan of study.”
“That would create more work for the instructors,” Fharra protested.
Daemon’s smile turned colder and sharper—and Daemonar watched him closely now, a warrior alerted to a potential battle.
“Accommodate me,” he said too softly. “Not as the uncle of a new student but as the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan.”
*Uncle Daemon . . . ,* Daemonar began.
*Later.* He stared at Fharra, giving her time to realize he was no longer making a request—and that defying a command from Dhemlan’s ruler would carry a high price. What he found interesting was the change in her psychic scent. That told him she often faced the necessity of accommodating aristos who had wealth and influence and wanted some special consideration. He had the impression she didn’t object to making those accommodations as long as the person hinted there would be some personal benefit for her.
He gave no hints. He simply smiled—and waited.
“Very well.” Fharra’s voice carried brisk annoyance, but her hands shook as she reached for a pen and filled out the admission form. “All students live in the dormitories. In the male dormitory, there is only one room available. It’s a private room.”
“I’m taking care of the cost of my nephew attending the school as well as room and board. So the extra cost of a private room is not a concern.”
“Yes. Well. It’s only available because the fine young Warlord who was supposed to attend this year met with a tragic accident.”