The Queen's Price

FORTY

Daemon didn’t know why Lucivar felt Holt, Beale, Helene, Nadene, Raine, Weston, and Brenda were needed for this discussion, but if Lucivar wanted reinforcements, Daemon was certain he wasn’t going to like whatever his brother wanted to discuss. The only positive he could see was that Lucivar hadn’t asked Liath to attend this meeting.

Maybe Yaslana was saving the Sceltie Warlord Prince in case Daemon was foolish enough not to cooperate with the humans.

He stared at his brother. “I’m listening.”

“The Warlord Princes have formed their own pack, with Daemonar as the dominant and Raeth as his second-in-command,” Lucivar said. “It looks like Raeth and Trent have a preference for working with Zoey and her friends, but that could be because Titian is one of those friends, which means Daemonar takes a sharp interest in those girls. Also, Grizande is now in the mix, and my first-born feels protective of her.”

“Grizande wears a Sapphire Jewel and is well able to take care of herself,” Brenda said, waggling her fingers to remind everyone that the Tigre witch had claws.

“Maybe in a physical fight,” Daemon replied, “but there are other ways to wound someone. And there are the three days in every woman’s moontime when she is vulnerable.” He waited for an argument and felt relieved when he didn’t get one.

No one in the room who knew about Grizande’s past mentioned the scars she carried from being tortured—a testimony that even the powerful, when young, couldn’t always defend themselves. That was something he and Lucivar knew well.

“The two Princes and the Warlords are still sorting themselves out as far as which Queen they prefer to follow and who is a friend and who is just tolerated, but there’s not much squabbling among themselves,” Lucivar said.

Could be because they’re too exhausted to squabble, Daemon thought. Eyrien stamina was not to be underestimated, and with Daemonar leading, the boys were either studying, sweating through weapons practice, playing physically active games with the kindred or among themselves, or falling asleep on their feet if they didn’t manage to fall on a mattress first.

“The problem I’m seeing is the pissing contests that have boiled up between the Queens,” Lucivar continued. “Zoey wears Birthright Opal, which is the darkest Jewel among the Queens and should make her dominant, but she’s backing away from every disagreement instead of drawing a line and setting her heels down. And the reason for that is that the other Queens, led by Dinah, piled on her in a verbal dogfight.”

“Not exactly,” Raine corrected. “It’s more that the other three Queens stood back and did nothing, waiting to see who won the fight for dominance, although I think Kathlene would have stepped up to the line and stood with Zoey before much longer.”

Daemon studied the Dharo Prince. “Now that Dinah is gone, what is your assessment of the young Queens?”

Raine thought for a moment. “Zoey is sparkle and energy. She wants to be helpful—maybe too helpful at times. She might need firmer boundaries and more protection for a while. Kathlene is . . . solid. She’s a quiet girl who watches and listens and is more intent on absorbing the lessons than any of the other girls—including Zoey. With proper nurturing, she’ll grow up into a strong Queen. Felisha?” He shrugged. “She might settle into being a solid Queen. But Azara holds on to an opinion as well as a colander holds on to water. She just wants to back whoever is dominant, regardless of right or wrong. That makes me uneasy.”

“Who is dominant among them will change a dozen times before any of those girls are old enough to form an official court,” Daemon said. “Hell’s fire, who is dominant changes every time someone enters or leaves a room.”

“But the caliber of the Queen will not change in any significant way,” Beale replied quietly. “They have reached an age where they are what they will be. What you teach them will help them discover their potential and refine what is inside them, but it won’t change them.”

“It might change them in some ways, especially if one of them is floundering because another among them keeps cutting the ground out from under her,” Lucivar countered. “Protect and defend, whether the weapon being used is a whip or a word. But before we decide who we defend, we need to know what kind of Queens we’re dealing with. We need to confirm Raine’s assessment.”

“Lucivar, they’re still children,” Daemon said. Was he arguing because he disagreed or because he needed to believe a girl could change if given a chance?

Maybe not change, he thought. Maybe rediscover who she is?

Putting thoughts of Saetien aside, he focused on the people in his study and the current discussion.

“You know better than that, Bastard,” Lucivar said. “We saw plenty of Queens this age when we lived in Terreille, saw which ones already had a taste for cruelty and which ones wouldn’t stand up for their people if there was any risk or inconvenience to themselves.”

“What are you proposing?” he asked.

“We—”

“Meaning me, since you won’t be here most of the time.”

“Fine. You”—Lucivar circled with a finger to indicate all the adults in the room—“will conduct some scenarios that will give the children a challenge similar to something they might face as a ruling Queen or a member of a court. When Father did this kind of exercise one season, he assigned one of the coven to be the ruling Queen for that day and the other Queens were Province Queens or District Queens under her hand. That way they each experienced what it was like to have to answer to someone else or be a Territory’s last voice in any conflict. The boyos were assigned to a Queen, and Father, along with Beale and Helene, assigned servants to assist in whatever task the Queen was given.”

Beale, Helene, and Holt were working at the Hall when Jaenelle and the coven were adolescents. They all looked suspiciously stoic.

“What went wrong?” Daemon asked—because it was clear to him that something had gone wrong.

“It was Jaenelle and the coven,” Lucivar replied. “They had no problem with following whoever was supposed to lead that day as long as an assignment went smoothly, but as soon as there was trouble, they reverted to their natural order of dominance. And when one of them was assigned to be a bad Queen and do something . . . hurtful . . . in some way—and defend her position—there was a lot of yelling. Usually at Father, because he’d made up the scenario.”

“Hurtful?” Daemon asked too softly.

“As in being a guest in another Queen’s court and being discourteous to members of the court or the servants working at the residence, or trying to persuade a servant to let the guest into a room that was private—or into Beale’s pantry to snitch a bottle of wine. Or being a Queen who allowed someone in her court to steal from a merchant. Problem was, they all rebelled at being a bad Queen, even in an exercise.”

“The time they were told someone in a visiting Queen’s court kicked a puppy,” Holt murmured.

Daemon’s temper went cold. The men—and Helene and Nadene—shuddered as the air in the room turned frigid. Brenda just called in a heavy wool shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Well,” Lucivar said, eyeing Daemon, “it’s a good thing you weren’t here for these scenarios. As it was, we almost had a war inside the Hall when the coven, the boyos, and the kindred exploded into a hunt for that person.”

“Who was imaginary,” Holt said. “And thank the Darkness for that.”

Lucivar nodded. “Yeah. That was invigorating. It wasn’t even an approved scenario. A servant, thinking to add some drama into the exercises—or maybe wanting a bit of malicious fun—spread the rumor.”

“It sounds terrifying,” Raine said.

“That’s what Lucivar meant by ‘invigorating,’ ” Daemon said dryly.

“After that, the High Lord purchased a dressmaker’s dummy and a few outfits for various social functions,” Helene said. “Lady Dumm became the Queen with shaky scruples whose court got up to all manner of unsavory things. A couple of the maids were assigned to be Lady Dumm’s dressers, and a couple of footmen were responsible for putting her in the proper room for whatever was happening. She was even assigned a guest room to hold her wardrobe, and was sometimes seen taking a stroll through the gardens or being driven through Halaway. When the shopkeepers in Halaway understood the purpose of Lady Dumm’s existence, they participated by submitting complaints about misconduct by one of Dumm’s First Circle.”

“The point was for the coven to experience the conflicts that can occur when the line between what is right and what is wrong starts getting smudged,” Lucivar said. “It didn’t work well because all the Queens in the coven were already united around Witch. But the girls who are here now aren’t united. There are rivalries. Bring those out into the open. Force the girls—and the boys—to take a stand. And then we’ll see what happens.”

Daemon sat back. “It sounds risky, both physically and emotionally.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t,” Lucivar replied. “And it’s possible that things will happen here that will never be forgiven.”

“We can’t let it get that far,” Brenda said. “We have to intervene before a scenario becomes too scalding, or you’ll have Queens who are enemies for the rest of their lives—and that’s bad enough when people live decades instead of centuries. And I’m thinking that kind of anger is some of what happened in Terreille that turned that Realm into such a mess.” She looked at Daemon, then at Lucivar. “Am I wrong?”

“You’re not wrong,” Daemon replied. “Allowing the children to act out a scenario and then discuss it during their classes might be useful at this point. But I don’t feel easy about this. Corruption begins with something small. Giving in to that small act makes it harder to refuse to do the next thing you’re asked that you know is wrong, and the thing after that.” He thought about where he needed to draw the lines for the children—and for himself. “No scenario will include a physical or verbal assault. Not even something as small as slapping someone’s hand as discipline. And nothing that involves the kindred.”

“Shuffle the deck,” Raine suggested. “Four Queens in residence. Each morning, tell them who is ruling that day and what tasks need to be performed. The ruling Queen distributes the assignments. The rest of the students report to whichever Queen they’re assigned to that day. Obeying someone you like and trust isn’t the same experience as obeying someone you don’t know as well but still need to follow in order to do the work.”

Daemon nodded. “A valid point.”

“Daemonar and Grizande should be excluded from this exercise,” Lucivar said. “Daemonar because he won’t pretend to serve another Queen and he’ll simply fight anyone trying to give him orders. And Grizande has already seen enough of what bad Queens will do. I don’t think she’ll understand pretending, especially if anyone gets carried away and smudges a line in terms of honor.”

“Agreed.” Daemon pushed away from his desk. “We’ll start with something simple.” And keep it simple. “Lady Brenda, Prince Raine, your participation is appreciated.”

Raine gave Daemon a small bow. “Sir.” He held out a hand to Brenda, who gave Daemon a long look before allowing Raine to lead her from the room, followed by Weston and Nadene.

Daemon focused on Holt, Beale, and Helene. “A dressmaker’s dummy as an adversary sounds like a good idea.” He hoped. “I don’t suppose Lady Dumm is residing in the attics somewhere?”

The three servants exchanged a look.

Beale cleared his throat. “Lady Dumm made a disparaging remark about the young Ladies within the hearing of Jaal, Kaelas, and Ladvarian. We were never sure if the cats at that age understood all the words, but Ladvarian did and . . . Well, it was Jaal and Kaelas.”

“Ah.” The cats might have been disappointed that the bad human had no meat, but that wouldn’t have stopped them from ripping the enemy to pieces.

“I’m sure my staff and I can come up with a new Lady Dumm,” Helene said, “if you’ll give your consent for us to purchase a basic wardrobe from the shops in Halaway.”

“That’s fine. Just keep in mind, our guest doesn’t need to be extravagant in her tastes.”

“Of course, Prince.” Helene gave Daemon a nod before walking out of the study with Beale and Holt.

“I’m in trouble,” Daemon said.

Lucivar nodded. “Probably. But between the kindred who live here and the senior staff and the instructors, you should have enough observers to make sure no one crosses a line.”

“This friction between the girls happened when I wasn’t here. I can’t always be here, Prick.”

“It came to the surface because you weren’t here,” Lucivar countered. “You can’t say that Zoey doesn’t get special treatment, because she does—and some of the girls know why. Those who don’t? It’s none of their business. But once Surreal was through with them, I think all the children acquired some understanding of at least part of what Zoey endured.” A pause. “If you’re uncomfortable with this, don’t do it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Anything you want me to ask the Keep’s residents about this?”

Daemon groaned. “Hell’s fire, no. Helene looked sufficiently gleeful about bringing Lady Dumm back as a guest. I don’t need suggestions from Jaenelle and Karla.”

“Yeah.” Lucivar rubbed the back of his neck. “The exercise didn’t run that long, but Father said it was useful. I think it was more useful for him than the coven and boyos, although the girls did have fun with Lady Dumm.”

“Something to look forward to.”

When it came to meals, the Hall kept “country hours,” a practical measure that allowed everyone to tuck in early. Not that all the youngsters valued sleep at that age. Still, it gave Daemon quiet evenings and time to fulfill adult social obligations.

Tonight his evening wasn’t quiet or an obligation. Social? Maybe.

Daemon knocked on the door of Tersa’s cottage and waited for someone to answer. He sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be Keely, the Sceltie Black Widow who was learning the Hourglass’s Craft from his mother. Keely had been known to slam the door in his face if on his previous visit he’d done something that she thought had upset Tersa. Most of the time he had no idea what he’d done, and the Sceltie didn’t feel the need to explain—even to the High Lord of Hell.

Mikal opened the door. “Good evening, sir. You’re just in time for coffee.”

“Late dinner?”

“A little. Lady Jhett and Lady Grizande stopped by this afternoon. They delivered a basket of treats to the Sisters of the Hourglass who are living in Surreal’s house, and dropped off a smaller basket for Tersa and me. Plus treats for all the Scelties living in both places.”

Daemon followed Mikal into the kitchen. “Jhett and Grizande?”

“It’s an interesting friendship. And as far as I’ve heard, Jhett is the only young Black Widow living at the Hall who has gone to visit the recovering Sisters, and Grizande displays a practical sympathy and patience when the world . . . becomes veiled.”

Something he would keep in mind.

Tersa set the mugs on the table with a clatter. “It’s my boy.” She started to smile, but the smile faded as she moved toward him and placed a hand on his chest. “Twinges. Troubles.”

“Troubles,” he agreed, refusing to acknowledge the other part of what she said, since the twinges were over in a moment and likely didn’t mean anything. Not yet, anyway.

“Sit,” Tersa ordered. “We have treats.”

“Would you like me . . . ?” Mikal began.

“Please stay,” Daemon replied. “I’d like your wisdom as well as Tersa’s.”

“I have wisdom?”

“In this case, yes.”

As they drank coffee, Daemon told Tersa and Mikal about the proposed scenarios to be used as active lessons. He admitted he wasn’t sure the exercises had sufficient value.

Then Mikal let out a hoot. “Are you bringing back Lady Dumm? I don’t remember much because I was considered too young to participate, but I remember the times when she rode through the village in one of the Hall’s open carriages. And the time she attended a play that Beron had a part in and critiqued his performance while he was onstage. Beron had been warned that she was going to do that so he wouldn’t be upset, but no one had told Mother. If Uncle Saetan hadn’t held on to her, she would have climbed over the seats and killed Dumm flatter than dead.”

“Perhaps I can persuade Beron to give me a day or two as a guest,” Daemon said.

“If you tell him he can bring a few friends, they can put on a small production for you.”

“Interesting thought.” At the Hall there was a room with a stage. He’d have to check with Beale and make sure it was still intact. He turned to his mother. “Tersa? What do you think?”

“Skin stripped away, revealing the truth beneath.” Her gold eyes held the clarity of madness. “Shuffle the cards; roll the dice. See who stands and who falls.”

“Will the children be in danger?” he asked softly.

“Sometimes pain is a necessary teacher.”

Not a comforting answer.

He changed the subject and they talked about books and about the village.

Late that night, while Breen slept, Daemon spun a tangled web of dreams and visions.

See who stands and who falls. The web didn’t give him an answer to that, but the web revealed the whisper that Tersa had left unsaid: While you can.