Tangled Webs (34 page)

A rumble on the stairs, a sound that vibrated in his bones.

The white cat filled the stairs, and Jarvis wondered which was going to be worse—the illusions that couldn’t physically hurt him or the predators that could.

Daemon stepped out of the Coach and felt some of the tension ease out of his muscles as he looked at SaDiablo Hall.

Jaenelle joined him, slipping her arm through his.

«How bad is it really?» He’d been busy with other things while they’d remained in the village, and then had to focus on driving the Coach home, so he hadn’t asked before. Hadn’t been ready to be told.

«They’ll both heal.»

«Rainier was a dancer.» He remembered Lucivar’s words before they parted.
With help from a good Healer, severed muscle will heal; a completely severed limb won’t, no matter how good the Healer is.

«He’s still a dancer,» Jaenelle said. «He’ll hobble for a while, but he’ll dance again. I’ll make sure of it.»

«And Surreal?»

After deciding that the four surviving children would be better off staying with their parents rather than being taken to another strange house, Jaenelle had quickly made up four packets of a mild sedative that would let the children sleep through the night. While Tersa looked after Surreal and Rainier, and Jaenelle dealt with the healings, Daemon and Lucivar had returned the children to their parents, and then went to the orphans’ home to pick up Yuli’s belongings.

A pathetically small bundle. A diminished life for a bright boy. Who was Yuli’s mother, his father? Had they hidden him away because he had the potential to be Blood or because he didn’t? Would he become a bitter man someday because his heritage hadn’t been acknowledged?

Daemon could have sympathized with Jarvis Jenkell. He might have enjoyed discussing stories with him if they had met at a party. Or he might have hated the man for being a pompous ass. Either way, he would have acknowledged Jenkell as Blood.

If the man hadn’t played out this game.

Even then, he might have been willing to overlook—to some degree—the man’s suicidal attempt to play games with some of the darkest Blood in the Realm.

If the man hadn’t killed children to do it.

If the man hadn’t hurt Surreal and Rainier.

«She’ll heal,» Jaenelle said.

«She sounds like a cranky child.» And that scared him because it made her sound weak and diminished. Once he was sure she would recover, she could bitch and whine as much as she wanted. Until then, the sound was going to scrape nerves already raw from worry.

«She has a fever, the poison is draining out of those wounds and hurts, and she’s feeling pretty miserable. On top of that, she thinks we’re treating her like a child by making her stay here instead of letting her go back to the town house in Amdarh. Of course she’s cranky. And she’s figuring that as soon as she’s feeling better, you and Lucivar are going to chew on her for getting hurt.»

For a woman with a fever, Surreal did have a good grasp of where things stood. Which made him feel better. If she understood that much, her brain was still working.

Beale opened the door. Footmen hurried out to bring Surreal and Rainier into the house.

Daemon stepped aside, bringing Jaenelle with him.

“They’re going to need me for the rest of the day,” she said.

He nodded. “I have tasks of my own to deal with.” Including figuring out what to do with a young boy.

Yuli followed Tersa out of the Coach. He looked so young, so scared, despite a fragile show of bravery.

“Boy,” Tersa said. She walked up to Daemon, pressed a hand against his cheek, and smiled. “You did well, boy.”

“Will you make some of your surprises for my spooky house?” Jaenelle asked.

Tersa looked at Jaenelle, then looked at him—and walked away without answering.

Jaenelle patted his arm and whispered, “If she answered, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” Then she held out her other hand to Yuli. “Let’s find you a room for a day or two.”

They’d barely gotten into the great hall when four Sceltie puppies came running up to greet them. Three bounced and yapped and wagged tails at everyone before running back to whatever puppy game they’d been playing.

The fourth one planted his little white feet on Yuli’s foot and said, «My boy!»

«I guess that settles that,» Jaenelle told Daemon.

«I guess it does,» he replied, watching the boy’s face bloom from shy smile to complete delight.

“Can I play with him while I’m here?” Yuli asked.

Oh, boyo, just try not playing with him.
“Yes, you can. He still has some trouble on the stairs, so why don’t you pick him up while I show you to your room.”

«Up!» the puppy said. «Up!» When Yuli didn’t immediately respond, the puppy whined and looked at Jaenelle. «Boy has dead ears?»

“He hasn’t learned to hear kindred yet,” Jaenelle said, slanting a glance at Yuli. “But he’ll learn.”

“Huh?” Yuli said.

“Pick him up,” Daemon said. «This is going to be a learning experience.»

She pressed her lips together, fighting to keep a straight face. «For both of them.»

As Yuli followed them, silent and wide-eyed, and the puppy never shut up about what he would need to train his boy, Daemon thought,
At least something good has come from all that pain.

TWENTY-SEVEN

D
aemon filled time with paperwork while he waited for Jaenelle to return home.

He’d wondered if his father had been aware of the half-Bloods who were raised in orphans’ homes in Dhemlan. He should have known better. His only excuse for not picking up the clues was his own emotional turmoil the previous year.

One of the vast estates owned by the SaDiablo family contained a self-sufficient community, including a school. When he’d taken over handling the family’s property and wealth, Saetan had told him that community was required to support itself, but no income should be expected from it. Daemon hadn’t questioned it or looked at the place beyond reviewing the quarterly reports to make sure the community
was
still supporting itself.

So when he and Jaenelle sat down to review possible new homes for Yuli, it was embarrassing to discover that the community’s school was for half-Blood children who had the potential to become Blood when they reached maturity. Some of the children were there because their parents wanted them to have the dual landen-Blood education that matched their potential. Others were considered orphans—children who had lost their parents or children whose parents were nothing more than names that acknowledged family bloodlines. The children were educated and cared for, taught Protocol, and instructed in basic Craft if they developed the power to do simple spells. They were also given the opportunity to earn spending money by working within the community or on another part of the estate.

Two hundred children made their home at that school—and now Yuli was one of them.

Jaenelle walked into the study, gave him a look he couldn’t interpret, then slumped in a chair in front of the desk.

“I have been given the honor of being the Official Liaison between the school and the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan,” she said. “I was even given an official-looking piece of parchment, all signed and sealed, to acknowledge my new position.”

“I see,” Daemon said, working to keep his expression bland.

“Didn’t want to talk to me themselves?”

“Not in this decade. So. Do you want to see an extra report from the school? Do you require copies of the reports sent—and approved by the High Lord—from previous years?”

Daemon sat back, steepled his fingers, and rested the forefingers against his chin. “Is this a ripple caused by my note to the Province Queens?”

“Apparently. And even though they would prefer not to talk to you directly, the school’s administrators seemed more puzzled than concerned by this sudden interest in the school.”

A good sign that he wouldn’t find anything wrong at the school when he paid them a surprise visit. And he would take the Official Liaison with him to avoid scaring the shit out of everyone.

“We discussed the necessity of Yuli receiving some individual tutoring, since I don’t think he has much of the Dhemlan race in his bloodline and he’ll mature faster than the other children,” Jaenelle said. “It may be that he’ll do better in a Territory like Scelt, but I’d prefer to keep him nearby for the time being.”

“Was Yuli comfortable with staying at the school?” Daemon asked.

“A little frightened. But after he saw his room—and after Socks declared that it smelled like a good place—boy and puppy adjusted quickly enough. More quickly than the administrators, who are smart enough to realize what having a kindred puppy at the school will mean.”

Daemon smiled. “That they’ll now receive regular visits from adult kindred?”

“And that not all of those adults will be small or canine,” Jaenelle said, returning the smile.

A small frown was added to his smile. “Socks? The puppy’s name is Socks?”

Jaenelle rolled her eyes. “Yuli said the puppy looked like he was wearing white socks, so the puppy announced that that was his name—Socks.”

“He’s a Warlord, yes?”

“Yes, and that one will definitely wear a Jewel of sufficient rank when he goes through the Birthright Ceremony—and that means he’ll most likely wear a dark Jewel at maturity.”

The frown deepened. “Lord
Socks
? What was his name originally?”

A blush stained Jaenelle’s cheeks. “I couldn’t remember, and the puppy won’t say. When I asked Ladvarian, he said, ‘Socks is an easy name for humans to remember.’”

“The little prick,” Daemon muttered.

She laughed.

Then she looked at him in a way that filled his stomach with butterflies.
Nervous
butterflies.

Everything has a price, old son. You made a promise. It’s time to pay the debt. Time to pay off all the debts, actually.

“I have an appointment this evening,” Daemon said. “I was waiting for you to return home before I left.”

A subtle change in her eyes, in her psychic scent.

“An appointment,” Witch said.

Not a question. Seventy-two hours had passed since he’d set his little game in motion. He had no doubt the first half of the debt had been paid in full. Now it was time to end it.

And Witch knew it.

“I’ve already informed Mrs. Beale that I won’t be home for dinner.” Informed Beale, actually. He’d hadn’t wanted to be the one to tell Mrs. Beale—and her meat cleaver—just in case she’d already begun preparations for the evening meal. “After I return, I’m available for whatever help you want with your spooky house.”

Her smile was female. Feline. More than a little bit terrifying.

“I’ll look forward to it,” she said.

Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.

After Jaenelle walked out of the study, he sat there for several minutes, giving himself time to grow some bone back into his legs and strap some steel to his spine.

He’d made a promise to his Queen. To his wife. And he would keep it.

But he had another promise to keep first.

Pressed into a corner, Jarvis Jenkell curled up a little tighter.

Her little surprises are now more in keeping with your intentions for this house. They all have teeth.
That’s what Sadi had said about Tersa’s illusions. And he’d been right.

The beetles. The spiders. Even the skeleton mice.

The beetles were the worst. Swarming all over him whenever he tried to rest, swelling up, and then…Those
teeth
! Biting through his clothes. Biting through his skin. Chewing their way into him. Then gone, leaving no marks, no trace. But his flesh remembered the sensation, the pain. Just like the flesh remembered…

No scuff of shoe on wood. No sound at all. But he knew he was no longer alone. Knew what was going to happen. Again. Knew the pleasure would be as cold-blooded and merciless as the pain.

And no longer knew which was worse to endure.

The Sadist had arrived.

“Let this end,” Jarvis whispered. “I’m begging you. Let this end.”

The Sadist stared at him, a measuring regard.

“Yes,” Daemon said softly. “The debt to the SaDiablo family has been paid in full.” He took a step toward Jarvis. Took another. “Now it’s time to pay the debt you owe the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan.”

Witchfire took the house, and it burned fast and hard. Witchfire formed a carpet where grass had once grown, and burned fierce enough to partially melt the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the property.

Witchfire, fueled by a Black Jewel, burned through the spells and consumed the power that remained in the Blood who had been trapped in the house; it finished the kill and freed them to become a whisper in the Darkness.

With one exception.

The boy sneaked glances at the Warlord Prince who had rescued him from the house. The Prince had
said
he was the Eyrien Prince’s brother, and the boy wasn’t about to call him a liar—even if this Prince
didn’t
have wings.

Besides, even though the man hadn’t done anything to
him
, the boy was pretty sure
this
Prince was even scarier than the Eyrien Prince.

“Will I have to go to school?” the boy asked. “I’m dead, so I shouldn’t have to go to school.”

“That’s something you’ll have to discuss with the High Lord,” the Prince said.

“Oh.”

The man’s eyes were glazed, and the boy had been taught to avoid Warlord Princes when their eyes were glazed because that’s when they were the most dangerous. But since he’d ended up dead because the Jenkell man had tricked him into coming to the spooky house, he figured it was better to ask about things
now.

“I like learning about some stuff,” the boy offered.

A little warmth came into those cold eyes. “Then you should mention that.” The Prince looked at the villagers who were running toward the fire. “Come on, puppy. It’s time to leave.”