Twilight's Dawn (52 page)
Authors: Anne Bishop
Tags: #Fantasy fiction, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Witches, #Epic
A raised eyebrow to indicate a father knew an excuse when he heard one. But there was wariness now in Saetan’s gold eyes.
They left the eyrie and rode the Red Wind back to the Keep.
Daemon made no comment about the choice of Winds. He said nothing at all while he followed Saetan to one of the sitting rooms. He watched his father like a predator coming to some conclusions about the prey.
“Do you need fresh blood?” Daemon asked.
“No,” Saetan replied.
“Yarbarah?”
“No. Why do you ask, Prince?”
“Because the daylight hours are draining you in a way they didn’t before. Because you need the support of a cane more often than not these days.”
“I’m a Guardian,” Saetan said testily. “The daylight hours have always been draining. And I’ve had a bad leg for a lot of years.”
Watching. Studying. And then knowing.
“When was the last time you drank a glass of yarbarah, Prince SaDiablo?” Daemon asked softly.
Saetan tensed at the choice of title but didn’t correct it.
“When was the last time you had any fresh blood?”
Saetan turned to face him. “I haven’t had yarbarah or fresh blood since the day after my daughter died.”
“That was seventeen years ago.” A chill went through Daemon, but he couldn’t tell if it was temper or fear. “You haven’t drunk yarbarah or fresh blood
for seventeen years
?”
for seventeen years
?”
It began making sense—the slow decline, the absence of the Black Jewels that Saetan no longer wore, his seldom being available anymore during daylight hours.
“You’re changing from Guardian to demon-dead, aren’t you?
You’ve lied to us for seventeen years?
”
You’ve lied to us for seventeen years?
”
Saetan’s eyes glazed with temper. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“Oh, yes, you do. And we both know why, don’t we,
Prince SaDiablo
?”
Prince SaDiablo
?”
“Yes, we both know why,” Saetan replied with a snarl. “But I’m not the only one who has kept a secret, am I,
High Lord
?”
High Lord
?”
Daemon rocked back on his heels. Then he glided from one end of the sitting room to the other, too restless to stand still.
“I didn’t want that for you,” Saetan said quietly. “I didn’t expect that from you. To manage the family estates, yes. But not that.”
“I am my father’s son,” Daemon said just as quietly as he glided past. “Is that why you’ve let yourself decline? Because I intruded?”
“No, Daemon. No. Witch was the daughter of my soul. She was the reason I became a Guardian and extended my years for so long. I never intended to live beyond her.”
When he reached his father again, Daemon stopped. “But it’s different now. You have children who still need you,
grandchildren
who need you.”
grandchildren
who need you.”
“The same can be said for every father who loves his children. We all die—and we all have to let go, both the dead and the living.”
It’s not fair!
But that was a boy’s cry, a response to losing someone he loved. The man who had been cautiously exploring Hell for the past few decades understood why the dead needed to be kept away from the living most of the time.
But that was a boy’s cry, a response to losing someone he loved. The man who had been cautiously exploring Hell for the past few decades understood why the dead needed to be kept away from the living most of the time.
“How long before you make the transition to demon-dead?” Daemon asked.
“A few months.”
“And how long after that before the final death?”
Saetan hesitated. “A few years.”
“A dozen or more?”
“A handful or less.”
So damn hard to breathe. Why was it so hard to breathe? “Are you going to tell Lucivar?”
Saetan closed his eyes for a moment. “And confirm what he’s already guessed? If you think it will help him accept it, then I will.”
“Whether he accepts it or not, you owe it to him.” Daemon took another turn around the room. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Do you want the truth?”
“Of course I want the truth!”
“I didn’t tell Lucivar because I didn’t want to spend a couple of decades fighting with him over a choice that is mine to make—and that is as much a part of living as every other choice. I wanted to enjoy the time I could have with him and Marian and Daemonar.”
“And me?” Daemon asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Saetan took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Because you are your father’s son. You put aside mourning, as Jaenelle wanted you to, but you didn’t let her go enough to take up your life.”
Cold rage whispered in his blood. “Be careful, old man.”
Saetan smiled. “Yes. That look in your eyes. That’s why I didn’t tell you. You weren’t ready to accept another loss because her absence still haunts you, still hurts you.”
“I’ve ‘taken up my life,’ as you put it,” Daemon snarled.
“You’ve given in to your body’s needs and had sex with a woman on occasion, but you haven’t had a lover,” Saetan countered. “When loneliness eats at you enough, you respond to an invitation that offers more companionship than sex—at least for a while.You might even feel some affection for the woman once you do get to the bedding stage. But she’s still not a lover. Not to you. Then one day she stops drinking the contraceptive brew and comes to you ripe and fertile—and you can scent it in her body and in her emotions. That’s the day you walk away from her without a second thought. Because you don’t—can’t—love her, and while you trust a few women enough to have sex with them, you don’t trust them with the possibility of having your child. And some part of you is afraid that if you ever do trust a woman that much, she will be the wrong woman, and you’ll end up betrayed just as I was.”
Daemon said nothing.
“I knew that when you were ready to face my leaving, we would have this conversation,” Saetan said gently.
“And now we have.” The words came out colder than he’d intended. He had escorted many women over the past few years while fulfilling his obligations as the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan. But he’d bedded damn few of them, far fewer than Saetan assumed. He could get physical relief well enough without a partner, so he’d given in to the craving to touch another body only a handful of times since he’d last kissed his wife. And the last invitation he’d accepted, the one that seemed to offend Surreal for some inexplicable reason, had scratched at memories of being a pleasure slave. Instead of bringing some comfort, the sex had left him feeling dangerously mean. Because he knew too well what the Sadist wanted to do to that woman, Beale now had strict orders to keep the bitch out of the Hall, and Holt, his secretary, now checked the guest list for her name before accepting any invitations on behalf of his Prince.
Pushing aside his personal life, Daemon considered his duties. “When you decided to retire from the living Realms, you taught me what I needed to know to take over the family estates and fortune. Are you going to teach me what I need to know about Hell, or is that something I’m expected to learn for myself?”
Saetan studied him for a long moment. “I’ll teach you. It’s the least I can do for my heir.”
FOUR
“
W
ould you like to hold her?” Marian asked.
W
ould you like to hold her?” Marian asked.
“No,” Surreal said quickly.
Maybe.
Where was this yearning to hold a baby coming from? “I think my mother would have been flattered that you named your daughter Titian.”
Maybe.
Where was this yearning to hold a baby coming from? “I think my mother would have been flattered that you named your daughter Titian.”
“And you?”
“I’m . . .” She sighed. “As the Shaladoran people say, my heart is too full for words.”
Marian smiled at Surreal. Then she looked at Titian. “This little bundle is asleep, and Daemonar will be in school for a couple more hours. Why don’t we go into the kitchen? I seem to be outeating my men since the birth. It’s a little scary.”
Surreal laughed softly as they walked from the parlor to the kitchen. Having arrived in time to help clean up the carnage Lucivar and Daemonar called breakfast, she didn’t think anyone could outeat those two, but she’d been told to encourage any desire Marian had for food.
Setting the baby’s basket at one end of the kitchen table, Marian rummaged in the cold box.
“Looks like there’s a couple good servings left of this vegetable casserole. And there’s a beef soup, and . . .” Marian looked over her shoulder. “Just tell me what you have a taste for. I can probably find it in one of these dishes.”
Surreal looked at the overflowing counters and the cold box that didn’t have room left in it for a spoon. “Is it traditional to provide this much food to a new mother’s family? Seems a little excessive.”
“How many dishes did you bring with you this morning?” Marian asked.
She set her teeth in a smile. “I suggested waiting a week to send the offerings from the Dea al Mon, the Hall, and my house. I was overruled—and anyone who thinks hearth witches are gentle, fuzzy-hearted women has never dealt with Mrs. Beale.”
“Mrs. Beale is an excellent cook, but she isn’t a hearth witch,” Marian countered.
“I don’t care.”
Chuckling, Marian pulled covered dishes out of the cold box. “We’ll have the vegetable casserole and some of that crusty bread.”
“Suits me.”
“And after we eat, you can tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing is wrong. Hey hey hey! You’re not supposed to be using Craft yet!”
“Keep your voice down,” Marian warned, glancing at Titian’s basket. Then she raised the dish. “It’s just a warming spell. Basic Craft. Nothing that requires power on the level of my Jewels, or any Jewel for that matter. Even Lucivar doesn’t fuss about me using this much Craft, and he fussed about
everything
through the whole of this pregnancy.”
everything
through the whole of this pregnancy.”
“I don’t care if he’d fuss about it—you’re not doing it while he’s gone.” Surreal took the casserole dish, set it above the counter, and put a warming spell on the dish to heat up the food in a few minutes.
“Is it all right if I make the coffee?” Marian asked too sweetly.
“I’m not being unreasonable about this.”
“Yes, you are. But that’s because something is wrong, and you won’t talk about it.”
“Nothing is wrong,” Surreal growled.
“I saw your face this morning when Daemon’s name came up.”
She had learned the hard way that emotions left to fester could turn into a poison, so she moved to the other end of the kitchen, away from the table and the baby.
“For most of the years he and Jaenelle were married, I shielded Sadi from bitches who wanted to see how seriously he took his marriage vows, especially during the later years of Jaenelle’s life. Some of us have not forgotten what happened when Lektra tried to take Jaenelle’s place—or that Daemon threatened to kill all the Dhemlan witches if anyone tried to get between him and his wife again. I’ve made a particular effort to keep one bitch away from him, even after he began escorting women to social events. I can’t tell you her real name because I’ve been calling her ‘Dorothea’ since the day I met her.”
“Mother Night,” Marian whispered.
“I protected him
for years
. And the first time I spend a few days with the Dea al Mon and he’s in Amdarh on his own for some social obligations,
he ends up sleeping with the bitch
.” Surreal raked her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know what that says about him—if he’s become that lonely or that unaware of the intentions of the women who are all but stripping down in public to get his attention—but I do know the family history, and I do know Sadi is his father’s son. Anyone who knows those things has good reason to be afraid of what could happen if his temper snaps the wrong way. The purge in Dhemlan would be devastating.”
for years
. And the first time I spend a few days with the Dea al Mon and he’s in Amdarh on his own for some social obligations,
he ends up sleeping with the bitch
.” Surreal raked her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know what that says about him—if he’s become that lonely or that unaware of the intentions of the women who are all but stripping down in public to get his attention—but I do know the family history, and I do know Sadi is his father’s son. Anyone who knows those things has good reason to be afraid of what could happen if his temper snaps the wrong way. The purge in Dhemlan would be devastating.”
“Do you think he’d . . . ?” Marian cleared her throat. “Of course he would. What happened to the Dorothea woman?”
“Nothing as far as I can tell. I think she was hoping to keep him interested long enough to get pregnant, but it appears that something about her repulsed him once she got him into bed, and he’s avoided her since then.”
“So she’s not pregnant?” Marian asked.
Surreal shook her head. “No. Thank the Darkness.” Then she sighed. “He needs someone, Marian. He would deny it with his last breath, but he needs someone to cuddle and fuss over.”
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