The Queen's Price, page 27
He sensed no deceit, and he agreed with her reason for wanting Grizande to remain here. Jaenelle had also been vulnerable when she was young. What might have happened to all of them if Saetan hadn’t protected her, taught her?
Agreeing with this Tigrelan Queen didn’t mean he trusted her. Still, better to find out now. *Daemonar.*
*Sir?*
*Escort Grizande to my study.*
*Jaalan too?*
*No.* No reason to bring the kitten into this. To the Tigrelan Queen he said, “My nephew will escort Grizande here. It will take a few minutes. The Hall is a large place, and I don’t know where she’s studying right now.”
It wouldn’t have taken more than a heartbeat or two for him to locate the Sapphire within the Hall, but he would pretend otherwise. Why let a potential enemy know how easily he could locate someone anywhere on the SaDiablo estate?
He waited until she reached for a sandwich before saying too casually, “While we’re waiting, tell me about the special tea.”
She dropped the sandwich and jerked back in her seat. “What tea?”
“The secret tea that quiets the effect a Warlord Prince has on a woman.” His smile had sharp edges and a bit of a chill. Not the Sadist—although he could feel that aspect of himself straining to slip the leash—but enough to make this Tigrelan Queen wary. Enough to make her realize she might never leave that room.
Instead of the fear he expected, he found fury. “Is that your price for helping her?” she snarled. “Do you even know what it does?”
“I wasn’t here when Grizande told my nephew about the tea,” Daemon replied coldly. “Her living here under my protection isn’t something you or anyone else can buy.”
She stared at him, then seemed to deflate. “That tea is a secret because it is dangerous, Prince. Something to be used only when necessary. Yes, it cocoons a woman, protects her from a Warlord Prince’s sexual heat. But it also quiets desire, and if used too often, it can smother physical desire for weeks. Months. Years.” A pause. “Forever.”
That confirmed what Witch had told Surreal.
Daemon uncrossed his legs and leaned toward her. “It could smother desire just for Warlord Princes, or for any lover?”
“For anyone. A woman might still love a man.” The Queen pressed a hand over her heart. “But if she consumes that tea too often, he could no longer excite her body. She would no longer want physical mating.”
Daemon reached for the Ebon-gray to deliver a warning, then stopped before making the psychic link. Lucivar already knew the danger that came from drinking the tea and would keep Marian safe—no matter the price.
He studied the woman before him. He didn’t know her, didn’t know what her psychic scent and physical scent should be. But . . . “You drank the tea before coming here.”
“Yes.”
“To deal with me?”
“Yes.” She tipped her head and studied him. “But perhaps a full dose wasn’t needed. Your heat is quieter than I expected it to be, given that you wear the Black.”
He didn’t tell her Witch had taught him how to drain enough of the heat into a tangled web to minimize the effect it would have on everyone living at the Hall. It still had a wicked punch when he let it slip the leash, but he’d been able to ease it back to where it had been before the heat had entered its final phase. And he’d bet he could overwhelm the effects the tea had on the Tigrelan Queen if the Sadist wanted to make her desperate and compliant.
This Queen wasn’t his concern. But the girl, and her reasons for revealing this secret, was very much his concern.
A knock on the study door. Daemonar entered, followed by Grizande. The boy took one look at the Tigrelan Queen, shoved the girl back a couple of steps, then called in his Eyrien war blade.
“We’re here to talk, Prince, not fight,” Daemon said quietly.
Grizande stepped around Daemonar, earning a snarl of temper from the boy. One of her hands flexed, revealing her claws. The other hand held a knife Daemon was sure she hadn’t owned when she arrived at the Hall.
The Tigrelan Queen stood. “Do you remember me? Your mother and I were cousins.”
Everyone in the study waited for the girl’s answer. Finally, Grizande said, “Maybe remember.” A sullen response.
Daemon raised an eyebrow.
Grizande looked at him, then looked away. “I remember.” Another grudging response.
Using Craft, Daemon moved a straight-backed chair closer to the sofa. “Sit down.” An implacable command beneath quiet courtesy.
Grizande sat in the chair. The Tigrelan Queen sat on the sofa. Daemonar stood next to the girl’s chair, his eyes—and temper—focused on the Queen.
Daemon went down on one knee and put a hand on Grizande’s forearm. “Why did you make the secret tea the other day? I wasn’t here, and you weren’t dealing directly with Lucivar. Did traveling in the Coach with him bother you that much? Daemonar shouldn’t affect you. He’s in the first phase of the sexual heat and wears the Green. Your Sapphire power should have provided enough protection.” He gave her arm a gentle squeeze and repeated, “Why?”
Daemonar vanished his war blade and went down on one knee on the other side of the chair. “You showed me because you wanted to help my mother. Isn’t that it?”
Grizande nodded. “Marian mother is kind. Good woman. Good witch. Loves Prince Yaslana.”
“You thought this might help her deal with Lucivar’s sexual heat?” Daemon asked.
She nodded. Then she frowned. “Maybe help. Something Tigrelan Hourglass not say about tea. Maybe Hourglass here know more?”
So Grizande showed Daemonar this secret tea guessing, correctly, that the boy would talk to his father and uncle—and one of them would take that tea to the strongest Black Widow they knew. “Did the Black Widows who gave you this tea tell you how to use it?”
“Make tea.” Grizande raised a hand and held it out, open. “Drink one cup.” She moved her hand slightly and made a fist. “Next day, no drink.” Another slight move as she opened her hand. “One cup. Fertile days, drink, drink, drink. Moon days, no drink.”
Suppress desire during the fertile days, when desire would be at its peak. That might protect a girl from making an imprudent mating before she was safely on the other side of her Virgin Night.
“When did you start drinking the tea?”
She shrugged. “Didn’t drink while traveling. Needed . . . sharp feelings?”
“But you did drink the tea while you lived with the Hourglass?”
She nodded. “Drank tea two times before Hourglass said must run and find this place or be caught.”
Daemon twisted around enough to look at the Tigrelan Queen.
“I don’t know,” she said in answer to his unspoken question. “I’ve only used it a handful of times over the years, when I’ve had to deal with a Warlord Prince who wears Jewels darker than mine and isn’t a trusted member of my court. To use it as Grizande describes? I don’t know how long it would take to smother desire forever. But if she only drank the tea a couple of times, she should be all right.”
“Not safe? You sure?” Grizande sounded alarmed. She grabbed Daemonar’s arm hard enough to make him wince, despite the boy’s protecting himself with a tight Green shield. “Must warn Marian mother.”
“Lucivar knows about the tea,” Daemon said. “Marian is safe.”
The girl sagged in the chair and released Daemonar’s arm.
“Is the tea really needed here?” Daemonar asked. “I know the sexual heat affects some people at the Hall more than others, but it’s not that bad anymore. Is it?”
Grizande shook her head. “Queen blanket protects.”
The Tigrelan Queen shifted on the sofa until she sat on the edge of a cushion. “Queen blanket?” She looked around. Sniffed the air. “Male—and heat—here.”
“This room,” Grizande agreed. “Some rooms. Other rooms still feel like Queen who was more than a Queen. Blankets male heat.”
“You feel Witch’s presence here after all these years?” the Tigrelan Queen asked.
Grizande nodded warily.
“Under her hand,” the Queen whispered. “Who else could hold that leash?”
If this girl had lived at the same time as Jaenelle, she would have served in the Dark Court’s First Circle, Daemon thought. That thought was followed by another. Do any of the other children residing here feel that presence, feel that “blanket”?
He didn’t count Daemonar since the boy had never lost the connection to his beloved auntie J. Were the girls living in the Queen’s square of rooms more protected from his sexual heat because in those rooms Jaenelle’s power still saturated wood and stone from the few years she had worn Ebony while she walked among the living?
Too many questions and only one answer.
“Listen to me, Grizande,” Daemon said. “Listen carefully. There is a steep price attached to drinking that tea, but the choice is yours to make. However, if you feel uncomfortable being around me or Lucivar, I want to know before you drink another cup of that tea. You’re a young woman. I don’t want you to pay a heavy price if there is another way to ease your discomfort. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
He switched to a psychic communication thread. *Would you like time to talk to the Tigrelan Queen? Would you like to be alone with her?*
*Talk, yes. Alone, no.*
That was clear enough.
Daemon rose and looked at Daemonar. “Thank you, Prince. You’re dismissed.”
Hot temper and a challenge in the boy’s eyes before Daemonar yielded. He gave the Tigrelan Queen a precise bow and walked out of the study.
“I’ll give the two of you time to talk,” Daemon said. “I’ll be at my desk, working.”
Chaperon. Escort. Sword and shield. Call it what you like; he knew the Tigrelan Queen understood this was all the privacy she would be allowed around Grizande. What confirmed her sincere concern about the girl was her approval of the way he balanced privacy with protection.
Queen and girl talked for an hour. Daemon listened to tone rather than words. Listened for anger or distress—and heard none.
At the end of that hour, he escorted the Tigrelan Queen to the landing web, where a full complement of escorts and guards waited around the Coach that had brought her to the Hall. They looked relieved to see her. He wasn’t sure if it was because their Queen had come away from an audience with the High Lord unharmed or because they could get away from the scrutiny of Liath and Shaye, who stood at the edge of the gravel drive. Watching.
“What is that?” the Tigrelan Queen asked quietly.
“He’s a horse,” Daemon replied.
“Truly?”
“That’s what I was told.”
A little snort of laughter.
“Jaalan is here somewhere,” he added.
“Jaalan?”
“A tiger Warlord Prince. A kitten. He came with Grizande.”
“You accept this?”
“He’s not the first tiger who has lived at the Hall.” But the kitten wasn’t with Liath, so . . . *Tarl? Please send someone to check on the chickens.* Despite the home farm, which supplied a good portion of the food that was needed, the Hall’s staff still bought most of the meat and dairy from shops in the village, and also supplemented the kitchen garden with fruits and vegetables from beyond the estate. But Mrs. Beale had always kept a few chickens to have fresh eggs available—and to give the Scelties something to herd besides people and horses. Daemon just wasn’t sure anyone had told Jaalan to keep his paws off the squawky birds, and he really didn’t want to have a conversation with Mrs. Beale and her meat cleaver about chickens devoured without her permission.
“Safer for her here,” the Queen said with a sigh.
“You’re welcome to visit.”
He watched her enter the Coach. Watched her men watch him, Liath, and Shaye as they entered the Coach and the last man finally closed the door. He suspected that the men were more relieved to get away from Liath than from him.
He understood the feeling.
The moment the Coach lifted off the landing web and caught one of the Winds, Daemon returned to his study and summoned Surreal.
“No problems with your visitor?” she asked as soon as she walked into the study.
“No, that much was fine. She also confirmed the things you were told about the secret tea. Safe to drink, but a hefty price to pay.”
Surreal nodded. “Are we past this crisis?”
That was like asking someone how they were doing while they stood on a bridge that was falling apart behind them. “Why?”
Surreal gave him a big smile. “I thought we should discuss Jillian’s Virgin Night.”
“Fine.”
“Hell’s fire, Sadi. You’re suddenly looking peaky.” She laughed. “I heard something and was wondering if you’d ever made cock and balls soup.”
He looked at her—just looked at her—and watched the color drain out of her face as she felt the change in the room, the change in him.
The Sadist said too softly, “Why do you ask?”
THIRTY-TWO
Ebon Askavi
Geoffrey searched old documents from Tigrelan and found references to three plants that had been used to make a special kind of tea,” Witch said. “That brew was used to smother desire, but not always in women. And that smothering was meant to be permanent.”
“Castration without a knife?” Lucivar said. He closed a hand over Marian’s. It was the first time she’d been in this part of the Keep. The first time she’d seen Witch in this form. After the initial shock of seeing the Self that had lived beneath Jaenelle Angelline’s physical body, Marian seemed to focus on the problem rather than the shape of the Queen she’d considered a sister.
“Yes,” Witch replied. “Not a decision that was made lightly, and was always made by a Queen’s tribunal.”
“Until it wasn’t.”
“Which was when the Tigrelan Queens decided that everyone should ‘forget’ the region of that Territory where these plants grow. That was a few generations before the Queens in the Dark Court came to rule. Apparently, the knowledge wasn’t lost, just . . . contained . . . within certain Hourglass covens. At some point, the purpose of the tea changed, became a ‘protection’ against a Warlord Prince’s heat. Or perhaps it was still intended to smother desire, but now it was aimed at some females so that breeding would be the only reason to tolerate mating with a male.” Witch paused. “It’s also possible that the Black Widows who gave the tea to Grizande didn’t know what it would do over time. Knowledge does get lost.” She looked around. “Even here.”
“Maybe if the tea was brewed weaker?” Marian suggested.
“No!” Lucivar snapped.
She turned on him with unexpected anger. “You stay away from your own home in order to protect me from the discomfort of this last phase of your heat. Do you think I don’t know that you hate staying at that hunting eyrie because you have to stay away? If I could do this, even once in a while . . .”
“No, Marian. No. Didn’t you hear what Jaenelle said about the danger of drinking that tea? Do you think I could sleep with you, have sex with you, if you no longer wanted me with the same passion that I want you with? Do you really think I could do that? Would do that? And what about other kinds of desire? If one kind of desire is smothered, would you lose the passion for your weavings?” Lucivar sprang out of the chair and began to pace. “No. I can live with having to stay away from you for however many years it will take for the heat to wane. But I won’t stand by and let you accept a possible loss of something that is part of who you are. I’ll fight you into the ground if I have to. We have those special webs Jaenelle and Karla made to absorb some of the sexual heat. That has to be enough. Will be enough.”
“The heat does wane as a Warlord Prince ages,” Witch said, looking at Marian. “What Lucivar and Daemon are going through, what your families deal with because of the heat . . .” Witch sighed. “There is no precedent. Andulvar and Saetan were the only other men in the entire history of the Blood to wear Ebon-gray and Black. Even the Gray is a rare Jewel. When Chaosti walked among the living, he spent time away from home when he reached the last phase of the heat in order to spare Gabrielle.”
“You’re talking about a few years for a man from a short-lived race,” Marian argued. “We’re talking about decades, maybe centuries, before this wanes for Lucivar.”
“I know, Marian,” Witch said. “I know. But the sexual heat will wane on its own.”
Lucivar raked his fingers through his hair. “I wish Andulvar or Saetan had said something about this. Had given us some warning.”
Witch hesitated. “Andulvar had lovers but he never tried to live with a woman. The heat worked to his advantage, as it does for most Warlord Princes. And Saetan? I don’t know if he reached the final phase while he was still married to Hekatah. But as soon as he became a Guardian, his heat began to wane along with all the other appetites of the living. I don’t think either of them experienced this in the same way you and Daemon have.”
He figured that much. “So we endure.”
“Yes,” Witch agreed. “You endure. And you show your sons that power does not come without a price.”
Nothing more to be said or done. Leaving Witch’s part of the Keep, he and Marian stopped by the office where his administrative second-in-command had left a neat stack of messages for him. He vanished the messages, and he and Marian flew back to their eyrie.
Marian immediately went to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. Lucivar stayed in the archway, watching her.
