The Queen's Price, page 36
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.
FORTY-ONE
SaDiablo Hall
Daemon stared at the object surrounded by people who worked for him—people he had mistakenly thought were sensible. And they had been sensible until one Green-Jeweled witch from Scelt had taken up residence at the Hall.
“What is it?” he asked. Better to know the nature of an enemy than to ignore a threat inside your own walls.
Brenda gave him a terrifyingly bright smile, but it was Helene who said with undisguised glee, “This is the new Lady Dumm.”
Hell’s fire.
“We used a dressmaker’s dummy for the torso,” Brenda said. “Then we padded it.”
“I can see that,” he murmured as he eyed the bust and waist and everything else.
“The girls from Scelt, as well as some of Helene’s staff, are fair hands with a needle and thread, so they made up proper arms and legs,” Brenda continued. “And look.” She pressed on Lady Dumm’s shoulder, which somehow bent the thing’s hips. “Tarl and his lads came up with the idea to make bones out of lengths of wood and attach them in a way that allows her joints to bend.”
Daemon stared at Tarl, who held his eyes for a moment before deciding to study the carpet.
Carpets at the Hall received a great deal of study.
Lady Dumm now sat in a chair, dressed for afternoon visits. Maybe. “No face or hair?” he asked. The hat wouldn’t have left much hair visible in any case, but wearing anything that had that many plumes was asking for trouble with a tiger in residence.
“We thought the Scelties might get confused if they saw something with an actual face,” Brenda said. “This way they can see it’s just a pretend human that we’re using for the young humans’ lessons. But we did add this.”
He wasn’t sure what Brenda touched, but he felt a spell engage before Dumm sneezed, then said in a stentorian voice, “I need a hanky!”
Daemon clenched his teeth.
Helene and Brenda looked at him expectantly.
He called in a handkerchief and held it out—to Brenda. The sun would shine in Hell before he willingly approached Dumm.
“When will our guest—who is an aristo from a prominent family but not a Queen—arrive?” He’d draw that line and hold it. This version of Dumm would be trouble enough without belonging to the caste that was the Blood’s moral center.
“In a couple of days,” Brenda said. “We’re still working on some of her wardrobe. But we’re thinking that you should start the exercises ahead of that, give the children a couple of days to get used to how this all works before we add Dumm to the mix.”
“Very well. I’ll explain this new set of exercises to the children, and we’ll start tomorrow.”
Daemon walked out of the guest room. He ignored everyone’s effort to catch his attention. He simply kept going until he reached his study. Once inside, he secured all the locks on the door. Then he contacted Lucivar on an Ebon-gray psychic thread.
*Prick?*
*Bastard? Something wrong?*
*I’ve just met Lady Dumm. The next time I see you I am going to kill you flatter than dead.*
*I thought the dummy was destroyed.*
*People who work for me created a new one. This one talks.* Apparently, so did the previous version, but that was beside the point.
Silence filled the link between them.
*Prick?*
*I’ll check with Marian and find out if she’s made any commitments for us. If we’re available, we’ll come to the Hall for an overnight visit. Soon.*
*Do that.* Daemon broke the link between them, then aimed for the sofa, where he intended to stretch out for an hour—or a century.
He’d barely gotten horizontal when someone tapped on the study door.
Putting an arm over his face, he used Craft to disengage the locks and open the door to allow Beale into the room. He felt his butler walk up to the sofa, but there were no sounds, no words.
“Beale?” Daemon finally said.
“I used to find your father in here looking just like that,” Beale answered.
Daemon lifted his arm enough to stare at his butler. “I am not surprised. I don’t know how successful these exercises will be for the intended group of participants, but I recognize the ringleader who is encouraging the staff to engage in—”
“Fun?” Beale suggested.
He was going to say “outrageous schemes,” but the amusement, mixed with a bit of sympathy, in Beale’s eyes told him all he currently needed to know about life at the Hall when Jaenelle and the coven were in residence.
“Ah, Beale. I do not want to get in trouble with your wife over Lady Dumm’s behavior—whatever that behavior may include.”
“Understood, Prince. I will explain things to Mrs. Beale. However, if this Lady Dumm should try to enter the kitchens . . .”
Daemon jackknifed to a sitting position. “You have my permission to roast her on a spit. I’ll help you.”
Beale’s lips twitched. “Very good.” The butler turned and strode to the door—and didn’t quite manage to close the door all the way before he started laughing.
* * *
* * *
Zoey listened to Prince Sadi explain the new exercise that was supposed to start tomorrow, and she didn’t know what to think. Sure, District Queens had to answer to Province Queens, who had to answer to Territory Queens, and even Territory Queens took orders from someone before they became Territory Queens, but why did the Queens have to lose all their friends and deal with people they didn’t know well? How could a court function like that? Why couldn’t each of them keep at least a couple of their friends while the rest were shuffled? But how to choose? And would those who weren’t chosen feel resentful?
Why were Daemonar and Grizande not included? They were students too.
*Zoey?* Allis nudged her calf. *Why are you smelling afraid?*
*Am I?* Zoey placed her hand on the Sceltie’s head. Prince Sadi wouldn’t take away Allis, too, would he?
“We’ll do a five-day rotation,” Prince Sadi said. “The other two days will be for studying, resting, and social activities of your choosing.”
Five days? How . . . ?
Zoey glanced at Kathlene, Azara, and Felisha—and realized the other three Queens were looking at her.
*Ask him,* Kathlene said on a psychic thread.
*You ask him,* Zoey replied. She wasn’t going to put herself forward again.
Sadi said nothing; just waited. The Queens said nothing.
Finally Raeth huffed out a breath and said, “Prince? I count four Queens here. Who takes the fifth day in the rotation?”
Sadi smiled, looking pleased that someone had enough spine to ask the obvious question. “On the fifth day, the Queens, with their court of the day, will be under the hand of the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan and taking orders from him.”
Zoey wasn’t sure what was going to happen on the other days, but even if she wasn’t working with her friends, she would still be safe when Prince Sadi was in charge.
FORTY-TWO
SaDiablo Hall
The physical part of the new exercise seemed fairly simple. A basket of envelopes was delivered to the social room connected to the square of bedrooms where each group of youngsters resided. The Queen’s envelope had her name on it and the card inside informed her of the order of dominance among the Queens.
Everyone else took a card from a blank envelope and learned which Queen they were serving that day. They would report to that Queen when they gathered for breakfast, since each court would begin the day with their Queen.
“Kathlene is the ‘dominant’ Queen,” Zoey said, pressing a hand to her stomach. Before that disastrous house party, before she had been dosed with safframate, she would have seen this exercise as a challenge instead of something to fear. Now? She hated that she felt like such a coward about taking orders from someone—even someone like Kathlene, whom she liked and trusted in most ways. Titian looked at Zoey’s card. “Felisha is the ‘Province’ Queen, and you and Azara are ‘District’ Queens.”
“Who are you serving today?”
“Azara. I can talk to Uncle Daemon and see if he’ll let me switch.”
“No special treatment. The other girls resent me enough as it is.”
Arlene and Laureen were part of her court that day, so she had with her two friends whom she could trust. Three when she counted Allis. But Cara, who was also part of her court today, had been a good friend of Dinah’s. The girl hadn’t said anything, but the accusing looks she gave Zoey when she thought no one would notice scraped nerves that were already raw.
Jhett and Grizande approached the table with the basket. Titian handed Jhett the last envelope in the basket.
“I guess you have a different assignment,” Zoey said when Grizande looked at the empty basket.
“Simple learning,” Grizande replied.
Did she feel excluded? Did it sting to be left out—or was Grizande used to that?
“I’m with Kathlene today,” Jhett said.
