Dreams Made Flesh
Page 52

And while he would suffer a little because of the accusations of infidelity, she had no doubt, with the help of her family, she could restore his reputation.
And then he would look at her the way he had once looked at Jaenelle.
FOUR
1
“Let me see if I understand this,” Jaenelle said.
Surreal turned away from the window. The gray day and the sleet that would make a mess of all the roads matched her mood, but she did her best to bury wounded feelings as she approached the couch where Jaenelle sat bundled in a nightgown and robe, her legs stretched out under a quilt.
She looks better, Surreal thought. Oh, far from well and still so fragile, but better than she’d looked a few weeks ago when Surreal had come back to the Hall to spend a few days with the family during Winsol.
“You and Falonar have decided to go your own ways,” Jaenelle said with a patience that made Surreal wary.
She shrugged. “It was a mutual decision.” The bastard.
“Uh-huh. So you packed your bags—”
“It was his eyrie,” Surreal cut in. “I certainly didn’t want to live there.” And I didn’t want to watch him courting Nurian in ways he never thought to court me.
“—and left Ebon Rih without telling Lucivar.”
“Who would have strung Falonar up by the heels”—or by the balls, which might have been interesting to watch— “before having a little chat.”
“No,” Jaenelle said, “he would have waited for Chaosti to show up, and then he would have strung Falonar up by the heels.” She paused. “Maybe by the heels.”
Which just confirmed why Surreal had slipped away from Ebon Rih before Lucivar had time to notice. As the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih dealing with a Warlord Prince who was his second-in-command, Lucivar would have been nasty and explosive. Chaosti, the Warlord Prince of the Dea al Mon and a kinsman on her mother’s side, would have approached Falonar with the protective viciousness that made Warlord Princes such a deadly facet of Blood society.
Dealing with the male relatives she’d acquired since coming to Kaeleer was so much fun.
“And you entered the Hall through one of the side doors to avoid seeing Daemon, who’s working in his study and would have met you before you got out of the great hall.”
Feeling more wary by the minute, Surreal did her best to look indifferent. “No reason for him to get involved in this.” Sweet Darkness, please don’t let him think this is any business of his. “Besides, I don’t need either of them getting all snarly and protective over something that was a mutual decision.”
“So instead of mentioning this to either of them, you went to the Keep and told Saetan.”
Surreal winced. “Well, I figured I should tell someone before leaving Ebon Rih.”
“Uh-huh. So you told the High Lord of Hell, the patriarch of this family, the man from whom Daemon and Lucivar inherited the temper you were trying to avoid.” Jaenelle pushed the quilt aside and swung her legs over the side of the couch to sit up straight. “Did I miss something?”
Unable to stand still, Surreal started pacing in a circle in front of the table that held the pot of coffee, cups, and sandwiches Beale, the Hall’s butler, had brought in a few minutes after she’d knocked on Jaenelle’s door.
“I thought he’d be reasonable,” she snarled. “He’s older and less . . . excitable.” And Saetan had sounded calm and reasonable while she explained that living in an eyrie with Falonar had lost its appeal and she intended to spend a few days at the Hall before staying at the family’s town house in Amdarh for a while.
“Did he hurt you?” Saetan had asked too softly.
Surreal snorted. “Uncle Saetan, sugar, do I look hurt?”
Watching his eyes glaze, she’d realized she’d made a serious tactical error. Which was why she’d caught the Gray Wind and headed for the Hall as fast as she could, hoping Jaenelle would have some advice about dealing with the rest of the family.
Jaenelle sighed. “All right. We’ll deal with this.”
Surreal watched Jaenelle’s arm tremble as she lifted the coffeepot and poured two cups. When she reached for the cream and sugar, Surreal stepped forward.
“Want some help?”
“No.”
Wondering about the whiplash of anger under the word, Surreal hesitated.
“Take your coffee and a sandwich,” Jaenelle said, grabbing a sandwich off the plate and taking a bite.
“What’s going on?” Surreal asked cautiously.
“You want Falonar to walk away from this intact?” Jaenelle countered. “Then take a sandwich. And hold on to that wall of sass and indifference you’ve erected in front of what you’re really feeling.”
Before Surreal could ask what coffee and sandwiches had to do with what she was, or wasn’t, feeling, she felt the wash of dark power roll through the Hall. Ebon-gray and Black—immediately answered by another Black.
Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. All three of them—and all of them pissed off.
Grabbing a sandwich, Surreal took a bite and hoped she wouldn’t choke.
“Come over here and sit down,” Jaenelle said.
Feeling the three-pronged storm moving through the Hall toward them, Surreal sat on the end of the couch farthest away from the door. She gulped coffee to wash down the sandwich, then refilled both their cups after Jaenelle drained hers.
“Ready?” Jaenelle asked.
Shit shit shit. “Can I go back to being an orphan?”
Amusement lit Jaenelle’s eyes. “Not a chance.”
The sitting room door swung open. Saetan walked in, flanked by Daemon and Lucivar. Lucivar’s gold eyes were lit with hot temper. Daemon’s and Saetan’s eyes had that chilling glaze. But the three of them stopped abruptly when Jaenelle smiled at them as if there was nothing in the world they could possibly be upset about.
“If you want coffee, you’ll have to ask Beale to send up another pot,” Jaenelle said, “but there are plenty of sandwiches left.”
“No, thank you, witch-child,” Saetan said, taking another step forward. He studied the woman who had been his Queen—and was still, and always, the daughter of his soul—before those glazed eyes focused on Surreal.
Looking past Saetan, Jaenelle focused her smile on Daemon. “Surreal’s going to stay with us a few days.”
“She’s always welcome,” Daemon replied. “This is her home, too.”
Lucivar stepped away from the other men, his dark wings flaring, making him look bigger—and more formidable. “You left Ebon Rih in a hurry.”
Surreal shrugged. “Just wanted to get away for a while. And frankly, sugar, your mornings start with a lot more noise than I want to deal with.”
“Noise?” Jaenelle asked.
Surreal rolled her eyes. “The last time I was at Lucivar’s eyrie around breakfast time, Daemonar was screaming because a wolf pup had chewed on his foot. Of course, the reason the pup had chewed on his foot was because he had been chewing on the puppy’s tail.”
“In other words, it was a typical morning.”
“Precisely.”
They both looked at Lucivar, who swore under his breath. “All right. Fine. Anything you want to tell me about Falonar?”
“No,” Surreal replied.
Before Lucivar could argue, Saetan said, “Our apologies for intruding, Ladies. We’ll let you get back to your own discussion.”
Surreal held her breath as she watched Saetan and Lucivar leave the room—and noticed how Daemon lingered a moment, his eyes on Jaenelle, before he followed his father and brother. When the door closed behind him, she sighed with relief.
“Think they bought it?” she asked.
“No.” Jaenelle set her cup on the table. “But it’s understood that they have no justification for going after Falonar, so they’ll leave him alone.”
She set her own cup aside. “I owe you for this.”
“Yes, you do.” Jaenelle stared at the table. “Do you want to tell me why you really left Falonar and Ebon Rih?”
“Not really.”
Jaenelle nodded. “Sometimes there’s no specific reason,” she said softly. “Sometimes things just don’t work out between two people.”
Are we still talking about me and Falonar? Surreal wondered. Remembering the way Daemon had lingered for a moment, she had an uneasy feeling Jaenelle was thinking of two other people.
2
She waited until Saetan and Lucivar had left the Hall before tracking Daemon to his study. It felt strange walking into that room and seeing another man behind the desk where Saetan had ruled Dhemlan for so many centuries. Even stranger to feel as if nothing had really changed.
“So,” she said, settling into the chair in front of the desk. “Do you ever see any rooms in the Hall besides this one?”
“Occasionally,” Daemon replied with a dry smile. “Brandy?”
“Sure.” She watched him pour a snifter for her and top off his own before he used Craft to float hers over to her waiting hand. “Thanks.”
Daemon leaned back in his chair, the snifter cradled in both hands. His Black-Jeweled ring glittered on his right hand. His left hand looked naked without the Consort’s ring. Did he miss the feel of it on his finger? She’d noticed that Saetan still wore the Steward’s ring, which the loss of his little finger made more noticeable. But she could understand why Daemon had set the Consort’s ring aside. Saetan had withdrawn to live at the Keep, leaving his sons—Daemon, specifically—to handle the property owned by the SaDiablo family as well as the wealth acquired over Saetan’s long, long lifetime. Daemon, on the other hand, was still very much in sight. He was no longer the Consort, since Jaenelle, while still a Queen, no longer ruled a court.
Of course, only a fool wanting to commit suicide would in any way imply that the absence of a ring made him any less Jaenelle’s Consort.
“What are your plans?” Daemon asked quietly. “Or haven’t you thought that far ahead?”
“Know anyone who needs an assassin?”
He choked back a laugh. “In Kaeleer? Hardly.”
She saw the question in his eyes. “If I’d wanted him dead, Sadi, Falonar wouldn’t be breathing. You know that.”