Queen of the Darkness
Page 39

Before Daemon could reach for a plate, Khardeen was holding one arm and Aaron had the other, and they were hustling him out of the dining room.
"We'll get breakfast later," Khary said as he and Aaron led Daemon to the nearest empty room. "First, we need to have a little talk."
"It's not what you think," Daemon said. "It's really nothing."
"Nothing?" Aaron sputtered, while Khary said, "If you've figured out a new variation of 'cradle' that gives a man the advantage, it's your duty as a Brother of the First Circle to share it with the rest of us before the coven figures out how to beat it."
He just stared at them, not sure he had heard them correctly.
Aaron smiled. "Well, what did youthink Consorts do at night?"
Daemon burst out laughing.
2 / Kaeleer
Osvald knocked on Wilhelmina's door, then stepped back and firmly gripped the carved wooden box with both hands.
It hadn't taken much persuasion to convince Alexandra to keep most of her people in their rooms. It had taken more to convince her to send Leland and Philip down to breakfast in order to give the appearance that everyone else was merely late. With so many absent, no one would be sure exactly who was missing until he was long gone from the Hall.
Assuming, of course, that the spells Dorothea and the Dark Priestess had prepared to cut a "door" in the High Lord's defensive shields actually worked.
No. He wouldn't doubt. The spells that had kept him from being detected were proof enough that Dorothea and the Dark Priestess knew how to deal with the bastard who ruled this place. He would escape with the lesser of the two prizes, true, but that lesser prize, sufficiently squeezed, might be enough bait to in turn capture Jaenelle Angelline.
Everything was in place. The three men Dorothea had arranged to help him were waiting at the bridge. Therewas a Dark Altar beside the Hall, but she had warned him that the detection spells around that Altar would immediately alert the High Lord, and he would never get the Gate open in time to escape. So he would take Wilhelmina to Goth, where Lord Jorval would help him reach another of the Gates.
By this evening, he would be back in Terreille with his prize, and Alexandra and the fools who were with her would still be explaining Wilhelmina's disappearance to the High Lord... or dying.
Smiling, Osvald knocked on Wilhelmina's door again. A moment later, impatient, he knocked harder. She was in there. He'd made sure of it this time. What was taking her so long to open a damn door?
It was tempting to use one of the simple compulsion spells Dorothea had prepared for him, but he only had two of them and didn't want to waste one for this. Still, every minute's delay increased the chance of someone noticing him.
He was just about to give in and trigger one of the compulsion spells when the door finally opened. "Good morning, Lady Wilhelmina." Smiling, he lifted the box just enough to draw it to her attention. "Lady Alexandra asked me to bring this to you."
"What is it?" Wilhelmina asked, sounding anything but eager.
"A token of her regard for you—and a gesture of goodwill. She's planning to leave soon and has felt distressed that her concern for you may have been misunderstood. She hopes that, by accepting this little memento, you'll be able to remember her fondly in the days to come."
Wilhelmina still looked wary. "Why didn't she bring it herself?"
Osvald looked at her sadly. "She feared you might refuse the gift and didn't want to face that rejection in person."
"Oh," Wilhelmina said quietly, her wariness slowly changing to sympathy. "I hold no ill feelings toward her."
He held the box out, both to entice and to keep his face as far away from it as possible. When she opened the lid, a drugged mist would burst out of the box. Startled, she would gasp and inhale enough of the highly potent drug to make her sufficiently compliant so that he could get her away from the room and this corridor before forcing the second, liquid dose down her throat.
Inside the room, something thumped to the floor.
That damned striped cat.
Osvald triggered the first compulsion spell and shaped the command.Step into the corridor and close the door. Step into the corridor and close the door. Step into...
He smiled when, looking slightly confused, Wilhelmina obeyed.
"I was told to report your reaction to the gift," he said, sounding apologetic about putting her to the extra bother.
She stayed close to the door, her hand still gripping the knob.
Cursing silently, he triggered the second compulsion spell.Step close to the box and raise the lid. Step close to the box...
Moving as if her muscles fought against the effort, Wilhelmina stepped close to the box and slowly lifted the lid.
3 / Kaeleer
With Graysfang beside her, Surreal wandered around one of the inner gardens. The cryptic remarks Jaenelle and Karla had made at breakfast about a new variation intrigued and worried her.
There were plenty of sexual variations that gave the male an advantage, so she didn't think they were talking aboutthat... unfortunately. Daemon was getting burned by his own sexual energy, and the strain of trying to keep it leashed sufficiently in order not to scare Jaenelle was starting to show. She wasn't sure how much longer he could endure the easy affection Jaenelle gave to the other males in the First Circle before he lashed out. Maybe she should talk to the High Lord ...
Graysfang snarled. Before she could ask what was wrong, he took off, heading straight for the wall. As he approached, he leaped and climbed air as if he were climbing a steep hill, scrambled over the roof, and was gone.
"Graysfang!" Surreal shouted.
*Dejaal is being attacked,* he replied. *I'm going to help him.*
Surreal swore viciously as she ran for the nearest door.
"Surreal!"
She spun around.
Falonar strode toward her from the other side of the garden. "Lucivar sent me to find you since you didn't show up for—"
"Can you get me over this roof?" Surreal said with enough fury in her voice to make him check his stride. "Graysfang said Dejaal is under attack, and the son of a bitch took off without me!"
In the two strides it took him to reach her, he made the shift from cautious male to warrior. "Hold on to me," he ordered.
Surreal hesitated a moment, trying to decide what she could hold on to without impeding his wings. She hooked one arm around his neck and snugged the fingers of her other hand under his wide leather belt.
It wasn't until she felt his wings pumping that she wondered if he could carry an extra person's weight. "I'm going to learn to do that air walking so I won't have to be carried around," she growled.
"I don't mind carrying you," Falonar snapped, setting her none too gently on the roof.
Surreal clenched her teeth. One male at a time. And it was the furry gray one who had first dibs on her temper. "Do you see him?" she asked as she scanned the courtyard below.
"No. He could have—"
A blast of Jeweled power came from the next courtyard, followed by a woman's scream.
Falonar launched them off the roof with enough force that Surreal wrapped her legs around one of his to give herself another way to hold on. She gritted her teeth as her body, with appalling timing, expressed its approval of the hard male thigh riding between her legs. Which did nothing for her temper.
"If he gets hurt because he didn't wait for me, I'm going to smack him so hard he'll have to lift his tail to see the world," she snarled.
"Wait here," Falonar said as he looked down into the courtyard.
"Do you like having balls?" Surreal snapped, twisting to look around. But she pulled her fingers out from under his belt so that he wouldn't worry that she'd meant the threat.
She caught her breath and swore. The young tiger, Dejaal, was lying in the courtyard, not moving. A footman writhed in agony. Graysfang was dashing back and forth, not actively engaging in an attack but still holding the attention of the man who had a firm grip on Wilhelmina, who was struggling ineffectively.
She swore again when she recognized the man. Osvald. One of Alexandra's escorts. Mother Night.
"Can you keep your balance?" Falonar asked a moment before he let go and stepped away from her.
At least he asked,Surreal thought as she used Craft to prevent a fast slide off the roof.
Graysfang dashed in low, as if he were trying to hamstring Osvald.
Surreal saw the flash of Osvald's Opal Jewel. She threw a Gray shield around Graysfang, fast enough to prevent him from receiving a killing blast of power but not in time to keep him from being knocked over by the clash of Gray and Opal strength.
Seeing the wolf go down, Wilhelmina screamed and clawed at the hand clamped around her arm. Osvald swung around and hit her with enough force to send her to the ground, stunned. Then he turned to make another attack on Graysfang, who had gotten shakily to his feet.
"Tell the wolf to back off," Falonar said as he called in his Eyrien longbow and nocked an arrow.
Surreal quickly obeyed—and felt relief when Graysfang responded. As kindred howls and roars alerted everyone in the Hall, she could sense the flood of furious male strength coming toward them from all directions. And she sensed the cold feminine power coming in its wake.
Falonar took aim.
"Put it through the bastard," Surreal whispered.
"We don't know what's going on down there," Falonar replied.
Don't we?Surreal thought viciously.What more do you need to see?
As Osvald turned back toward Wilhelmina, Falonar loosed the arrow, sending it through the man's left knee.
Osvald went down, screaming.
Grabbing Surreal's left arm, Falonar dropped them off the roof—a jump barely slowed by his spread wings.
"Guard the woman," Falonar said as he ran toward Osvald, the Eyrien bow now replaced by a bladed stick.
"I can—"
"Do as you're told."
No time to argue. Calling in her meanest knife, Surreal ran toward Wilhelmina. She saw Osvald grasp Wilhelmina's ankle with his left hand and cursed his cleverness. Maybe someone else would know how to do it, but as long as he had physical contact with Wilhelmina, she couldn't throw a protective shield around the young woman. Then she saw sunlight flash on the short knife in his right hand—and knew by the mixture of rage and triumph on his face that the poison on that knife would be quick and lethal.