He wasn’t afraid of Surreal—he was a Warlord Prince and his Jewels outranked hers—but he never forgot the Dea al Mon side of her nature when he dealt with her temper.
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t give her a kick in the ass if she needed one.
He braced one hand near Surreal’s head and, again, opened his wings and curved them to provide some privacy.
“You dismissed her because she doesn’t have balls,” Surreal said.
“That’s insulting,” Lucivar said. “You should know me better than that.”
She stared at him.
He blew out a breath. “I sent her to school, which is where a girl her age belongs.”
“And the training she wants?”
“I’ll work that out somehow, although you might not be as happy with your training schedule because of it.”
The angry heat faded from her gold-green eyes, replaced by reluctant amusement.
“Now, I’ve got a wife at home who started the day by puking and shitting herself. I expect my son will start puking and shitting any minute, which I’m sure will delight my father to no end. So we can do your training assessment here or in the front room of my eyrie, where you’ll most likely get to participate in today’s adventures.”
“Those are my choices?”
“Yeah. Those are your choices.”
“In that case, sugar—”
“Go easy, now!” Hallevar said sharply.
Lucivar’s head whipped around toward the other men. He’d heard the clack of sparring sticks, but he hadn’t paid attention to a usual sound when he had a Gray-Jeweled witch in front of him brimming with anger.
Too late, he thought, seeing Falonar connect with the sparring stick Rainier held and knowing how a man would step in response to that move. He reached out with Craft as Rainier’s leg gave out, intending to catch the man and stop the fall that would cause more damage to already damaged muscle and bone. But his power tangled with Sapphire power, fouling his and Falonar’s attempts to stop the fall.
Rainier cried out in pain as he hit the stone floor—and they all heard bone snap.
“No!” Surreal screamed. She rushed over and dropped to her knees beside Rainier at the same moment Lucivar reached Falonar and shoved the Eyrien back a step—and wondered why the man had a Sapphire shield around himself for what should have been a slow warm-up.
“I tried to catch him,” Falonar said, sounding regretful.
Except that particular tone of regret made Lucivar think of the hunting camp and the boys who had been hurt during training exercises. It was an aristo tone that meant the boy who had done the harm wasn’t sorry at all.
“What’s wrong with you?” Lucivar shouted.
“Nothing is wrong with me,” Falonar snapped. “I just proved what you should have known—a cripple doesn’t have any place among Eyrien warriors.”
Surreal threw herself at Falonar, her scream of rage startling Lucivar enough that he put a skintight Red shield around himself. He grabbed the back of her shirt before she reached Falonar, and began a spin that would lift her away from the other Eyrien.
She lashed out with her right hand as she was lifted and tossed away from the men.
Lucivar felt Falonar’s Sapphire shield break under a punch of Surreal’s Gray power as she lashed out. Saw the blood on the Eyrien’s left arm. Felt the big knife that slid on his Red shield instead of slicing him along the waist as Falonar responded with a counterattack. Tossing Surreal aside, Lucivar continued the spin, calling in his own fighting knife.
By the time he faced Falonar, he was armed, he was balanced, and he was ready.
The fury in Falonar’s eyes was aimed right at him, but the man stepped back and lowered his knife.
Lucivar glanced at Falonar’s left arm. A deep slice through muscle, freely bleeding.
“Surreal,” he said, never taking his eyes off the other Warlord Prince, “go to the Keep. Now.”
“I’ll go back to The Tavern after—”
“Unless you want a knife dance with me, you will do as you’re told,” he snapped.
As he felt her stare at his back, he’d never been more aware of how much of her temper and inclinations came from her Dea al Mon heritage.
There were good reasons why the Children of the Wood were feared by the other races in Kaeleer.
She moved slowly, circling around him and Falonar.
“Prince Falonar may have proved that a cripple has no place among Eyriens, but I just proved he wouldn’t have survived that demon-dead bastard any better than Rainier did.”
Mother Night, she’s riding the killing edge. The wild look in her eyes wasn’t quite sane. That, more than anything else, was why males didn’t want witches involved in physical fighting. Females were a lot harder to control once they rose to the killing edge.
“Go to the Keep,” he said firmly. “I will deal with this.” And I’ll hurt you if I have to.
The moment she walked out of the communal eyrie and it was safe to move without provoking an attack, Zaranar and Rothvar rushed over to Rainier.
Rothvar’s hand hovered over Rainier’s leg. “Hell’s fire, there are healing spells already holding those muscles and bone together.”
Lucivar backed away from Falonar, who stood straight and proud despite the bleeding arm.
“Get that arm tended,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Falonar looked at the wound that had come from the sight-shielded blade held by a furious woman. “What is there to say?”
Plenty, Lucivar thought. “Get it tended.”
He waited until Falonar left before sending out a call on an Ebon-gray spear thread. *Daemon!*
*Lucivar?*
*I need Jaenelle here as a Healer. Now.*
*Who?*
*Rainier.*
*We’ll be there.*
The link between them snapped as Daemon shut him out. He didn’t take offense. He’d just dumped a basket of problems in his brother’s lap, the most dangerous being the Queen they both loved and still served—the Queen who was also a Black Widow and a Healer. There wasn’t going to be anything pleasant about being in a Coach with Jaenelle while riding the Winds to Ebon Rih, not after telling her that Rainier was the reason for the urgent call.
Vanishing his knife, Lucivar looked at Rainier, who lay on the floor, his eyes closed, his face tight with pain. Then he looked at the two Warlords. “Can you get him to the Keep?”
They nodded. Using Craft, they lifted Rainier and gently floated him out of the eyrie.