"It's the way Arcerians show contempt for an enemy," Lucivar said. He looked at Falonar, who seemed to be fighting not to be sick. A quick glance was enough to confirm that most of the men were doing the same, despite their experience on battlefields. "I don't recognize him. Do you?"
Falonar shook his head.
"I do," Rothvar said heavily as he approached them. "When he found out I was immigrating to Kaeleer, he offered me a place in his company. Said he wasn't going to have to lick any bitch's boots, that he'd be ruling a fine piece of land before a year was out. I never liked him, so I said no. But..." He glanced at the head, then away. "I heard... thought I heard... Did the cat speak true?"
"He wouldn't lie." Lucivar took a deep breath. "Falonar, select four men to go with us." Looking around, he realized Surreal was no longer with them.
Falonar turned, too, and swore. "Damn it, she's probably off someplace puking her guts—"
Surreal leaped over the low stone wall and trotted toward them,a large, dented metal bucket in one hand. When they just looked at her, she huffed and said tartly to Lucivar, "Were you planning to tuck that thing under your arm to take it to the High Lord?"
Lucivar smiled reluctantly. "Thanks, Surreal." He hesitated. His hands were already bloody, but he still hesitated.
She didn't. With another huff, she dumped the head and hand into the bucket, then covered the bucket with a piece of dark cloth.
The men winced. She snarled at them.
Seeing the wariness in Falonar's eyes, Lucivar said, "You have your orders, Prince."
Falonar and Rothvar left with more speed than discretion.
"Tell me he hasn't done as much on a battlefield," Surreal said with a hint of bitterness. "I suppose everything would have been just fine if I'd clung to his arm and begged for smelling salts."
"Don't condemn him out of hand," Lucivar said quietly. "He isn't used to a woman like you."
Surreal turned on him. "And what kind of woman is that?"
"A Dea al Mon witch."
Her smile came slowly, but it was genuine. "I suppose I should have been more tactful." She waved a hand at the bucket, then hesitated. "I'd like to go with you."
"No. I want you to stay here with the other women."
Her eyes frosted. "Why?"
Abruptly impatient, he snarled, "Because you wear the Gray, and I trust you." He waited until he knew she understood. "My eyrie has Ebon-gray shields, but Marian can key them. Don't let anyone in that she doesn't know—for any reason. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Surreal nodded. "All right. But you be careful. If you get hurt, I'll smack you."
Lucivar waited until she was out of earshot before he waved Hallevar over to him. "Send Palanar to my mother's house. He's to escort Lady Luthvian to my eyrie without delay."
Hallevar shifted uneasily. "She'll take a strip out of the boy."
"Tell her it's an order from the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih," Lucivar said. "Then I want you to keep an eye open around here. If you see anything, hear anything, sense anything you don't like, you send one of the boys to the Keep and the other to the Hall for help. The wolf pack will also keep watch. If you see anyone who doesn't live right here, whether you knew them well in Terreille or not, treat them as an enemy. Understand?"
Nodding, Hallevar went off to attend his duties.
A short time later, Lucivar and five of his men were flying toward the Keep.
2 / Kaeleer
Lucivar set the metal bucket on the opposite end of the worktable and watched Saetan pour fresh blood into a bowl of simmering liquid. "I thought you would be at the Hall, waiting for the reports to come in."
"Draca sent for me," Saetan replied, lightly stirring the bowl's contents. "What brings you here?"
"Morton is dead."
Saetan's hand hesitated a moment, then resumed stirring. "I know."
Lucivar tensed, then said cautiously, "He's in the Dark Realm?"
"No, he's here. That's why Draca sent for me. He came to report."
Lucivar paced restlessly. "Good. I'll talk to him before—"
"No."
The implacable tone in Saetan's voice stopped him—for a moment. "I don't care if he's demon-dead now."
"He does." Saetan's voice gentled. "He doesn't want to see you, Lucivar. Not any of you."
"Why in the name of Hell not?" Lucivar shouted.
Saetan snarled. "Do you think it's easy making the transition? Do you think anything will be the same for him? He'sdead, Lucivar. He's a young man who will never do a great many things now, who is no longer who and what he used to be. There are reasons why the dead remain, for the most part, among the dead."
Lucivar resumed his pacing. "It's not like the First Circle isn't used to being around the demon-dead."
"You didn't know them when they walked among the living," Saetan said softly. "There were no ties with them that needed to be cut. Yes, the tiesdo need to be cut," he said, overriding Lucivar's protest. "The living have to move on—and so do the dead. If you can't respect that, at least respect the fact that he needs time to adjust before he has to deal with the rest of you."
Lucivar swore softly. "How bad... ?"
Saetan set the spoon down and moved to the other end of the table. "The wounds aren't visible when he's dressed. In fact, they wouldn't have been fatal if the arrows hadn't been poisoned."
"Poisoned," Lucivar said flatly as he stared down at the bucket.
"There's not much Morton could tell you, and without more information, even what he knows doesn't help us much."
Lucivar pointed at the bucket. "You may find your answers in there."
Saetan lifted the dark cloth, looked inside the bucket, then let the cloth drop.
"Kaelas," Lucivar said, answering the unspoken question.
"I see," Saetan said quietly. "You're returning to Ebon Rih?"
Lucivar shook his head. "I'm taking a few men to the Dark Altar in Glacia to look around, see if there are any answers there."
"Our Queen's order was quite direct," Saetan said mildly.
"I'll risk her anger."
Saetan nodded. "Then, as Steward of the Court, I formally request that you go to the Dark Altar in Glacia to determine what happened."
"I don't need to hide behind your title," Lucivar snapped.
Saetan smiled dryly. "I'm doing this as much for Jaenelle as for you. This way, she can gracefully back away from having to confront you about disobeying a direct order."
"Oh. In that case..."
"Get going, boyo. Report to me at the Hall. And Prince Yaslana," Saetan added when Lucivar reached the door, "remember Glacia isn't your territory. You're not the law there."
"Yes, sir, I'll remember. We just witness and report."
3 / Kaeleer
Seeing the guarded look in Marian's eyes and the way Luthvian managed to convey silently her disapproval of her son's choice of a wife, Surreal wondered how pissed off Lucivar would be if they took his mother into the garden and used her for target practice.
"How did you manage to bake anything this morning?" Nurian, the journeymaid Healer, asked as she accepted a nutcake from the plate Marian was passing around. "And how do you get anything else done after these morning workouts?"
"Oh," Marian said with a shy smile, "I'm used to it by now, and—"
"You're a Healer," Luthvian interrupted, giving Nurian a cool stare."Your finding it difficult to practice a demanding Craft after these workouts is understandable. But they're hardly an excuse for neglecting one's duties when you're talking abouthearth Craft. After all—"
"If you'll excuse us," Surreal said, hauling Luthvian to her feet. "There's something Lady Luthvian and I need to discuss."
"Let go of me," Luthvian snarled as Surreal dragged her out of the room. "You don't treat a Black Widow Healer like she was—"
"A hearth-witch?" Surreal said with venomous sweetness as she shoved Luthvian into the garden.
"Exactly," Luthvian replied darkly. "But I don't suppose awhore —"
"Shut up, bitch," Surreal said too quietly.
Luthvian sucked in air. "You forget your place!"
"No, sugar, that's exactly what I'm not forgetting. You may belong to a higher caste, but my Jewels outrank yours. I figure that evens things out—at least within the family. You don't like me, and that suits me just fine because I don't like you either."
"Crossing a Black Widow isn't wise," Luthvian said softly.
"Crossing an assassin isn't wise either." Surreal smiled when Luthvian's eyes widened. "So let's make this simple. If you make one more disparaging remark about Marian, I'm going to bang your face against the wall until some sense gets knocked into you."
"What do you think Lucivar would say aboutthat ?Luthvian's voice sounded certain, but there was doubt in her eyes.
"Oh," Surreal replied, "I don't think Lucivar would say anything tome." Watching the verbal thrust hit the mark, she felt a brief moment of pity for Luthvian. The woman drove people away, and then seemed bewildered to find herself alone.
"He could have done better," Luthvian grumbled. "He didn't have to settle for a Purple Dusk hearth-witch."
Surreal studied Luthvian. "This doesn't have anything to do with Lucivar, does it? You're embarrassed becauseyour son married ahearth-witch. Marian is just a gentle, caring woman who loves him and whose presence makes him happy. If he had married a Black Widow Healer and was miserable, well, that would have been all right because he had married a woman worthy of a Warlord Prince. Right?"Besides, she added silently,the High Lord approves of his son's choice. Which, she suspected, was the major reason Luthvian never would. "Remember what I said, Luthvian." She started to walk away.