Tears thickened in Marian’s throat. “I’m not chaining him with anything.”
“Then let him go. Find a man who doesn’t have obligations that you can never help him meet. Mother Night, Marian, I’m begging you. Let my son go.” Looking defeated, Luthvian fastened her cloak and pushed away from the table. “If you truly love him, do this for him.”
“I can’t think,” Marian choked back the tears. “I need to think.”
“Then think,” Luthvian said softly. “But if you wait too long, binding Lucivar to you will bring nothing but heartache.”
Marian couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. When she heard Luthvian leave, she pushed the cups aside, pillowed her head in her arms, and wept.
TWENTY-THREE
Standing on the mountain where he could look down at his home, Lucivar brushed a finger across the two marriage rings in the jeweler’s box. Something was wrong with Marian, had been wrong since yesterday. But she wouldn’t talk to him, was shutting him out. Even in bed last night, her response had been discouraging enough that he’d given up after a few kisses.
A mood? The Darkness knew, females had them. But he felt her yearning toward him at the same time she tried to pull back. What did that mean?
Maybe that clash with Roxie had shaken her up more than he’d thought. Or maybe, after such a public display of her commitment to him, she was wondering about the strength of his commitment to her.
Only one way to find out.
Lucivar closed the ring box and vanished it. Then he spread his wings and glided down to the eyrie. As he went through the kitchen, he snatched a nutcake cooling on the metal racks, took a large bite, then paused and looked around. Were they having a party tonight that he’d forgotten about? She seemed to be cooking enough to feed ten people to the stuffing point.
He winced. A husband should remember if that many people were coming to dinner. Then he cheered up. Maybe she’d planned to invite some of the women from Riada to a female gathering—a couple of hours to eat and chat about . . . whatever it was women talked about when they booted men out of the room. Since he was usually gone for at least part of the day, she wouldn’t necessarily have mentioned it.
He winced again. He hoped she hadn’t mentioned it. Even if it had nothing to do with him, he should have remembered.
Maybe that’s why she was moody. Nerves, most likely, about hosting her first gathering—which would make it clear to anyone who wasn’t a fool that Marian was acknowledging her place as his Lady.
And what better way to celebrate a marriage announcement than with a party?
Grinning, he stuffed the last of the nutcake into his mouth and went out to the garden.
The lift in his own mood suffered a blow when he saw her gently touch the petals of one of the spring flowers. She looked so sad, so lost.
“Marian?”
She jumped at the sound of his voice. “Oh. I didn’t think you’d be home.”
“I want to talk to you about something.”
He watched her pale as he walked toward her. Something was wrong here, something that pricked at him in warning, but he couldn’t sense the source.
“What?” Her voice came out a tortured whisper.
He looked away for a moment. He’d thought this would be easy, just a formal step to acknowledge what was already between them.
“I’m in love with you,” he said, watching her eyes, trying to read what he saw in them. “I want to make a life with you, have children with you if you want them, see the seasons turn with you. I want to marry you, want you to be my wife as well as my friend and lover. I want to be your husband.”
She shook her head and took a step back.
He felt the sharp edge of rejection slice his heart. “Won’t you at least consider it? We’ve done well together these past months and—”
“I can’t.” Marian turned away, her shoulders hunched as if he’d delivered a hard, unexpected blow.
“Why?”
“Because I’m not what you need,” she said, her voice filled with pain. “I’m just a Purple Dusk hearth witch with little formal education, no accomplishments that count for anything—”
“Wait just a damn minute.”
“—and I’d just be an embarrassment to a man who is the High Lord’s son.”
He took a step back, his head reeling. “You won’t marry me because Saetan is my father? Hell’s fire, woman. He adores you.”
She shook her head fiercely. “I’m not going to diminish the SaDiablo line. I care about you, Lucivar. I care so much. I’ll be your lover as long as you want me, but I won’t marry you.”
He took another step back. Then he laughed bitterly. “I’m good enough to bed but not good enough to marry? I don’t think so, witchling. Fine. You don’t want to marry me, that’s your choice. You want to stay and keep working as my housekeeper, that’s fine, too. But you’ll move your things back to your own room before I return. I’m no one’s toy, and without love, I’m no one’s bedwarmer.”
He leaped over the flower beds, lightly touched down on the stone wall, then launched himself skyward toward clean air—and away from a place that now filled him with pain.
“Lucivar,” Marian whispered as she watched him slice the sky before he caught one of the Winds and disappeared.
What had she done? And why? She was doing it for him, wasn’t she? Doing what was best. But . . . Her head felt stuffy, like it was full of cobwebs. So hard to think. But something wasn’t right.
He’d been so hurt. He shouldn’t have been hurt. Good enough to bed, but not good enough to marry? How could he think that? How terrible if he believed that. How could she leave while he was hurting so much?
She walked back into the eyrie and tried to settle herself with the familiar tasks of cooking and baking. She’d wanted to be sure there was plenty for him to eat that he wouldn’t have to fuss over while he was looking for a new housekeeper. Wanted to be sure he was cared for before she . . .
I love him. I don’t want to go. Why do I have to go?
She couldn’t think properly. Something didn’t feel right. But he hadn’t demanded that she leave, so she had a little time to figure it out.
Luthvian stood on the edge of the flagstone courtyard, glad she’d shrouded herself in a sight shield before climbing the steps from the landing place. Lucivar would have detected her if he hadn’t been so off balance, but Marian never would.
The compulsion spell had worked, but not well enough. The little hearth bitch was fighting it. If she’d been able to wrap the spell around Marian, everything would be done by now. But if Lucivar had sensed any kind of spell, he would have summoned his father to help him identify and break it, and Saetan . . . No, it wouldn’t do to have Saetan become aware of that spell. So she’d wrapped the compulsion spell around her own voice, and her words had stuck to Marian like warm tar.
But not enough. Caution had forced her to keep the spell light. Too light, it seemed. Because it was clear to her that Marian would try to remain as Lucivar’s housekeeper, and if the hearth witch was still here when the spell wore off completely . . .
No. She wasn’t going to have her son married to a hearth witch.
It might look suspicious to show up so soon after Lucivar’s departure, so she’d wait an hour and return to give the compulsion spell a little boost—one that would get Marian out of the eyrie . . . and out of Lucivar’s life.
Merry threw a shawl around her shoulders. “Briggs, can you watch things for a little while?”
“Sure I can, but where are you going?”
She saw the worry in her husband’s eyes. He had reason to worry. They both did. Lucivar had never walked into their tavern at opening time to gulp down three double whiskeys before he stormed out again, his eyes full of fury and pain. The Prince of Ebon Rih needed help, and there were only two people she could think of who could give it to him right now.
“I think Lady Angelline is staying at her cottage. I’m going to try to find her.” And if she couldn’t find Jaenelle, she’d go to the Keep. The Seneschal would know how to reach the Queen or the High Lord.
“Be careful, Merry.”
“That I will.” But as she left the tavern, she glanced up at the mountain where Lucivar made his home—and wondered what had happened there.
Lucivar strode into the room that had become Saetan’s study at the Keep. Part of him wished he was still a child who could climb into his father’s lap for comfort. He was too much of a warrior to ask for emotional comfort, so he settled for a fight that would let him vent the hurt inflicted by Marian’s words.
“I asked Marian to be my wife,” Lucivar said. He saw Saetan tense and wondered if Marian had been right after all. Would his father have been opposed to the marriage?
“You don’t seem pleased about that,” Saetan said in a neutral voice.
“She turned me down.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m the High Lord’s son.” As soon as he said it, he realized he didn’t want to fight after all—at least, not with words. But as he turned away from the desk and headed for the door, his own pain pushed him into making one more reckless verbal jab. “So you don’t have to worry about the SaDiablo bloodline being diminished by a witch who hasn’t got the education or the accomplishments to—”
The door slammed shut with a force that shook the room.
Lucivar spun around in time to see Saetan slowly rising from the chair behind the desk.
“You will not do this,” Saetan snarled softly as he came around the desk. “You will not use me like this.”
Wary now, his heart pounding because of what he saw in his father’s eyes, Lucivar said, “Like what? I—”
That deep voice became thunder. “You will not use me as a weapon against your own heart!”
“I’m not. I didn’t.”