“He left a while ago to use the toilet and said he was going to wait with you until Prince Sadi arrived,” Jillian said.

Lucivar looked at Daemon.

٭He wouldn’t do anything foolish,٭ Daemon said.

٭He found Marian, and he’s upset.٭ And the mountains could be a dangerous place, especially for a boy preoccupied with worry about his mother.

Daemon walked out of the room. By the time Lucivar untangled himself from Titian and offered half-assed reassurances to her and Jillian, Daemon met him in the corridor.

“The boy’s not here,” Daemon said.

“I am going to kick his ass all the way down the mountain for leaving and not telling someone,” Lucivar snarled.

“Let’s find him first. Why don’t you fly over the mountains and see if you can pick up his psychic scent? He’s probably tucked in a hidey-hole somewhere. I’ll check the Keep and Riada.”

“Let’s try one thing first.” Lucivar gathered a measure of the Ebon-gray and let power and temper thunder from one end of the valley to the other. ٭DAEMONAR!٭

They waited. There were queries from the Eyrien men—some startled by his summons, some wary, and many responding with concern—but as the minutes passed, his son didn’t answer.

If the boy had done something fatally careless, it could take a few hours for him to make the transition to demon-dead. He wouldn’t be able to respond until then.

Cursing himself for not paying enough attention to Daemonar’s whereabouts, Lucivar left the eyrie to fly over the mountains in search of his son.

 

* * *

 

* * *

Daemonar looked around and breathed a sigh of relief. He had reached the Misty Place. He never knew when it would happen, couldn’t say what combination of need and feelings brought him here. He’d come to realize that if he wanted to be here but didn’t need to be here, the problem was something he could, and should, figure out for himself—or ask for more ordinary help with.

But he always found this place when he really needed to talk to her.

“Auntie J.?”

The sound of a delicate hoof striking stone.

Daemonar turned, keeping his eyes focused at about knee height. Hooves came into view. Knees. Halfway up the thighs was the hem of a sapphire garment. That provided enough reassurance—and disappointment—for him to look at the rest of Witch, who had been the living myth and dreams made flesh. Still a myth. Still a dream. But no longer flesh. And never like this in the flesh. Except here.

He’d begun wishing that he hadn’t been such a prudish little boy the first time he’d seen her in this form. She’d been naked that first time, unconcerned about a shape that revealed the Self that had lived within the flesh. Amused and a little baffled by his reaction, she’d created a garment to cover what the boy hadn’t wanted to see.

He wasn’t interested in the titties or the thatch of hair between her legs. He figured all girls had those things. But here, in this place, her golden hair was more like fur, and her hands had a cat’s retractable claws, and there was the small spiral horn on her forehead. And there was that faun’s tail visible through a back slit in the garment. Along with the delicately pointed ears, those were the things he could see, but what else was now hidden under cloth that he hadn’t observed that first time?

Tiger and Tigre, Arcerian cat and unicorn, satyr and centaur, Dea al Mon. So many races had yearned so long for this dream that her Self reflected all of them. But the eyes, those ancient sapphire eyes, were the same as they had been when she’d walked among the living.

More than his beloved Auntie J., she was his Queen, always and forever. He knew it—and she knew it. That was why she allowed him to come here when he needed her.

“What’s wrong, boyo?” Witch asked.

“Mother is sick. She’s really sick, and she won’t wake up. I found her.”

She studied him, then turned her head as if listening to something only she could hear. Back to him, frowning. “Didn’t Marian use the healing spell I left for her?”

“What?”

“A last gift. Did she use it?”

“I don’t know.”

A stone bench appeared. Witch sat and waited for him to join her.

He sat and leaned toward her. What he could see was nothing but a shadow, an illusion created by Craft and power. If he leaned against her, he would fall right through the shadow. If she, on the other hand, leaned against him, she felt real and skin touched skin. He didn’t know why it was true; he just accepted. She had never been like everyone else when she had walked among the living. He saw no reason for her to be like everyone else now.

She leaned just enough for their arms to brush.

“When you found Marian, did you see anything that looked like this?” Witch asked. A black translucent stone floated in the air in front of them. “Or this?” The stone became clear.

Daemonar thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I wasn’t paying attention to anything but Mother, but I don’t remember seeing anything like that.”

“Look around as soon as you can. If you find the stone and it’s clear, then Marian used the healing spell, and that’s why you can’t wake her. She’s in a healing sleep, and she’ll wake when the healing is complete.”

“What if I find the stone and it’s still black?” Daemonar asked.

Sorrow in her eyes. “That means she left it too late and didn’t have a chance to make the healing brew.”

“Could we give it to her now?”

“No.”

He didn’t ask why. If Witch said it wouldn’t help now, then it wouldn’t.

She nudged him. “Your mother is not a fool. She wouldn’t have wasted the gift by not using it when she needed it.” She pursed her lips. “Where is your body, boyo?”

“At your cabin in Ebon Rih.”

“Inside?”

He shook his head. “Only Uncle Daemon goes inside. He stays there sometimes. And Mother goes in once a month to clean. But no one else is allowed to go in.”

“So you’re outside?”

“Yes.”

“In the cold. It’s winter there, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.”

Hell’s fire. She was getting that look—the one she got just before she whacked him upside the head for being stupid.

“Did you at least remember to put a warming spell around yourself so your body doesn’t freeze to death while you’re here?” Witch asked sweetly.