* * *

 

* * *

Surreal waited until Lucivar went into the kitchen to choose a meal from the mounds of food that had been delivered since the news of Marian’s illness reached the Blood in Riada. Then she turned to Daemon. “You know who did that to Marian.”

Something cold and lethal flickered in the back of his gold eyes before he hid it. “That is a powerful healing spell, something no Healer now in the Realms could duplicate. The Queen’s last gift to Marian, to be used when it was needed.”

The Queen. Jaenelle Angelline. That explained why Lucivar had relaxed, and it explained Daemon’s cold response to what he had heard as criticism. But it was her job to push—not as Daemon’s wife but as his second-in-command. “You’re sure it came from her?”

“Two Black Widows recognized the use of a clear Jewel as a container for such a spell, and one of those Black Widows is also a Queen as well as a Healer. Or she was a Healer when she walked among the living.”

Surreal blinked. “Karla? You talked to Karla?”

Daemon nodded. “She’s now in residence at the Keep.”

“That’s good news, then.”

“Yes.” He took a step toward her, then asked softly, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she lied.

“Of course.” He waited a beat, then added casually, “Once Marian wakes, I’ll return to the Hall. There’s always a lot of work to be done after Winsol.”

“I’ll see what needs to be done here. Maybe stay an extra day or two.”

“Whatever you think is best.”

He walked into the kitchen, and Surreal wondered if the disappointment she heard in his voice was real or something she imagined because she needed it to be real.

 

* * *

 

* * *

The black water ran clear. No silt running off her scalp or her fingers or between her legs.

Marian climbed out of the pool and spread her wings, fanning them until they were dry.

The path that had led to the pool was overgrown now. Gone. But there was another path, barely discernible. There were no familiar landmarks, nothing to tell her if the path would lead anywhere. Except the song, that voice in the Darkness.

As Marian followed the voice and the path, she noticed the land changing. She walked and walked, and with each step, what had been fading and failing regained color and vitality. Then she walked around a curve in the path and stepped into her own garden in the full bloom of summer . . .

. . . and opened her eyes.

“Marian.” Lucivar’s voice. Soft. Strained. “Marian.”

She turned her head and looked at him, wondering why tears filled his eyes.

“Welcome back, sweetheart.” He kissed her lips, and she felt him tremble. “Welcome back.”

 

 

FIFTEEN

 

 

The following day, Marian was bathed, fed, and moved to the family room to spend an hour with her children before being tucked into the bedroom she shared with her husband. Lucivar retreated to his study to give the children that time with their mother. He listened to Rothvar’s report and gave his second-in-command orders for the next few days so that he could keep a sharp eye on Marian’s recovery.

When Surreal saw Rothvar escort Nurian out of the eyrie, she judged it was time to have a chat with the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih. The study door was open, so she walked in and found Lucivar staring at a basket overflowing with letters as if it were his fiercest enemy.

“Problem?” she asked, knowing perfectly well why he was scowling at the basket.

Lucivar could read, and did when it was required, but it was a struggle for him. Marian usually sorted the mail, winnowing down the stack to the pieces the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih had to see. If Marian wasn’t available and Lucivar needed help with a document, he requested assistance from the other person he trusted above all others.

She approached the desk but stayed out of reach. Which didn’t mean anything when dealing with Lucivar, but it made her feel easier. “Couldn’t Sadi help you with that?”

“He left at first light.”

And hadn’t said anything to her before leaving.

“I saw the two of you yesterday.” She had decided not to mention it, but the words tumbled out anyway.

“I saw you too.”

“You and Sadi . . .” Did she really want to know?

“Wasn’t the first time. Won’t be the last.” Lucivar shook his head and growled. “Look, witchling, if I’d needed to spend the night walking around the mountain, he would have gotten dressed and gone with me. If I’d needed to scream until my throat bled, he would have put aural shields around a room and listened. If I’d needed to feel flesh and bone under my fists, he would have said whatever would spark my temper, and we would have beaten the shit out of each other. Because that’s what we have always done. Even when we hated each other, that’s what we’ve done. Last night, I needed to sleep, so I went to my brother for help.”

Lucivar walked around the desk, stood so close she wanted to take a step back, except she couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

“Sugar, if you don’t want a knife between your ribs, you’ll step back now.”

There was some anger in his smile, but he stepped back. “Now, that’s the Surreal I know. So tell me, little Sister, why are you and Sadi at odds?”

“We’re not.”

His smile took on a knife-edge. “Liar.”

She couldn’t deny it.

“At the Birthright Ceremony you were worried that Daemon would back out of the marriage once he had legal rights to his daughter. But he didn’t back out. Never occurred to him. And it seemed like the two of you had come to a . . . richer . . . understanding, at least for a little while.” Lucivar studied her. “He loves you. You love him. Or you did.”

“Still do,” she snapped. “And even if we were at odds, it’s none of your business.”

“For now. When it does become my business, you’ll know.”

Warning? Threat? “I thought we were friends.”

“We’re more than friends. You’re my brother’s wife, which makes you my sister. Even before that, you were family, and I would do almost anything for you.”

“As long as it’s not against him.”

“Yeah. As long as it’s not against him.”

He’d drawn the line. He wouldn’t bend it.