Dreams Made Flesh (14 page)

"I'll take care of it," Saetan said too softly. "You shouldn't tangle with your mother over this."

"Why not?" Lucivar snapped. "She loves me because I'm her son and hates me because I'm an Eyrien warrior, so we're not exactly cordial with each other." And that love, he remembered bitterly, had been skewed enough that she'd given him away and he'd grown up believing he was a half-breed bastard, fighting, always fighting, for a place within Eyrien society.

"I will deal with this, Lucivar."

A father's command. Besides, Lucivar knew with chilling certainty how he'd respond if Luthvian used her particular kind of Craft to harm Marian in any way, and knowing she had already tried to poison with words what he was trying to build… It was better if he stayed away from his mother for a while.

When they walked out the side door of the eyrie into the garden, Jaenelle gave them a slashing look.

*I shielded her,* Jaenelle told them. *Having your tempers wash over her would have spoiled her pleasure, so if it's not already settled, pick another time and place for it.*

*It's settled,* Saetan replied.

Lucivar nodded.

Turning back to Marian, Jaenelle smiled. "Papa and I have to go now. I'll send over those cuttings in a day or two. You've got enough to plant right now."

"Oh," Marian said. "I'm sorry. I didn't even think. Would you like something to eat before you go?"

"No, thank you," Saetan replied, giving Marian a warm smile.

Not sure how annoyed Jaenelle was with him for letting his temper slip, Lucivar breathed a sigh of relief when she kissed him before accepting Saetan's arm and walking back to the landing place where the Coach waited for them.

Which left him alone with Marian, who gave him a shy smile. He would have taken a kiss from her, too, but suggesting it, even teasingly, would upset her, so he settled for the smile.

"Thank you," she said. "It's wonderful. Better than I imagined it could be."

"You're pleased with it, then?"

"Oh, yes."

He nodded. "It'll look even better when you've got everything in place."

He'd meant it as a compliment, so he didn't know what to think when her eyes widened and she began to look distressed.

"Oh," she said. "The furniture."

"It's fine."

"I know the work in the eyrie comes first, so I won't…"

She stopped when he raised his hand.

They were going to learn to compromise. She might as well start learning now.

"There's a lot of plants here," he said, nodding toward the dozens of clay pots that clogged several of the paths around the beds. "Since they're living things, you have to deal with them first. So we're going to compromise."

She studied him warily. "Compromise."

"Yeah." His mood lightened. He was going to piss her off, and she was just going to have to deal with it. "If you want to stay in the garden from sunrise to sundown until everything is planted, that's fine with me…as long as you promise not to lift one piece of furniture, using Craft or otherwise."

"But the furniture needs to be arranged and…"

"And I'll do the moving, the lifting, whatever it takes to put the pieces where you want them.You try to go around me and do it yourself, you're going to spend a day in bed resting, no matter what else you think you have to do."

He watched her hands curl into fists.

"You call that a compromise?" Her voice almost rose to a shout.

He pretended to consider, then sighed. "All right. You can move the lamps."

"The lamps."

It took effort, but he managed not to grin. If he'd done this to Jaenelle, she'd be hissing and spitting at him right about now. Obviously, it would take a little more effort to get Marian to the hissing and spitting stage.

"Your sister wouldn't have to compromise."

Now he did grin. "Yes, she would."

That threw her off enough to lose the glint of temper. "But… she's the Queen."

"She's also a smart woman who recognizes a losing battle when she sees one."

He watched her think it through. If Jaenelle couldn't butt heads with him over something like this and win, she didn't have a chance of winning, either.

"Why don't I heat up something to eat?" he said.

"I can…"

"Compromise."

She frowned at him.

"I'll heat up something to eat, and you can check the tools in the shed to make sure you have everything you need."

Her eyes lit up as she spun around to look at the shed the men had built between two of the border beds. She hesitated a moment, then looked back at him. "We'll compromise."

The happiness that flowed from her as she hurried down the path to the shed made his heart stumble. He wanted this. He wanted her. He wasn't going to think about anything else for the next day or two, giving himself the pleasure of working with her to build a home for both of them, even if she didn't realize it yet.

And he would let his father deal with the obstacle standing in his way.

TWELVE

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Saetan watched the students hurry out the front door of Luthvian's three-story stone house. They didn't notice him standing just beyond the low wall that enclosed her land. The shields he'd wrapped around himself guaranteed no one would sense him until he wanted his presence known. So he had time to study the house he'd had built for Lucivar's mother, had time to tighten the chains that held his temper under control.

The anger that shimmered through him was a sly thing that had twined around memories he'd pushed aside so long ago he'd felt only the echo of them as he'd watched Marian over the past two days. But the echo had been enough to prick at him, warning him that something wasn't right…that something might happen again that had happened before. When he finally recognized what it was about a quiet, gentle hearth witch that made him edgy…

He watched his younger son pace the study, a storm waiting to break.

"Peyton… what's wrong?"

It wasn't hatred in the young Warlord Prince's eyes. Not quite. But what he saw twisted a knot in his belly.

"I asked Shim to marry me," Peyton snarled.

Where was the joy that should have accompanied those words? Peyton was in love with the Dharo witch, and her feelings for Peyton ran just as deep. He'd been sure of that during the times when Peyton had brought Shira to the Hall to spend time with the family. His son wasn't a fool. Peyton understood that marrying a witch who didn't come from one of the three long-lived races meant their union would be a lifetime for her and, for him, a few decades in a life that would span centuries. But everything has a price, and loving deeply for a few decades was better than yearning for that kind of love and never having it be part of your life.

Wasn't it?

"You asked her to marry you," he said cautiously, wondering what had gone wrong, because it was clear something had gone wrong.

"You don't need to worry about me diluting the SaDiablo bloodline with an inferior woman, Father. She's decided we won't suit."

The insult within Peyton's words stunned him for a moment. "What are you talking about?"

"She won't have me!"Peyton shouted. "I love her with everything in me, and I know she loves me, but she won't marry me because—"He stopped, his hands curling into fists as he clenched his teeth.

He locked his fingers together to hide the trembling in his own hands.

"Because… ?" he asked gently.

Peyton stared at him, tears and fury in those gold eyes. "Because of you."

A son couldn't choose crueler words to lance a father's heart.

Breathing hard, Peyton came forward, slapped his hands on the desk. "The woman I love won't have me because of you. Because you're the High Lord of Hell. Because she's afraid something will happen to her family if she doesn't take the hints that she's tolerable as a lover to satisfy a Warlord Prince's needs but won't be tolerated if she dares become a wife."

His own temper sharpened but couldn't get past the slicing pain inflicted by the words.

"I've never… I've never done anything to indicate she wasn't welcome. Peyton, you know that."

"Do I?" Peyton shoved away from the desk. "Do you think I care about our precious bloodline? Do you think it makes any difference to me that she's a musician and earns her living by using the talents she has? Do you think I give a damn that she doesn't come from an aristo family?"

"How could you think those things would matter to me?" It was a heartfelt cry that went unheard.

Peyton returned to the desk, placed his hands on the glossy surface, and leaned forward. "You got what you wanted, High Lord…"

"It's not what I wanted!"

"…but you aren't going to get everything." Peyton stepped away. "I lost Shira—

and you lost me." He turned and walked toward the door.

"Peyton!" His legs were shaking too much to hold him. He braced his hands against the desk.

The Warlord Prince who turned to face him was no longer the son he loved, wasn't anyone he recognized.

"I'm leaving," Peyton said quietly. "The only way you can stop me is by killing me."

He sank back into the chair as his son walked out of the study, walked out of the Hall… walked out of his life.

Saetan closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. Just breathing.

The split between him and Peyton had shattered the family for months. It was Mephis who finally realized who had been whispering the poisoned, honeyed words that had made Shira run away from the man she'd loved.

He'd been so devastated by Peyton's accusations, he hadn't thought of Hekatah.

Mephis and Peyton had been children when he'd divorced her after she'd tried to shatter his friendship with Andulvar Yaslana by seducing his closest friend and flaunting the pregnancy that had come from that seduction. Instead, Andulvar had kept the child, and Saetan had severed his marriage to a woman who had loved nothing but the power she thought she could control through him.

When the boys were young, he'd refused to let her see them anywhere except the Hall, where they would be under his watchful eye and protection. But once they'd made the Offering to the Darkness and were old enough…and strong enough…to protect themselves, he hadn't interfered whenever they wanted to spend time with their mother.

So he hadn't thought of her…and he should have. He should have. Hekatah wouldn't have tolerated her bloodline being fouled by a musician from Dharo, and once Mephis got him to think past the heartache, he'd realized running had saved Shira's life. Because Hekatah wouldn't

have hesitated to destroy anything or anyone who didn't suit her own schemes and ambitions.

And even after Mephis convinced his brother that it had been Hekatah and not Saetan who had slashed love into pieces, even after Peyton began returning again to visit, there was a distance between them neither of them could quite bridge…

because he was the High Lord of Hell. And because Peyton never loved that deeply again. He'd watched from a distance as Shira made a life for herself, watched her love again enough to accept another man as her husband and the father of her children. Watched those children grow and have children. And when the war came between the Realms of Kaeleer and Terreille, Peyton hadn't stayed in Dhemlan Terreille to help Mephis defend that Territory. He'd gone to Dharo in Kaeleer to defend the family of the woman who had died centuries before…and had taken his heart with her.

Now there was another son who was falling in love…and another mother whose intentions were suspect.

He didn't go around to the gate in the wall at the front of the house. He simply used Craft to pass through the stones and walked straight to the kitchen door. He didn't drop the shields until a thought blasted the kitchen door open and he stepped across the threshold.

Luthvian dropped the dish she was holding when she saw him. He measured the fear dancing in her eyes and felt a grim pleasure in seeing it. At least he wouldn't have to put up with her pretending she didn't know why he was there. But he would give her a chance to defend her own actions. Considering what he was about to tell her, it was the least he could do.

"Why?" he asked too softly.

Luthvian licked her lips. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do, but I'll be specific since you want to pretend ignorance. Why are you trying to hurt Lucivar?"

She looked stunned, then offended. "I'm not trying to hurt Lucivar!"

"Aren't you?"

Fear gave way to temper. "Of course not! He's my son."

"He's my son, and I won't tolerate you interfering in his life."

"Interfering?" She stepped over the broken dish, coming closer to him. "I may be protecting him from acting rashly, but that's hardly interfering."

"Protecting him?" His temper slipped the leash enough that his voice became thunder. "You think undermining the bond he's trying to build with a woman is protecting him?"

"She's nothing but a hearth witch!" Luthvian yelled. "A nobody! Her family isn't even a twig on an aristo family tree!"

"Who gives a damn if she's aristo or not? Lucivar doesn't. I certainly don't. I came from a street whore who wasn't even skilled enough to work in a Red Moon house, so I never had an obsession for bloodlines."

"You may have come from a Hayllian slum," Luthvian sneered,"but I can trace my line back to AndulvarYaslana, and that means something!"

"More to the point, you can trace your bloodline back to Andulvar's son, Ravenar.

Which means you can trace your bloodline back to Hekatah…and it's that bloodline that seems to be rising dominant in you."

She staggered back as if he'd struck her. It was possible she'd never known that Ravenar hadn't been pure Eyrien, but she had to have realized her bloodline wasn't pure Eyrien. That's why there were a few Eyrien women each generation who were born without wings. They were throwbacks to Hayllian or Dhemlan women who'd mated with Eyrien males. In Luthvian's case, that woman had been Hekatah.

"You don't know that," she whispered.

"Oh, yes, I do," he replied softly. As he looked at her, he knew it was time to finish it. She'd been a troubled young woman when he'd seen her through her Virgin Night. She was still a troubled woman…and there was nothing he could do to help her beyond providing her with this house to live in. But he could, and would, protect Lucivar.