Dreams Made Flesh (7 page)

"It would solve the problem of uninvited guests," Jaenelle pointed out.

"No."

She got that half-puzzled look on her face that always made him think of a kitten puzzling over a large, hoppy bug. "I wonder if any of the kindred have witches with a gift for hearth-Craft. What would they use it for?"

"It doesn't matter." His voice sounded firm, didn't it? Hell's fire, he hoped it sounded firm. "I need a human with enough housekeeping skills that Helene and Merry will be satisfied that the eyrie is being tended and whose presence will keep any other females from thinking that…" He bit back the words. Best not to mention Roxie again.

Jaenelle hesitated. "There is a hearth witch who has come to Kaeleer recently."

"Through the service fairs?" Lucivar asked, wondering about Jaenelle's hesitation.

The twice-yearly service fairs in Little Terreille had been set up to deal with the flood of Terreilleans fleeing the cruelty of the courts and Territories under the influence of Dorothea SaDiablo, the High Priestess of Hayll.

"No,"Jaenelle replied. "I brought her in."

What in the name of Hell were you doing in Terreille? He knew better than to ask her that question. He'd just visit the Hall in the next day or two and ask his father.

"She may be… content… where she is,"Jaenelle said, "but I can ask if she'd consider being your housekeeper."

"All right."

Jaenelle nodded. "I can…" Her mood turned grumpy, and she rolled her eyes.

"No, I can't. I have to do Queenly things tomorrow, and there's a formal…

something… late in the evening."

Lucivar grinned. "Something that requires getting all polished and dressed up?"

Jaenelle hated fancy dress.

"Yes," she growled, "it's dress-up. But there will be time to come back here after your usual dinner hour."

"That won't give you much time to get ready."

The look she gave him could have frozen blood.

"I could still see if there are hearth witches among the dragons," Jaenelle said.

Feeling more relaxed than he'd felt all week, Lucivar stood, stretched, then bent over to give Jaenelle a kiss on the top of her head. "Don't threaten your older brother," he scolded mildly. "Especially after I took the brunt of Father's snarling over the raft."

Wincing, she looked up at him. "Was it bad? He just kept gritting his teeth when he saw me and refused to talk about it."

Lucivar straightened up and leaned against one of the porch's supporting posts.

"No, it wasn't bad. He was actually quite calm about our making a raft out of what he called 'twigs and kindling'…"

"Which is what it was," Jaenelle said.

"…and holding the whole thing together with nothing but Craft."

"Which is what we did."

"And he said he understood why we felt we needed to be standing on the thing when we put it in the river to test it."

"How else were we supposed to find out if it worked?"

"He even managed to sound calm about our not abandoning the raft after we hit the rapids. And he didn't yell about our going over the waterfall." Lucivar scratched his neck. "Although, I still haven't figured out how he could speak so clearly with his teeth clenched like that."

Jaenelle leaned forward. "You didn't tell him the raft started breaking up before we. went over the waterfall, did you?"

"Do I look like a fool?" Lucivar demanded. "Of course I didn't tell him that.

Besides, what threatened to pop a few blood vessels was his finding out that we went back to the starting point and did the whole thing all over again."

"Oh, dear," Jaenelle said. "I'm surprised the walls of the Hall didn't shake when he started yelling."

"He didn't have a chance to yell." Lucivar smiled that lazy, arrogant smile that always signaled trouble. "Before he got started, I ended it." "How?"

"I told him he was jealous."

Jaenelle's mouth fell open. "Lucivar! You told Papa…" "That the only reason he was mad at me was because you'd invited me to go with you to try out this idea instead of inviting him."

Her silvery, velvet-coated laugh rang out over the land. "Oh," she gasped. "Oh, that was mean. What did he say?"

Lucivar laughed with her. "He just gave me that stare that will burn holes through bone, then threw me out of his study. He hasn't said a thing about it since then."

"Poor Papa."Jaenelle sighed. "I guess I'll dress up special tomorrow to make it up to him."

"You do that, since my wearing a dress won't do anything for him."

She looked at him and howled with laughter…which brought an answering roar from behind the cottage.

Great. Any moment now, he'd be trying to explain to a baffled feline Warlord Prince why their Queen was making those funny noises.

"I'll see you tomorrow." He leaped off the porch, spread his wings, and launched himself skyward.

"L-Lucivar!"

Nope. Fair was fair. He'd dealt with Saetan on his own over the raft, so she could explain her behavior to the "kitty."

He didn't let Roxie's lingering scent spoil his mood when he returned home.

Besides, by tomorrow evening, all his female problems might be solved.

SIX

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As she set the brass basket next to the woodpile, Marian felt her back muscles protest and threaten to seize up. Again. Studying the woodpile, she raised one hand and used Craft to lift the pieces of wood and set them in the basket.

Luthvian would criticize and sneer, saying…again…that it was laziness to use Craft for simple things, but Marian didn't care. Using Craft instead of straining muscles wasn't laziness, it was practical…especially since her back had seized up once today while she was scrubbing the kitchen floor.

Odd how gentle Luthvian had been when she'd come into the kitchen and found Marian on the floor, unable to get up. At that moment, she had been all Healer, skilled and efficient. But the quiet words she'd said as she eased the pain were the same ones she'd been saying… the useless wings were causing the back pain.

Removing them was the only way Marian would fully heal.

Since she wouldn't let Luthvian remove her wings, she couldn't say anything about the chores that made her back hurt. She knew the wounds had been healed, but when she ached, she could close her eyes and mentally trace every knife slash the Warlords had inflicted.

Gritting her teeth, Marian reached for the handle of the brass basket.

The basket vanished before she touched it. It reappeared a moment later, waist high and just out of reach. Then it fell to the ground with a heavy thunk.

"Perhaps I wasn't clear enough when I told you to take it easy for a few days."

The voice didn't quite hide the ripple of anger beneath the mildly spoken words.

Marian turned. Jaenelle stood a few feet away from her.

"Lady Angelline." Marian swallowed hard, unable to look away from those sapphire eyes. She felt as if fingertips were passing over her body, just above her skin.

"You haven't done any permanent damage," Jaenelle said, "but…"

"Marian!" Luthvian's voice lashed out through the open kitchen windows. "Are you going to dawdle all night over a few pieces of wood? You have chores to finish."

Something deadly flashed in Jaenelle's eyes, gone so fast Marian wasn't sure she'd actually seen it.

"Pack your things," Jaenelle said quietly. "You're leaving."

"But…"

"Now."

She wasn't going to argue with that voice. Moving as fast as her stiff legs could manage, she reached the cottage's far corner just as Luthvian stepped out of the kitchen door.

"Hell's fire, girl," Luthvian snapped. "Where's the wood? Can't you do anything…" She froze for a moment. "Good evening, Jaenelle."

"Good evening, Luthvian." Jaenelle moved forward until she stood next to Marian. "Marian is leaving. Her skills are required elsewhere."

Luthvian looked as if she'd been slapped, but she recovered quickly. "We need to discuss this."

"Fine," Jaenelle replied. "We'll discuss it while Marian packs her things."

The air crackled with suppressed temper. Marian stepped back and swung around both women, too nervous to step between them. As she entered the kitchen, she heard Luthvian say, "She's adequate, but anyone who pays wages for her work will be disappointed."

She didn't wait to hear Jaenelle's reply. She simply hurried up to the small, secondfloor room Luthvian had given her. There wasn't much to pack. When Jaenelle had brought her to Luthvian's cottage, she had only the trousers, tunic, and underthings she'd been given at the Keep since

her own clothes had been destroyed in the attack. Luthvian had given her a skirt and two tunics the Healer no longer wanted and had grudgingly purchased two sets of underthings for her. Her only other possessions were the things that, through Craft, she always carried with her…her moontime supplies, the hairbrush and hair ornaments her sisters hadn't permanently "borrowed," the book she'd asked for last Win-sol and had actually gotten as a gift from her mother, and the small loom and cloth bag of yarns.

She vanished the clothes, since she had no other way to carry them, and had just walked out of the room when thunder shook the cottage. Her heart pounded as she rested a hand against the wall to steady herself. There had been no sign of a storm when she was outside a few minutes ago. Where had the… A different kind of thunder.

A chill went through her. Her heart pounded harder. The kind of thunder that happened when a witch revealed enough of her temper to be a warning to those around her.

Biting her lip, Marian gave herself a few seconds to gather her courage before going downstairs to the kitchen. Luthvian sat at the kitchen table, her gold eyes full of resentment and fear. Jaenelle stood in the doorway, not actually in the kitchen but also not waiting outside.

Marian hesitated. She should say something to Luthvian, but she didn't know what it would be. She couldn't thank Luthvian for the hospitality since she'd more than earned her keep while she'd stayed at the cottage…and hadn't felt welcome in the first place. And she was afraid that no matter what she said right now, Luthvian's response would be brutal and heart-shattering. So she looked away and walked to the outside kitchen door.

Jaenelle stepped back and to one side to let her pass. The door closed behind them with a gentleness that was worse than a bad-tempered slam.

"Can you walk a bit?" Jaenelle asked when they reached the gate in the low stone wall that surrounded Luthvian's land. Marian nodded. They walked in silence for several minutes. Then Jaenelle said, "I'm

sorry things were difficult for you. I thought…" She shook her head. "It doesn't matter what I thought. It was an error in judgment, and you paid the price for it."

There were things Luthvian had hinted at, reasons why enduring work she knew was harming her was better than being told to leave. But now that she'd been taken from the cottage…

"I don't want to go back to Terreille," Marian said, the words bursting out of her.

"No one said you had to,"Jaenelle replied.

"But if I don't serve Lady Luthvian…"

Jaenelle swore. Marian didn't know the language, but she understand the vicious way the words were said.

"You don't serve Luthvian," Jaenelle said tightly. "You serve in my court."

Marian stopped walking, too stunned to keep moving. "I… Your court?"

Jaenelle turned to face Marian. After studying the hearth witch, she said, "Eighth Circle. Don't you remember signing the contract after I explained that you needed to serve in a court for eighteen months if you wanted to stay in Kaeleer?"

She remembered Jaenelle handing her a piece of parchment and explaining something about her needing to sign the document in order to stay in Kaeleer, but she'd still been feeling too weak and woozy to take in anything except that signing would let her stay. And when Luthvian had implied that staying or being sent back to Terreille rested on her decision…

"What do I have to do?" Marian asked.

Jaenelle shrugged. "Service in the Eighth Circle? A meal once in a while when I'm staying at my cottage in Ebon Rih would cover the requirements."

A meal. Would Jaenelle supply the food for her to cook, or would she be expected to provide it? How would she provide it? "Where are we going?"

Now Jaenelle smiled. "Your skills really are required elsewhere. I know someone who needs a housekeeper."

Marian relaxed a little. If wages were included as well as room and board, she could fulfill her obligation to the Lady's court.

Jaenelle looked up at the sky and winced. "Come on. We'd better ride the Winds and get there. If I'm late getting back to the Hall, Papa will give me that patient look. I really hate that patient look…especially when I deserve it."

Before Marian could wrap her mind around the idea that the Queen of Ebon Askavi had a papa who would dare criticize her, even if it was just with a look, Jaenelle took her hand and launched both of them onto the Purple Dusk Wind.

A few minutes later, they dropped from the Winds and landed on a flagstone courtyard in front of an eyrie. Marian winced when she saw the rock-strewn, overgrown mess on one side of the eyrie, but she didn't have time to decide if it had once been a garden or had always been a wild, overgrown tangle before Jaenelle opened the door without knocking and pulled her inside.

"Lucivar!"Jaenelle called.

A sharp whistle came from another room in the eyrie.

Lucivar? Fear rushed back into Marian as Jaenelle pulled her toward the archway on one side of the big empty room.

"I thought you…" a male voice said.

One last tug and Marian was in the kitchen facing an Eyrien male. A Warlord Prince. Who wore Ebon-gray Jewels.

The room spun. Her knees weakened. Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. Not him. Please, not him.

"Marian," Jaenelle said, "this is Lucivar Yaslana, the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih.

Lucivar, this is Marian…your newhousekeeper."

No. No no no. She'd heard of Lucivar Yaslana. Who in Askavi hadn't heard of Lucivar Yaslana, even though it had been centuries since he'd actually lived in Askavi. He was Luthvian's son? The ruler of Ebon Rih? She couldn't possibly stay here. She couldn't. When Luthvian complained to him about her leaving… He could do anything he wanted to her and no one would mutter a word. Warlord Princes were a law unto themselves. Even in Terreille the ones who weren't kept on a tight chain were treated cautiously, and everyone knew the rules that applied to every other male didn't apply to them. Couldn't apply to them.