Tangled Webs
Authors: Anne Bishop
ANNE BISHOP
T ANGLED W EBS
A Black Jewels Novel
Copyright © Anne Bishop, 2008
“By the Time the Witchblood Blooms” copyright © Anne Bishop, 2000. First published in
Treachery and Treason,
edited by Laura Anne Gilman and Jennifer Heddle (New York: Roc, 2000).
FOR
JULIE E. CZERNEDA
AND
JAMES ALAN GARDNER
HERE’S TO ANOTHER TEN YEARS OF
FRIENDSHIP AND GOOD STORIES.
Contents
My thanks to Blair Boone for continuing to be my first reader, to Debra Dixon for being second reader, to Doranna Durgin for maintaining the Web site and for providing puppy information, to Candice Cavanaugh and Julie Green for helping me keep fit, to Pat Feidner just because, and to all the friends who make this journey with me.
JEWELS
WHITE
YELLOW
TIGER EYE
ROSE
SUMMER-SKY
PURPLE DUSK
OPAL [Opal is the dividing line between lighter and darker Jewels because it can be either.]
GREEN
SAPPHIRE
RED
GRAY
EBON-GRAY
BLACK
When making the Offering to the Darkness, a person can descend a maximum of three ranks from his/her Birthright Jewel.
Example: Birthright White could descend to Rose.
A
UTHOR’S
N
OTE
The “Sc” in the names Scelt and Sceval is pronounced “Sh.”
BLOOD HIERARCHY/CASTES
MALES
Landen—non-Blood of any race
Blood male—a general term for all males of the Blood; also refers to any Blood male who doesn’t wear Jewels
Warlord—a Jeweled male equal in status to a witch
Prince—a Jeweled male equal in status to a Priestess or a Healer
Warlord Prince—a dangerous, extremely aggressive Jeweled male; in status, slightly lower than a Queen
F
EMALES
Landen—non-Blood of any race
Blood female—a general term for all females of the Blood; mostly refers to any Blood female who doesn’t wear Jewels
Witch—a Blood female who wears Jewels but isn’t one of the other hierarchical levels; also refers to any Jeweled female
Healer—a witch who heals physical wounds and illnesses; equal in status to a Priestess and a Prince
Priestess—a witch who cares for altars, Sanctuaries, and Dark Altars; witnesses handfasts and marriages; performs offerings; equal in status to a Healer and a Prince
Black Widow—a witch who heals the mind; weaves the tangled webs of dreams and visions; is trained in illusions and poisons
Queen—a witch who rules the Blood; is considered to be the land’s heart and the Blood’s moral center; as such, she is the focal point of their society
Dear Readers,
In the Realms of the Blood, the war has been fought, the battle has been won, and the epic tale has been told. But life goes on, so there are other challenges to face, smaller battles to be fought, and other stories to tell.
This is one of them.
PROLOGUE
H
e laid his hand on the cover of his latest book, closed his eyes to shut out the world around him, and savored this new reality that was still so painfully sweet.
They had embraced his previous story about Landry Langston. They had read his thinly veiled discovery about himself and had bought more copies of that book than any other.
He was one of them. Cheated out of his heritage for so many years and discovering his true nature only by accident, now he could stand among them as an equal. Some—themselves insignificant—had thought him worthy enough to be a casual acquaintance because his writing skills had earned him fame and wealth, had earned him invitations to parties and literary discussions that would otherwise be closed to a landen.
Now they would welcome him simply because of the power that flowed in his veins.
He’d been overwhelmed by his discovery and had kept it a secret for all these months. Well, an open secret, since he’d put it down on paper for all to read. But now he was ready to walk among them, to be acknowledged by them. Not just by the society sparklers, but by the true aristos. He’d even taken the first step to indicate he would welcome just such an invitation.
He could see himself sitting at the dining table at SaDiablo Hall, one of a small number of select guests. He would entertain the other guests with amusing stories, and he would flirt with the Lady—but not so much that he would offend his host. He’d heard rumors about a fool who had offended Daemon Sadi in
that
way.
Had Sadi really burned out the man’s brain using witchfire? How intriguing. Perhaps…
There was so much to learn now that he was one of them.
So much.
And there was so much he could do now that he was no longer shackled by landen law. So much he couldn’t have tried before. Except in stories.
For a long time he’d feared there was something wrong with him that made him crave the violence that had no outlet except by being poured into his stories. Now he knew that violence was simply part of his nature.
Oh, yes. He was one of them now. One of the ones who walked the Realms in all their dark glory.
He was no longer an insignificant landen, chained by someone else’s rules.
He was Blood.
PART ONE
ONE
“H
ell’s fire.”
Surreal SaDiablo stared at the page she was currently reading, then let the book drop into her lap. “A body in a closet? What kind of idiot leaves a body in a closet?”
“Someone who doesn’t have large furry friends who think ‘human’ and ‘snack’ mean the same thing?” Daemon replied in an offhand way that told her he was paying some attention but not really listening, his thoughts still on the papers spread out around him.
Another woman might have been insulted by that lack of immediate attention. Knowing the man, Surreal just waited.
Looking at Daemon Sadi wasn’t a hardship at any time, but at the moment, he was comfortably rumpled, which made the picture even more delicious. His thick black hair was disheveled from his fingers running through it while he read reports and made notes of things he wanted to discuss with Dhemlan’s Province Queens. His white silk shirt was partially unbuttoned, giving her a view of toned muscles and golden brown skin, as well as little flashes of the Red Birthright Jewel that hung from a gold chain around his neck. His bare feet rested on a pillow he’d tossed onto the low table in front of the sofa.
His deep, cultured voice always had a sexual edge that made a woman’s pulse race—even when the look in those gold eyes promised pain instead of pleasure. He had a face too beautiful to be called handsome, and he had a temper typical of his caste.
Since he was one of the two males in the entire history of the Blood to wear a Black Jewel, he was as lethal as he was beautiful. And, may the Darkness help her, he was family.
It was that last part that assured her she’d have his full attention before much longer. It was the nature of Warlord Princes to be protective and territorial—as well as violent and deadly—so it was pretty much a given that a Warlord Prince was going to pay attention to the women in his family.
That thought had her narrowing her gold-green eyes as she considered why he was settled in the sitting room of the family’s town house in Amdarh, Dhemlan’s capital city, instead of doing paperwork in his own study at SaDiablo Hall. Where he belonged.
“Hell’s fire, Sadi,” she growled. “Now that you’re the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, don’t you have enough details to keep you occupied without keeping track of my moontimes?” Which reminded her of the problem that was going to be filling up the sitting room if he was still there in an hour.
He set aside his papers and looked at her, his gold eyes full of warmth and amusement.
“You’re married,” she said, as if he needed the reminder of an event that had taken place a few weeks ago. “You should be keeping track of your wife, not me.”
No answer. Just that annoying amusement.
“Why don’t you keep track of Marian too while you’re at it?” she muttered.
The warmth and amusement in his eyes deepened.
Shit shit shit. He
did
keep track of his brother’s wife.
Her stomach gave a funny little twirl as she considered that. Daemon Sadi. Lucivar Yaslana. Half brothers linked through their Hayllian father, who was the Prince of the Darkness, the High Lord of Hell. Men who were ice and fire, working in tandem to look after the women in the family—especially during the few days of each moon cycle when those women couldn’t use Craft and might be vulnerable.
Which made her wonder about the Warlord she had met at a party shortly after Daemon became the Warlord Prince who ruled the Territory of Dhemlan in the Realm of Kaeleer. The man had managed to maintain the mask of an interesting companion until she agreed to go to the theater with him. Then his true personality began to seep through. She would have gone with him anyway to find out what he really wanted, but he’d canceled, sending a note to offer his regrets and apologies for being called away unexpectedly. She hadn’t thought anything of it; just figured he’d found out a little more about her and decided not to risk being gutted during the play’s intermission. After all, men who were willing to escort a former whore who was connected to the most powerful family in Kaeleer tended to get nervous when they discovered the former whore was also a former assassin.
Now she wondered whether the little prick-ass had canceled to avoid having a few bones broken (Lucivar’s method of dissuading fools) or whether he had run from a much scarier threat (if the prick-ass had ended up having a chat with Daemon).
“What body in which closet?” Daemon asked.
It took her a moment to remember.
“This one.” She finger-snapped the offending page of the book. “What’s wrong with these people? Why are they leaving bodies around for other people to find instead of disposing of them in some sensible way? And what’s wrong with the person who found the body? With help, I should add, from a cat. What does he need help for? Even a human nose can smell that much rotting meat.”
“What are you reading?”
There was a hint of wariness mixed in with Daemon’s amusement. Which was fair, she supposed, since she’d made a good living as an assassin before she moved to Kaeleer and acquired too many powerful male relatives. Not that he’d be concerned about that. After all, he’d taught her most of the nastier tricks of that particular trade.
She held up the book so he could read the title.
“Ah. That book.”
Definite wariness now, as if he had measured the distance between her chair and his place on the sofa and was determined to maintain it.
“Is there something I should know about this book? And what kind of name is Jarvis Jenkell? Do you think that’s his real name?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Daemon replied dryly. “I do know that since he came out with this new series of books, Jaenelle isn’t allowed to read his stories in bed anymore. She starts laughing so hard, she ends up flailing.”
“What…? Oh. Caught you, did she?”
Stony expression.
Oh, yeah. Back to the first subject. “So why don’t these people have brains enough to bury a body where it won’t be found? Nooo, they’ll put a body in a closet…or in an old trunk in a spare bedroom—not even up in the attic, where it might be harder to find—or in the shed out back, where it attracts critters that want to take home some carrion for dinner.” She clapped her hands to her cheeks, widened her eyes, and wagged her head. “Oh! Look! It’s the gardener. Who is dead. And look! There’s blood on the hedge clippers. Do you think it’s a clue?”
Daemon snorted out a laugh, tried to regain control, then just slumped back and let the laughter roar.
She laughed with him, then shook her head. She was too much a professional to be able to dismiss sloppy work, even in a story. “Really, Sadi. Granted, a landen would have to work harder than we do to dispose of a body, but they do have shovels.”
“It’s a mystery, Surreal,” he said when he could talk again. “That’s the whole point of the story. A person discovers a body, gets caught up in the events surrounding the death, and has to figure out why the person died and who did the killing—usually while trying to avoid being killed himself. Until you’ve got a body, there’s no reason to look for clues.”
“And no point to the story.” She nodded, since that part made sense. “That still doesn’t explain this character who is supposed to be Blood—or the cat. A species of kindred who have chosen to remain hidden while pretending to be larger-than-usual domestic cats, except for this one rogue feline who has decided to help the poor, dumb, smell-impaired human figure out murders?”
Daemon got up and went over to the corner table that held an open bottle of wine and glasses. He lifted the bottle and gave her a questioning look. She shook her head.
After pouring a glass for himself, he returned to his place on the sofa. “It hasn’t been that many years since the kindred dogs and horses made their presence known, so it is possible that a species chose to remain hidden when the rest of them decided to let the human Blood know the kindred existed. Not likely, but possible. As for the human side of the partnership, this is the second book with these characters. The man discovered his Blood heritage in the first story and is still learning how to use his power.”
“Doesn’t that sound a bit too much like the stories Lady Fiona writes about Tracker and Shadow?” Surreal asked.
“I believe it was Fiona’s success that spurred him to write this new story line. Jenkell is a well-known writer in landen artistic circles, and he’s become quite wealthy writing his mysteries. I’ve read a few of the books in the other series; they’re entertaining stories.”
She huffed out a breath and shook the book. “But this! The man has never been in the same room as one of the Blood. At least, not the kind of Blood he’s trying to write about. You can tell he doesn’t understand a damn thing about us.”
Daemon smiled. “I know. For years he’s been considered the top writer in his field, mostly because his characters were clever and found imaginative ways out of difficult situations.”
“And entertained both landens and Blood.”
Daemon nodded. “Then ego or temper overwhelmed sense when Fiona’s Tracker and Shadow stories became popular with landens as well as the Blood, and he began writing this new series about a Blood male and his kindred partner.”
“And he’s still popular with the Blood?” She put as much disbelief in her voice as possible.
“He is, but not because he’s telling a good story anymore.” Daemon lifted his glass in a salute. “His portrayal of the Blood is so bad it’s hysterically funny. At least, a good number of people have thought so.”
Apparently Daemon wasn’t one of them. “Does he know the Blood are buying the books to laugh at the characters? That must be biting his ass.” She riffled a few pages until she got to the next chapter.
“I imagine it is. What are you doing?”
“I wanted to see what other Blood things he’s doing wrong.”
“The point of one of these stories is to read it in order to see the clues as they’re revealed.”
He was getting that bossy tone in his voice. She wasn’t sure if it was family bossy or Warlord Prince bossy, but he’d stare her down if she tried to ignore him. Once he went home, she could…
Shit.
She glanced at the clock on the mantel, considered the man now studying her, and decided not to waste time being subtle.
“You have to go home now.”
“No.”
She hadn’t thought giving him an order would work, but he didn’t have to sound so politely unyielding about it. Now the only way to get rid of him was to tell him why he had to go.
“Rainier will be here soon,” she said.
“So?”
Something under the pleasant tone made her think of a cat sharpening its claws before it went out to play with the mouse.
“You like Rainier,” she said. “He
works
for you.”
Daemon settled back on the sofa, making himself more comfortable. “I’m aware of that.” He waited a beat. “Why is he coming here this evening?”
For the same reason you’ve got your ass snuggled into the sofa.
Which was not something a witch said to any male relative who was bigger than she was and wore darker Jewels than she did.
“Doesn’t he have family of his own to fuss over?”
Hell’s fire. He was going to get pissy about this.
“Actually,” she said, “he doesn’t.” A flicker in Daemon’s eyes warned her he was aware of the lie within the words—he knew perfectly well Rainier had family living in Dharo—but he didn’t know why the words were also true. And she wasn’t looking forward to being the one to tell him. “His family prefers that he stay away.”
“Because he prefers to warm a man’s bed rather than a woman’s?”
It was like seeing a storm coming and knowing you couldn’t get out of the way in time.
“No,” she said softly, “it’s because he’s a Warlord Prince.”
A heartbeat. That’s all it took. Daemon, the amused male relative, was gone. The Warlord Prince who looked at her…Not the Sadist, who could be so elegantly vicious. Thank the Darkness, it wasn’t
that
facet of Daemon’s personality that had surfaced. No, this was Prince Sadi, ruler of Dhemlan, who was considering the depth of the insult contained within her words.
“They aren’t like our family,” she said hurriedly.
A moment of silence. Then, too softly, he said, “Explain.”
She didn’t dare look at the clock to see how much time was left. It didn’t matter. This discussion had to be over, done,
fast.
“Most of the males in the SaDiablo-Yaslana family are, or were, Warlord Princes. So none of you are different from the rest. You know how to live with a Warlord Prince. The women in this family know how to live with a Warlord Prince. But Rainier…From what I gathered, there had been a couple of Warlord Princes in the family bloodlines over the generations, but they’d worn lighter Jewels, so the more aggressive, predatory nature”—
Shit! Don’t remind him of that!
—“of a Warlord Prince was balanced by not having as much power. But Rainier wears an Opal Jewel that’s considered a dark Jewel. His family didn’t know what to do with him when he was young and wore Purple Dusk as his Birthright, and as sure as the sun doesn’t shine in Hell, they don’t know what to do with him now.”
“So they turn away from him.”
Oh, yeah. This was turning into a
fun
discussion.
“To his benefit, since they don’t deserve to have him.” She put some snap in her voice, hoping for a flash of amusement from him.
Nothing.
“A Warlord Prince needs a female to fuss over—if not family, then a friend,” she finished quietly.
“Having his company for the evening is fine, Surreal, but—”
“He’ll be staying for breakfast.”
Long pause. “You trust him that much?”
Now they had gotten to the core of it. Did she trust a man who wasn’t family during the hours when she was asleep and would be the most vulnerable? “Yes, I trust him that much. So go home to your wife, Sadi.”
Then I can read this book however I want to.
Another pause. Then the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan took a deep breath—and Daemon let it out in a sigh as he stood up.