Tangled Webs (13 page)

Words can be a weapon, and our father is very skilled with that particular blade. Look—and see clearly. Within what he didn’t say is the reason he didn’t want to tell you the story.

So he considered the story he’d just heard. And he considered the few things Andulvar had said about that battle.

Then he looked at his father and thought,
Liar.

While Saetan called in a handkerchief and delicately blew his nose, Lucivar went to the table and poured yarbarah into one of the ravenglass goblets. He warmed the blood wine over a tongue of witchfire, then held out the glass.

Saetan vanished the handkerchief and took hold of the goblet.

Lucivar didn’t let go.

The resistance was enough to assure he’d have Saetan’s attention when he released that goblet, picked up the other—and poured and warmed another glass of yarbarah.

Eyrien warriors drank small glasses of yarbarah as part of some of their ceremonies, but drinking a full goblet wasn’t something a living man would normally do.

He returned to his chair and took a sip of the blood wine, his eyes never leaving his father’s face.

“Uncle Andulvar told me you had refused to fight in that war. You had said that, as a Guardian, you had no right to interfere with the living Realms.”

“Yes,” Saetan replied, his voice barely a whisper. “That’s what I said.”

“Must have galled him when he walked off that field and saw you standing that one careful step away from the line—the step that kept you out of the fight.”

A ghost of a grim smile, there and gone. “I don’t think he ever forgave me. Not completely.”

“Funny that he never considered why you were there.”

“It was a killing field, Lucivar. A slaughter of thousands.”

“So the High Lord of Hell was there to meet his closest friend and that friend’s grandson to help them make the transition to demon-dead.”

“Yes.”

Lucivar smiled and said, “Liar.”

No answer. Just that vicious—and visible—self-control.

“I
am
brilliant on a killing field, and I think I can see you more clearly than Andulvar ever did.”

Still no answer. He didn’t expect one.

“The pivotal battle,” Lucivar said softly. “The place—and the men—who could break Hekatah’s bid to control the Realms. The
man
who could break Hekatah’s bid. As long as Andulvar Yaslana, the Demon Prince, could lead warriors into battle, Hekatah’s chances of winning grew less with every fight. So she had to eliminate him, destroy him completely.

“You had declared yourself out of the fight. A Guardian has no right to interfere with the living Realms. That’s what you’d said. You hold to your code of honor, no matter the cost. Hekatah and Andulvar both knew that.”

“What’s your point, Lucivar?”

He heard the warning. Saw something lethal flicker in his father’s gold eyes before Saetan regained all of that formidable self-control. But he was going to finish this, was going to acknowledge something that had remained hidden for fifty thousand years.

“The army that faced Andulvar and his men that day. All those men on that killing field. They were fodder. They were there to drain the power in Andulvar’s Ebon-gray Jewels, to wound him, weaken him, eliminate the men around him. But Hekatah hadn’t expected
them
to win. Another army was supposed to reach that field. Fresh warriors primed for a fight standing against survivors who had been fighting for hours.
They
were the warriors who were supposed to win the battle.
They
were the ones who were supposed to walk off the killing field.

“But they never got to that field, did they? Because they met another enemy. One whose presence hadn’t been anticipated. One who didn’t fight with a blade. One whose power and skill and temper…Well, as you said, it was a slaughter of thousands.”

No response. He didn’t expect one. And he wasn’t sure he actually wanted Saetan to admit to breaking the code of honor that kept the man from being a monster.

“If Andulvar, Prothvar, and their surviving men hadn’t been the ones to walk off the field that day, Hekatah would have won the war between Kaeleer and Terreille, and both Realms would have become the nightmare Terreille became all those long years later.” He took a swallow of yarbarah as a private salute to the warriors who were gone. “So I won’t ask why you were there that day. But I thank you for being there—and for standing that one careful step back from the killing field.”

They looked at each other, and there, within the silence, acknowledged a man’s betrayal of himself—and a secret that would remain a secret.

“Anything else?” Saetan finally asked.

Lucivar stared into the goblet. Easy enough to shrug it off, let it pass. After all, they were both feeling a little raw. But…

“I don’t remember you, but you shaped the core of me during those early years, and your passion and honor were the forge that made that core unbreakable, despite everything that came after. I don’t know what I would have become without that, but I’m certain I wouldn’t have been worthy of serving Witch. So I thank you for that, too, and…I’m proud to have you as my father.”

“As I am proud to have you as a son,” Saetan replied softly.

Time to go, boyo, before you get weepy.
He used Craft to float the goblet back to the tray, then stood up and stretched. “Well. I’d better get back. If the little beast wakes up and Marian has to deal with him on her own…” He frowned.

“What?” Saetan asked.

Lucivar rubbed the back of his neck. “I have the nagging feeling that I’ve forgotten something.”

“Hmm. Well, you’ll either remember it on your own, or you’ll remember it when whatever you’ve forgotten comes back and bites you in the ass.”

Lucivar laughed. “I guess that’s something to look forward to.”

NINE

S
tanding at the edge of the street, Surreal studied the three-story house that looked like it had seen better years. Better decades, actually. There was a shabbiness to it that felt like neglect rather than the decline that comes with age. But it must have been a prominent house in the village at one time, since it was standing on a plot of land that was significantly larger than its neighbors.

She didn’t know much about landen architecture or landscaping, but the whole thing struck her as being off-balance, as if the right side of the land were about to tip up from the weight of the house on the left side. And why would anyone surround property with a waist-high wrought-iron fence that followed the property line at least on the two sides but split the front yard in half between house and street, making it useful for nothing?

“It might have been attractive at one time,” she said, not bothering to keep the doubt out of her voice.

“You mean before it was built?” Rainier replied.

She huffed out a laugh.

“There are plenty of Blood mansions that have a tower,” Rainier said. “But the tower attached to the right side of this building…”

“Looks like a fat penis with pretensions.”

Rainier choked. And because he choked, she couldn’t resist.

“Really,” Surreal said. “It reminds me of the cock decorating that was done in a Terreillean Territory a few decades ago. Didn’t stay in fashion for long, but it was amusing while it did.”

“Cock decorating.”

She couldn’t tell if he was amused or appalled. But he didn’t sound suspicious. “Feathers, ribbons, netting that acted as a sleeve so that seed pearls and sequins could be added.”

“I can’t imagine any of that would be comfortable, and I also don’t see the point.”

“Well, it’s not like they kept it stuffed in their pants.” She bit the inside of her cheek.

“But…In a social gathering, it’s much better for a man to imply what he’s got rather than actually
show
it.”

Did men use undergarments that enhanced their cocks the way women sometimes used corsets or specially constructed brassieres to enhance their breasts? She’d have to ask him sometime.

“Besides, a man can’t sustain an erection for an entire evening,” Rainier said.

“That’s true. And there was an ebb and flow to the festivities for a while.” Oh, he was definitely appalled now. “That’s why most men started wearing a stiff covering over their asset and decorating that.”

“How could you tell it was a covering?”

“Has your cock ever turned purple?”

“No.”

“Well, then.” She grinned. Couldn’t stop herself. Besides, he sounded like he was being lightly strangled, so it was time to stop teasing. “Now that you’re warmed up for it, shall we go view the rest of the evening’s horrors?”

“Surreal.”

Laughing, she ignored the muttering coming from her companion.

“It really was done in a Terreillean Territory, but not to that extent,” Surreal said.

They both pondered that, and she suspected her perception of that particular fashion was very different from his.

Then Rainier said, “If it
had
been done like you described, do you think Sadi…?”

He looked at her. She looked at him—and knew they were both picturing that elegant, beautiful man moving across a ballroom with lethal, feline grace. If Daemon had been forced to display himself during the years he’d been a pleasure slave, he would have done it right. Nothing garish for Sadi. Seed pearls and silk. Maybe a small ruby strategically placed to catch the light—and a woman’s eye. A fatal lure that promised unimagined pleasures, despite his lack of arousal. But the look in Sadi’s golden eyes and his cold, cruel smile would have made a very different kind of promise—and
that
was the promise the Sadist always kept.

And
that
thought got her moving up the broken, weedy flag-stone walkway at the same moment a man came out of the house and lit the lanterns that hung on either side of the door.

“Think that’s the equivalent of the houselights going down in a theater?” Rainier asked as they stopped at the gate in the fence.

“Could be.” A movement near the edge of the property had her dropping back a step, giving Rainier fighting room as she turned.

“Just children,” Rainier said, turning with her. “One of them must have been keeping watch. Or else they planned to meet here at dusk.”

“Makes sense. After all, they’re probably the ones who provided the inspiration for this place.” And imagining them all getting close enough for her to give each one of them a hard whack upside the head as payment for that inspiration pleased her so much she smiled and waved at them.

“Don’t encourage them,” Rainier warned. “They’ll think you’re inviting them to come with us.”

“Don’t be daft. Landens stay away from…Hell’s fire.” They
had
taken her wave as an invitation.

“Told you,” Rainier said, grabbing her arm as he pushed the gate open. It swung easily enough but creaked as if it hadn’t been used in years.

“How was I supposed to know?” Surreal grumbled, caught between going through the gate, which she didn’t want to do, and being trapped against the fence by a pack of children.

“You were that age once.”

“I wasn’t like them at that age.”

Rainier made a scoffing sound. “Being Blood doesn’t make us
that
different when we’re young—at least in terms of behavior.”

That wasn’t what I meant.
But she didn’t contradict him because the children were approaching too fast—and because her relationship with her ex-lover Falonar had taught her that a man who could accept she’d been a whore might have a problem when he discovered
when
she’d become a whore.

There weren’t many outside of the family who knew the details of her past, and she preferred it that way.

“Let’s get inside,” she said.

They went through the opening. Then Rainier swore fiercely. So did she as she wiped her face. Nothing there, but the sense that she’d walked into a big cobweb lingered.

“I guess the fun begins even before we get into the house,” Rainier said, sounding cross.

“It explains why the fence is here instead of bordering the edge of the property,” Surreal said. “Jaenelle and Marian must have moved it so they could attach this illusion spell to the gate and still leave some open ground where visitors can gather.”

“Maybe getting a face full of cobwebs is meant to discourage people from going farther?” He sounded like he’d be quite happy to be discouraged from going farther.

“Are you telling me an Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince is going to be put off by a few cobwebs?”

He just looked at her.

“Right. We’re here—and we’re stuck.” Surreal rubbed her hands over her face to get rid of the lingering feeling. Then she sighed. “And we should accept this as part of a performance.” A glance at the children, who were hovering on the other side of the gate and seemed to be rethinking the wisdom of approaching two of the Blood. But once she and Rainier reached the house, it was a fair bet that the children would come through the gate to get a closer look. After all, this place was probably irresistible to their maggot-filled little minds.

As she and Rainier walked up to the covered entryway, she listened for the squeals. Landen or not, those children weren’t going to shrug off getting a face full of cobwebs.

“Well, that’s a bite in the ass,” Rainier said, looking back when they reached the steps. “Damn illusion stopped us cold, and they didn’t even notice.”

“Maybe that says more about landen housekeeping than about the illusion,” Surreal replied before giving her attention to the man who had lit the lanterns and now appeared to be waiting for them.

“A good evening to the Lady and gentleman,” the man said. “Or a frightful, fearsome evening if you’re not careful. Strange things go on in this house.” A hard look at the children who were now standing close enough to hear him. “Yes, strange things.”

Nervous giggles from the girls in the group.

«If we really want to scare them, we shouldn’t bother with this spooky-house stuff,» Surreal said on a psychic thread, tipping her head to indicate the children. «We should just throw a couple of them into the kitchen at SaDiablo Hall.»