There were predators and there were Predators—and even among the Predators, Lucivar Yaslana was a law unto himself.
Surreal looked at the room again, turning over possibilities of why Lucivar had chosen this place as her home-away-from-home. Then she put those thoughts aside before Merry became too anxious about her being here—or began to wonder
why
she was here.
She opened a door and found the bathroom. Her gold-green eyes narrowed as she considered the bathroom’s second door. “I’m sharing?”
“With the Warlord Prince who’s also coming in for the training,” Merry said.
She nodded. “Rainier. He’s a friend, even if he does pee through a pipe. Well, I can try to live with sharing a bathroom with him.” She gave Merry a wicked smile. “And if I have reason to complain about his aim, he can just try to live.”
Merry blinked, started to say something, then changed her mind—a couple of times. Finally she said, “I can provide you with the midday and evening meals, but we aren’t open early in the morning, so I don’t usually prepare breakfast.”
“That’s all right,” Surreal said. “We’re expected at the eyrie for breakfast.”
“Oh.”
So much sympathy in one little word. But it was the humor laced in the sympathy that caught Surreal’s attention.
“You’ve met Lucivar’s son,” Surreal said.
“I have, yes.”
Surreal watched Merry weighing and measuring loyalties and obligations.
“There’s a coffee shop two blocks from here,” Merry said. “And there’s a bakery. The two businesses converted the store in between into a dining area used by both. You wouldn’t get a full breakfast there—just coffee and baked goods—but it would be a peaceful one. Or you’re welcome to warm up whatever soup or stew is left from the previous day.”
Giving up your own breakfast?
Surreal wondered. “Thanks. We’re expected at Lucivar’s eyrie tomorrow morning, but I, at least, will take advantage of the coffee shop and bakery most of the time after that.”
“Well, then,” Merry said. “I’ll let you get settled in.”
“One other thing,” Surreal said before Merry had a chance to escape. Because that was what the other woman clearly had in mind—bolting before this last detail was mentioned. “How do you want me to pay for the food and lodging? By the day or week?”
“That’s not necessary,” Merry said, her eyes looking bigger and darker in a rapidly paling face.
“Yes, it is,” Surreal countered politely.
“No, it isn’t.”
“Damn him, I
told
him I was going to pick up the tab for my own lodging. So you’ll give the bill to me.”
“No. Uh-uh. If you want to argue with Prince Yaslana about this, you go right ahead. But he was
very
clear about what he expected from
me
.”
Of course he was. The prick. And wasn’t it interesting where the line got drawn between Lucivar the friend and Prince Yaslana the ruler of Ebon Rih?
“All right, fine,” Surreal grumbled. “I’ll deal with him in my own way.”
Merry made a sound that might have been a squeak, and the next thing Surreal heard was the woman clattering down the stairs.
“Don’t be such a bitch,” she scolded herself. “You know what it’s like trying to deal with your male relatives. You wear the Gray and they roll right over you. How do you expect Tiger Eye to face down someone like Lucivar?”
No recourse. Daemon would tell her not to be an ass about who paid for what, since the SaDiablo family as a whole was not only the most powerful family in Kaeleer; they were also the wealthiest. Lucivar wasn’t going to feel pinched by the tab for her lodgings, but that wasn’t the point. Paying for it herself wouldn’t pinch her pocket either.
On the other hand, whenever she had accepted a job as an assassin, her client sometimes paid for her expenses as well as her fee.
Which circled back to the question of why she really was staying at The Tavern.
Going to the window, she pulled back the sheer curtain and stared at the mountain Lucivar called home as she lobbed a thought on a Gray psychic thread. *Yaslana.*
*Are you going to start whining already?*
He sounded amused. He sounded like he’d been waiting for her to contact him.
Damn him. His wife, Marian, either was crazy in love with him or had more patience than was natural.
*We need to talk,*Surreal said.*Privately. And if you give me any excuses, I’ll kick you so hard your balls will end up lodged between your ears.*
*If you bring a crossbow to this meeting, I will smack you brainless.*
She grinned. Couldn’t help it. The last time she’d wanted to discuss something with Lucivar, she’d threatened to shoot him in order to assure she would have his undivided attention. *Fine. No crossbow—unless I have to come looking for you.*
He laughed. They’d come out even in this little pissing contest, so she was pretty pleased too.
*This evening,* he said. *Once the little beast is tucked in for the night. Do you know the house in Doun where my mother used to live?*
*I’ll find it.*
*I’ll meet you there.*
Are you sure you want to meet there?
Apparently Lucivar also wanted to meet without attracting attention. She couldn’t think of another reason for him to choose that location.
She unpacked her clothes, then got acquainted with the room. The small desk held a supply of paper, as well as pens, sealing wax, and a couple of decorative seals for guests who might not have a family seal. The bottom of the bedside table had a stack of books—mostly collections of stories, but there were a couple of Lady Fiona’s Tracker and Shadow novels, including the newest one, which she hadn’t read yet.
No books by Jarvis Jenkell, the writer who had tried to kill her and Rainier. Was that because Merry hadn’t liked his work, or had the woman removed anything that would remind her guests of that nightmarish effort to survive?
Any reminder that wasn’t still lodged in flesh, Surreal thought as she felt the rasp in her breathing. She would need to take care for the rest of this winter, but her lungs would eventually heal completely. Rainier’s leg, on the other hand, would never be the same.
She opened the bathroom door, intending to claim her half of the shelves and storage space, and heard movement in the next room. She rapped on the door.
“It’s open,” he said.
She opened the door, then leaned on the doorframe to study the Warlord Prince who was one of the few men she thought of as a friend.
When they returned to Amdarh after spending Winsol at the Keep with the rest of the SaDiablo family, he’d retreated during the last half of the holiday, claiming he needed time to get ready for this little “adventure” in Ebon Rih. She hadn’t challenged him because she had her own preparations to make for this stay.
Looking at him, she regretted that decision.
He’d lost weight in those few days. All the Blood burned up food faster than landens did, and the darker the Jewel a person wore, the more food was required to keep the body from consuming itself. Rainier obviously hadn’t been eating enough to sustain what had been a very fine build. His face looked leaner and harder, those dreamy green eyes were shadowed by more than one kind of pain, and the brown hair that was usually worn stylishly shaggy looked unkempt.
Rainier’s leg would never be the same, no matter how skilled the Healer—and he hadn’t been helping. What none of them could figure out was
why
he seemed determined to prevent that leg from healing as completely as possible.
“Want some help unpacking?” she asked.
“I can still take care of myself,” he snapped as he grabbed several carefully folded shirts and fisted wrinkles into all of them.
“I didn’t say otherwise, sugar.”
She knew he heard the warning in the word “sugar,” because he gave her a long look.
Have you seen Falonar yet?
It was there, on the edge of being said, a deliberately hurtful punch to the heart. But he didn’t say it. She saw the decision in his eyes not to throw that emotional fist.
“Have you finished your own unpacking?” he asked.
“Mostly. I was just about to claim my share of the bathroom space when I heard you moving around in here.”
He snorted. “Will I have
any
room for my things?”
“As our friend Karla would say, kiss kiss.”
He laughed and held out the shirts. “Fine. Just put the clothes where it will be logical to find them. And I mean male logic, not what passes for female logic.”
“My, my. Aren’t we feeling pissy today?”
He limped over to the corner of the room that had a stuffed chair and footrest, as well as a reading lamp and side table. Settling in the chair and stretching out his legs, he sighed wearily. “Did Lucivar not consider the stairs when he chose this place, or were the rooms being on the second floor one of the reasons he chose it?”
“I’m not sure that was a consideration at all,” she said slowly as she put Rainier’s clothes into the drawers and closet. Before she could decide how much to tell him—especially since there wasn’t anything definite she
could
tell him—someone knocked on the door.
“It’s Jaenelle,” Rainier said before she had a chance to send out a psychic tendril and find out who was in the hallway.
“How do you know?” she asked as she walked to the door.
“Her psychic scent was always unique. It’s a little different now that she wears Twilight’s Dawn, but there’s no mistaking it.”
Which just proved a Queen was a Queen whether she ruled officially or not. Unless there was a reason to pay attention, psychic scents were ignored in the same way as physical scents. But a male who served in a court would always know when his Queen was nearby.
“Is the fact that you’re all still that observant something you don’t want to call attention to?” Surreal asked as she opened the door.
“Call attention to what?” Jaenelle asked as she walked into the room.
“An unobservant man makes a poor flirt,” Rainier said. His green eyes glittered with a warning to drop the subject.
“If that’s the case, you’re very observant, Prince,” Jaenelle said. “No, stay there,” she added when he started to shift in order to get to his feet. “I can check the leg just fine where you’re sitting. Surreal, do you want to sit on the side of the bed or go back to your room for privacy?”
“That depends on what we’re doing,” Surreal replied warily.
“I’m here to assess your current health and report it to the Prince of Ebon Rih, along with my requirements for what can and cannot be included in your training.”
“I get tired easily, and my lungs still get raspy if I exert myself too much, especially outdoors,” Surreal said. “And I still feel weak, so I won’t be able to do much of the training Lucivar has in mind.”
Jaenelle waited a beat, then looked at Rainier. “No protest or snarls from the Warlord Prince, which means he was aware of these limitations—and your Healer was not.”
Rainier winced when Surreal stared at him. *Sorry. I didn’t know you hadn’t talked to her yet.*
*Yeah.* Surreal looked into Jaenelle’s sapphire eyes, judged the sharpness of the temper she saw there, and meekly sat on the side of Rainier’s bed.
Jaenelle rested her hands on Surreal’s chest, her fingers spread wide. Warmth flowed from that touch. Surreal felt it on her skin, then in her muscles. A slow, soothing, pleasant sensation—and as she drifted on and in that sensation, her body told Jaenelle every secret it had.
*So,* Jaenelle said on a distaff thread, *are you just trying to avoid some of the training or are you exaggerating the severity of the damage you sustained while in the spooky house to misguide Rainier for some reason?*
The chill that flowed along that psychic thread surprised her. She hadn’t expected Jaenelle to be so pissed off about what was, after all, a ploy to get out of spending more time with the Eyriens than she absolutely had to. Then she realized she hadn’t taken into account that Jaenelle wasn’t just a Healer and she wasn’t just family. She was also a Queen who had never hesitated to defend a member of her court—and no matter whom he worked for or served in the future, Rainier would always be hers. Lying to him would not be acceptable behavior.
*I told Rainier the truth,* Surreal said. *But I didn’t want
everyone
to know.*
The chill faded and was replaced by sharp humor. *You don’t want Lucivar to know that you haven’t recovered fully because he’ll fuss over you, but you still want him to release you from a lot of the training?*
When put that way, the logic sounded more than a little fuzzy. *I was hoping that, as a Healer, you could . . . Hell’s fire, I hate feeling weak.*
*All the more reason to do the work that will make you strong again.*