Daughter of the Blood

12—Terreille



Greer sat on the white-sheeted bed in one of Briarwood's private rooms, cradling what was left of his good hand.



It could have been worse. If that limping stable brat hadn't slashed at him with a knife, slicing through his little finger so it only hung by a thread of skin, he never would have gotten the secondary controlling ring off in time when Sadi broke the Ring of Obedience. In that moment when he'd felt the Black explode, he'd ripped the finger off and flung it away from him. A guard, seeing something hurled toward him, grabbed instinctively, his hand closing around the ring.



Foolish man. Foolish, foolish man.



With the Ring of Obedience broken and with no way to know if Sadi had been hurt by the effort, Greer had run to Briarwood, where the healing would be done without questions. It was also the only place the Sadist wouldn't strike at blindly. Here they had some leverage—at least for a few hours more. After that he would be gone, speeding back to Hayll to melt away among the many, encircled by Dorothea's court. Briarwood and its patrons would still be here to quench Sadi's thirst for vengeance.



Greer lay down on the bed, letting the painkillers lull him into much-needed rest. In a few short hours, the Dark Priestess's little problem would be no more, and Sadi.



Let the bastard scream.



13—Hell



Saetan made another erratic circuit around his private study.



He stared at Cassandra's portrait.



He stared at the tangled web he'd finished a short time ago, at the warning that may have come too late.



He shook his head slowly, denying what the vision in the tangled web had shown him.



An inner web still intact. A shattered crystal chalice. And blood. So much blood.



He had never invaded Jaenelle's privacy. Against his better judgment, against all his instincts, he had never invaded her privacy. But now . . .



"No," he said with soft malevolence. "You will not take my Queen from me. You will not take my daughter."



There was only one place from which he could penetrate the mist. Only one place he could use to amplify his strength to reach across the Realm. Only one witch who had the knowledge to help him do it.



Throwing his cape over his shoulders, he flicked a glance at the door, tearing it off the hinges. Gliding through the deep corridors of the Hall, his rage glazing the rough stones with ice, he brushed past Mephis and Prothvar, seeing no one, seeing nothing but that web.



"Where are you going, SaDiablo?" Andulvar called, striding to intercept him.



Saetan snarled softly.



The Hall trembled.



Andulvar hesitated for only a moment before setting himself squarely in the path of the High Lord of Hell.



"Yaslana." The rage had become very quiet, very still.



This was what they feared in him.



"You can tell me where you're going, or you can go through me," Andulvar said calmly. Only a tiny muscle tic in his jaw betrayed him.



Saetan smiled, raising his right hand in a lover's caress. Remembering in time that this man was his friend and also loved Jaenelle, he sheathed the snake tooth, and the hand gently squeezed Andulvar's shoulder.



"To Ebon Askavi," he whispered as he caught the Black Wind and vanished.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN



1—Terreille



Surreal dreamed. She and Titian were walking through a wood. Titian was trying to warn her about something, but Surreal couldn't hear her. The woods, Titian, everything, was silenced by the loud, steady pounding of a drum.



As they reached the edge of the woods, Surreal noticed a tree with a perfect branch, a tree sweating dark red sap.



Titian walked past the tree across a lawn filled with tall, silvery flowers. As she picked a flower here and there, it turned into a knife, sharp and shining. Smiling, she offered the bouquet to Surreal.



The drum beat louder, harder.



Someone was screaming.



Titian continued walking toward a large, mist-filled rectangle, pointing here and there. Every time she pointed, the mist drew away. Two redheads. A girl with no eyes. A girl with a slit throat whose eyes blazed with impotent fury. A girl with one leg.



At the far end of the rectangle was a mound of freshly dug earth.



The drum beat faster.



Someone was shrieking, enraged and in pain.



Surreal approached the mound, drawn by something lying over the dirt. As she approached, witchblood began to sprout and bloom, forming a crown around a length of golden hair.



"No!" Surreal yelled, flinging herself out of the bed. The heartbeat drum pounded against her ribs. The screaming in her head didn't stop.



2—Hell



"You're going to help me," Saetan said, turning to face Draca.



"To do what, High Lord?" Draca asked. Her unblinking reptilian eyes revealed nothing.



"Penetrate the mist around Beldon Mor." His golden eyes locked with Draca's, willing her to yield.



Draca studied him for a long time. "There iss danger?"



"I believe so."



"You break faith with her."



"I'd rather have her hate me than have her lost to all of us," Saetan replied sharply.



Draca considered this. "Even the Black iss not sso far-reaching. A leasst not the Black you wear, High Lord. The help I can offer will only let you know what iss beyond the misst, to ssee but not to act. To act, you would need to link with another, sspear to sspear."



Saetan licked his lips, took a deep breath. "There is one there who may help, who may let me use him."



"Come." Draca led him through the corridors of Ebon Askavi toward a large stairwell that descended into the heart of the mountain.



As they reached the stairwell, hurrying footsteps made Saetan swing around in challenge.



Geoffrey appeared around the corner, followed by Andulvar, Prothvar, and Mephis. Andulvar and Prothvar were dressed for battle. Mephis's anger blazed from his Gray Jewel.



Saetan flicked a dagger glance at each of them before his eyes and his anger settled on Andulvar. "Why are you here, Yaslana?" Saetan asked in his soft, dangerous croon.



Andulvar clenched his hands. "That web in your study."



"Ah, so now you possess the ability to read the Hourglass's webs."



"I could snap you like kindling!"



"You'd have to reach me first."



A slow grin bared Andulvar's teeth. Then the grin faded. "The waif's in trouble, isn't she? That's what the web warned you about."



"It's not your concern."



"She doesn't belong just to you, High Lord!" Andulvar roared.



Saetan closed his eyes. Sweet Darkness, give me the strength. "No," he agreed, letting Andulvar see his pain, "she doesn't belong just to me. But I'm the only one strong enough to do what has to be done, and"—he raised a hand to stop their protests, his eyes never leaving Andulvar's face—"if someone has to stand responsible for what's going to happen, if someone is going to earn her hatred, let it be only one of us so the others can still cherish her—and serve her."



"Saetan," Andulvar said, his voice husky. "Ah, Saetan. Is there nothing we can do?"



Saetan blinked rapidly. "Wish me well."



"Come," Draca said urgently. "The Darknesss . . . We musst hurry."



Saetan followed her down the stairwell to the locked door at the bottom. Pulling a large key from her sleeve, Draca unlocked the door and pushed it open.



Etched in the floor of the enormous cavern was a huge web lined with silver. In the center where all the tether lines met was an iridescent Jewel the size of Saetan's hand, a Jewel that blended the colors of all the other Jewels. At the end of each silver tether line was an iridescent Jewel chip the size of his thumbnail.



As Saetan and Draca walked along the edge of the web, the Jewels began to glow. A low hum rose from the web, rising up and up until the cavern throbbed with the sound.



"Draca, what is this place?" Saetan whispered.