Queen of the Darkness

"No lies, Hallevar. I'll take them for themselves, subject to the Queen's approval just like any other male."



Hallevar smiled, obviously relieved. "I'll tell them to fetch our things." A curt wave of his hand had the two boys racing toward the barracks. Without looking at Lucivar, he asked, "Is he proud of you?"



"When he doesn't want to throttle me or kick my ass."



Hallevar tried to swallow a laugh and ended up wheezing. "I'd like to meet him."



"You will," Lucivar promised dryly.



Whether it was seeing the first ones being accepted or needing a little time to gather their courage, others approached him.



There was the young Warlord, Endar, and his wife, Dorian, their son, Alanar, and their little Queen daughter, Orian.



The woman was frightened, the man tense. But the little girl gave him a sweet smile and leaned away from her mother, her arms reaching for him.



Lucivar took her, settled her on his hip, and grinned. "Don't get any ideas, bright-eyes. I'm taken," he told her as he tickled gently and made her giggle. When he gave the girl back to her mother, Dorian stared at him as if he'd grown another head.



Next came Nurian, a Healer who hadn't completed her training yet, and her younger sister, Jillian, who was on the cusp of changing from girl to woman.



There was Kohlvar, a weapons maker. And there were Rothvar and Zaranar, two warriors Lucivar remembered from the hunting camps.



One thought nagged at him as he talked with them. Why were they here? Kohlvar had been a young man, by the standard of the long-lived races, when Lucivar was first sent away from Askavi. Even then, when Kohlvar was just past his journeymanship, he'd been known for the strength and the balance of the weapons he made. He should have made a good living in Terreille, and he could have stayed away from court intrigue if he'd chosen to. Rothvar and Zaranar were seasoned warriors, the kind who could have found a position in most of the courts in Askavi or accepted any independent work they chose.



And why would an aristo Warlord Prince like Falonar leave Terreille?



The wariness inside him grew. Were things far worse in Terreille than anyone here suspected, or were these men here for another reason?



Lucivar pushed those thoughts aside. He hadn't sensed anything in the people who had approached him that would make him decide against them, so he would let the questions rest for now. And he would let Jaenelle pass judgment.



By the time the last man left to fetch his things from the barracks, Lucivar had agreed to take twenty males and a dozen females.



How many of these people would survive the full term of their contracts? he wondered as they hurried toward him with the meager belongings they had been allowed to bring with them. There were other dangers in Kaeleer beyond the ones they expected. And there were the demon-dead. Considering where he was taking them, they would quickly have to come to terms with having the demon-dead walk among them.



He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Ready?"



It amused him, but didn't surprise him, when Falonar looked over the group and answered him as if he'd already accepted the man as his second-in-command.



"We're ready."



2 / Kaeleer



Daemon Sadi crossed his legs at the knee, steepled his fingers, and rested his long, black-tinted nails against his chin. "What about the Queens in the other Territories?" he asked in his deep, cultured voice.



Lord Jorval smiled wearily. "As I've explained before, Prince Sadi, the Queens outside of Little Terreille are not eager to accept their Terreillean Brothers and Sisters into their courts, and even the immigrants who do get contracts are made to feel less than welcome."



"Did you inquire?" Daemon's gold eyes glazed slightly. A stranger or slight acquaintance might have thought he looked tired or bored, but that sleepy look would have terrified anyone who really knew him.



"I inquired," Jorval said a bit sharply. "The Queens didn't reply."



Daemon glanced at the four sheets of paper spread out on the desk in front of him. In the past two days, he and Jorval had sat in this room six times. Those sheets of paper, listing the four Queens who were interested in obtaining his services, had been offered to him at the first meeting. They had been the only ones offered.



Jorval folded his hands and sighed. "You must understand. A Warlord Prince is considered a dangerous asset, even when he wears a lighter Jewel and is serving among his own people. A man with your strength and reputation" He shrugged. "I realize your expectations might be different. The Darkness knows, there are so many who have an unrealistic idea of life in Kaeleer. But I can assure you, Prince, that having four Queens who are willing to accept the challenge of having you serve in their courts for the next five years is unusual—and not an opportunity that should be brushed aside."



Daemon didn't give any indication that the warning had been felt as much as a physical jab would have been. No, he couldn't brush aside the narrow choices if he wanted to stay in Kaeleer. But he wasn't sure he could stomach any of those women long enough to do what he had originally come here to do. And he couldn't help wondering how large a gift Jorval would receive from whichever Queen he chose.



Suddenly it was too much: the lack of sleep, the pressure to make an unpalatable choice, the nerves that were strained because of what he had planned to do—and the questions that had arisen from the gossip he had sifted through as he walked around the service fair.



"I'll consider them and let you know," Daemon said, moving toward the door with the graceful speed that tended to make people think of a feline predator.



"Prince Sadi," Jorval called sharply.



Daemon stopped at the door and turned.



"The last bell will ring in less than an hour. If you haven't made a choice by then, you will no longer have a choice. You will have to accept whatever offer is made or leave Kaeleer."



"I'm aware of that, Lord Jorval," Daemon said too softly.



He left the building, slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, and began walking aimlessly.



He despised Lord Jorval. There was something about the man's psychic scent, something tainted. And there were too many things hidden behind the dark, flat eyes. From the moment he'd met Jorval, he'd had to fight against the instinctive desire to rise to the killing edge and tuck the thin Warlord into a deep, secret grave.



Why had Lord Magstrom handed him over to Jorval?



He had talked to the elderly man briefly when he arrived in Goth late on the third day of the fair and had been cautiously willing to trust the man's judgment. When he had expressed his desire to serve in a court outside of Little Terreille, Magstrom's blue eyes had twinkled with amusement.



The Queens outside of Little Terreille are very selective in their choices,Magstrom had said.But they do have an advantage for a man like you —they know how to handle dark-Jeweled males.



Magstrom had promised to make some inquiries, and they had arranged to meet early the following morning. But when Daemon arrived for the meeting, it was Lord Jorval who was waiting for him with the names of four Queens who wanted to control his life for the next five years.



Questionable food smells that he caught in passing sharpened an already keen temper by reminding him that he'd eaten almost nothing in the past two days. The clash of strong perfumes mingled with equally strong body odors helped him remember why he hadn't eaten.



More than that, the inability to sleep and the lack of appetite were due to the questions that had no answers. At least, not here.



It had taken him five years after walking out of the Twisted Kingdom to come to Kaeleer. There had been no hurry. Jaenelle had not been waiting for him as she had promised when she had marked the trail to lead him out of madness. Hestill didn't know what had really happened when he had tried to bring Jaenelle out of the abyss in order to save her body. His memories of that night, thirteen years ago, were still jumbled, still had pieces missing. He had a vague memory of someone telling him that Jaenelle had died—that the High Lord had tricked another male into being the instrument that had destroyed an extraordinary child.



So when Jaenellehadn't been on the island where Surreal and Manny had kept him safe and hidden, and when Surreal had told him about the shadow Jaenelle had created in order to bring him out of the Twisted Kingdom



He had spent the past five years believing that he had killed the child who was his Queen; had spent the past five years believing that she had used the last of her strength to bring him out of madness so that he would call in the debt owed to her; had spent the past five years honing his Craft skills and allowing his mind to heal as much as it could for only one reason: to come to Kaeleer and destroy the man who had used him as the instrument—his father, the High Lord of Hell.



But now that he was here



Gossip and speculation about the witches in the Shadow Realm flowed through this place, currents of thoughts easily plucked from the air. The currents that had unnerved him as he'd walked around the fair yesterday were the speculations about a strange, terrifying witch that could see a man's soul in a glance. According to the gossip, anyone who signed a contract outside of Little Terreille was brought before this witch, and anyone found wanting didn't live to see another sunrise.



He might have dismissed that gossip except that it finally occurred to him that, perhaps, Jaenellehad been waiting for him, but not in Terreille. He'd let grief cloud his thinking, locking away all but the best memories of the few months he had known her. So he'd forgotten about the ties she already had to Kaeleer.



If she reallywas in the Shadow Realm, he'd already lost five years he could have spent with her. He wasn't going to spend the next five in some other court, yearning from a distance.



If, that is, she reallywas alive.



A change in the psychic scents around him pulled him from his thoughts. He looked around and swore under his breath.



He was at the far end of the fairgrounds. Judging by the sky, he'd have to run in order to get back to the administrators' building and make a choice before the bell ending the last day of the fair rang. Even then, he might not have a choice if Jorval wasn't waiting for him.