"No," Tersa said, her anger breaking free. "She shouldnot have you.You could not look at what was done to that flesh and believe it could still live. But the kindred do not doubt.The kindred will not believe anything else. That is why, if it can be done, they are the ones who can do it." She jumped up and ran out of the room.

Surreal waited a moment, then followed. She didn't find Tersa, but she found Graysfang hovering nearby, whining anxiously.

She studied the wolf. Kindred do not doubt. They would sink in and fight for that dream with fangs and claws and never give it up. Well, she would never have a snout that could smell tracks, but she could damn well learn how to be as stubborn as a wolf. She would sink her teeth into the belief that Jaenelle was simply recovering somewhere private after performing an extremely difficult spell. She would sink in and hold on to that.

For Jaenelle's sake.

For Daemon's sake.

And for her own sake, because she wanted her friend to come back.

Chapter Sixteen

1 / Kaeleer

Daemon walked down the steps that led to the garden in the Hall, the garden that had two statues.

When he woke up from the sedative Surreal and Saetan had given him, he had asked to leave the Keep. They had gone with him. So had Tersa.

Lucivar hadn't.

That had been a week ago.

He wasn't sure what he'd done during the days since. They had simply passed. And at night...

At night, he crept from his own bed into Jaenelle's because it was the only place he could sleep. Her scent was there, and in the dark, he could almost believe that she was simply away for a little while, that he would wake one morning and find her cuddled up next to him.

He stared at the statue of the male, with its paw/hand curved protectively above the sleeping woman. Part human, part beast. Savagery protecting beauty. But now he saw something else in its eyes: the anguish, the price that sometimes had to be paid.

He turned away from it, walked over to the other statue, stared at the woman's face—that familiar, beloved face— for a long, long time.

The tears came—again. The pain was always there.

"Tersa keeps telling me that it will be all right, to trust one who sees," he told the statue. "Surreal keeps telling me not to give up, that the kindred will be able to bring you back. And I want to believe that. Ineed to believe that. But when I ask Tersa about you directly, she hesitates, says it's too soon to know, says the kindred are fighting to hold the dream to the flesh.Fighting to hold the dream to the flesh." He laughed bitterly. "They're not fighting to hold the dream to flesh, Jaenelle. They're fighting to put enough of you together again for there to be somethingfor the dream to come back to. And you knew what would happen, didn't you? When you decided to do this,you knew."

He paced, circled, came back to the statue.

"I did it for you," he said quietly. "I bought the time, I played the game. For you." His breathing hitched, came out in a sob. "I knew I would have to do some things that wouldn't be forgiven. Iknew it when you asked me to go to Hayll, but I did it anyway. F-for you. Because I was going to come back to you, and the rest of it wouldn't matter. B-because I was coming back toyou. But you sent me there knowing you wouldn't be here when I got back, knowing..." He sank to his knees. "You said no sacrifices. You made me promise I wouldn't make any sacrifices. But what do you call this, Jaenelle?What do you call this? When I got back, we were going to getm-married.... And you left me. Damn you, Jaenelle, I did this for you,and you left me. You left me."

He collapsed on the grass near the statue, sobbing.

Lucivar rested a fist against the stone wall and bowed his head.

Mother Night. Daemon had gone into that game expecting to come back for his own wedding.Mother Night.

He was here because Marian had ripped into him that morning, giving him the full thrust of the temper that lived beneath her quiet nature. She'd told him that, yes, he'd been hurt, but he'd been hurtto save them. She'd asked him if he would have preferred losing a wife or son in truth in order for his feelings to be spared. And she'd told him that the man she had married would have the courage to forgive.

That had brought him here.

But now...

When they'd both been slaves in Terreille, he and Daemon had played games before, had used each other, had hurt each other. Sometimes they'd done it to relieve their own pain, sometimes it had been for a better reason. But they'd always been able to look past those games and forgive the hurtbecause there had been no one else. They'd fought with each other, but they'd also foughtfor each other.

He had other people now, a wider circle to love. A wife, a son. Maybe that had made the difference. He didn'tneed Daemon. But, Hell's fire, Daemon neededhim right now.

But it was more than that. Thirteen years ago, he had wrongfully accused Daemon of killing Jaenelle. That had been the first hard shove that had ended with Daemon spending eight years in the Twisted Kingdom, lost in madness. And Daemon had forgiven him because, he'd said, he'd already grieved for a brother once and didn't want to do it again.

Daemon had believed a painful lie for thirteen years.He'd believed one for a couple of days. Marian had been right to rip into him.

So he would do what he could to mend things, for his own sake as well as for Daemon's. Because, during those long centuries of slavery when they'd had no one but each other, their anger had sometimes flared to moments of hate, but underneath there had always been love.

Pushing away from the wall, Lucivar walked down the steps, knelt in the grass beside Daemon. He touched his brother's shoulder.

Daemon looked at him out of a face devastated by grief before lunging into the open arms.

"I want her back," Daemon cried. "Oh, Lucivar,I want her back."

Lucivar held on tight as his own tears fell. "I know, old son. I know."

2 / Kaeleer

"You're leaving!" Lucivar leaped to his feet and stared at Saetan. "What do you mean, 'leaving'? To go where?" Pacing behind the two chairs in front of the blackwood desk, he pointed an accusing finger at his father. "You are not going to the Dark Realm. There's no one left there. And you are not going to be alone."

"Lucivar," Saetan said quietly. "Lucivar, please listen."

"When the sun shines in Hell."

*Prick,* Daemon said on an Ebon-gray spear thread.

*And why in the name of Hell are you just sitting there?* Lucivar demanded. *He's your father, too.*

Daemon bit back exasperation. *Let him talk, Prick. If we don't like what we hear, then we'll do something about it.* "You're leaving because of Sylvia?" he asked Saetan.

Lucivar froze, swore softly, then settled back into the chair.

"That's part of it," Saetan said. "A Guardian isn't meant to be among the living. Not that way." He hesitated, then added, "If I stay... I can't stay and be a friend and encourage her to... She deserves to be with someone who can give her more than I can now."

"You could come to Ebon Rih and live with us," Lucivar said.

"Thank you, Lucivar, but no. I've..." Saetan took a deep breath. "I've been offered a position at the Keep as assistant historian/librarian. Geoffrey says he's starting to feel his years, and it's my fault that he's had more work now than he's ever had because I'm the one who introduced the coven to the Keep's library, and it's time I started making myself useful."

"The Keep is only a mountain away from our eyrie," Lucivar said.

"You will not bring Daemonar to the library."

Lucivar gave Saetan a sharp smile. "Did you bring me there when I was his age?"

"Once," Saetan said dryly. "And Geoffrey still reminds me of that little adventure on occasion." He glanced at Daemon. "I'll come and visit both of you, just to find out how much trouble you're causing."

Daemon felt a tension ease. He wanted to see his father, but not at Ebon Askavi. He would never again set foot in the Keep.

"The family owns three counties in Dhemlan," Saetan said. "I've divided them between you. Daemon, I'm giving you the Hall and all the land and titles that go with it. Lucivar, you'll have the land that's near the Askavi border. The other property you'll own together."

"I don't need land," Lucivar protested.

"You're still the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih because the people want you to be the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih. But Daemonar may not want to rule—or you may have other sons or daughters who want a different kind of life. You'll be the caretaker of that land because the SaDiablo family has been the caretaker of that land for thousands of years. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Lucivar said quietly.

"And you?" Saetan said, pointedly looking at Daemon.

"Yes, sir," he replied just as quietly. Well, that explained why Saetan had insisted on spending the past two months teaching him the family business. He'd thought it was just a way to keep him occupied and too busy to think too much.

He'd welcomed the work, especially when he realized that Saetan had shouldered the burden of helping Geoffrey with a far more difficult task. He and Lucivar had been told the results, but he knew he couldn't have tolerated accumulating the information.

Over forty percent of the Blood in Terreille were gone. Completely gone. Another thirty percent had been broken back to basic Craft. The Blood who were left in Terreille were reeling from the devastation—and the sudden freedom.

He hadn't asked what had happened to Alexandra, Leland, and Philip—and Saetan hadn't offered the information. Or if he had, it had only been to Wilhelmina.

The numbers were about the same in Little Terreille as they were for the Realm of Terreille. But the rest of Kaeleer was mostly untouched—except for Glacia. Karla was struggling to reunite her people and re-form her court. The taint Dorothea and Hekatah had spread in the Blood might have been destroyed, but the scars remained.