“Darling, what you need is time and rest.” He leaned toward her. “But if you ever feel concerned that someone might be using a spell to harm you, you send word to me.”
Marian nodded and pushed to her feet. “I’m a hearth witch. I don’t like being idle.” She sounded petulant, which was foolish.
Daemon smiled, called in a book, held it so she could read the title, then raised an eyebrow.
A new book by one of her favorite authors.
“There is idle,” Daemon purred, “and then there is enjoying a self-indulgent—”
“Gimme.” She reached for the book.
Laughing, he gave it to her. “A fair exchange for the bread and whatever else you put in the cold box.” He kissed her cheek. “Go home, put your feet up, and enjoy a good story.”
Her smile faded almost before it formed. Something off about him. She hadn’t sensed it while he’d been focused on her, but now, thinking about the shadows in his eyes, she wondered if he, too, was fighting some kind of illness.
“I think I’m not the only one who could use a lazy day,” she said.
“Which is why I’m here.”
A breezy reply—and a lie. Whatever need had brought Daemon to the cabin this time was more than wanting a reprieve from responsibilities. He would tell her or, more likely, Lucivar when he was ready to talk about whatever was troubling him.
“Thank you for the book.” She let him escort her out of the cabin and had the uneasy feeling that he needed her to be gone. That feeling was confirmed the moment she stepped off the porch and Black shields went up around the cabin. No one could reach him now, not even Lucivar.
She flew home and wasn’t surprised to find Lucivar standing at the edge of the flagstone courtyard, waiting for her. Or waiting for something, since his focus remained on Riada even as he held out a hand to her.
“Did you see him?” Lucivar asked.
Marian tucked herself against his side. “I don’t think your brother is well.”
“Yeah. I know. The question is why.”
“He put Black shields around the cabin.”
Lucivar exhaled slowly. “I’ll give him a day. Then I’ll see what I can do.”
“He brought me a book.”
A laugh. “Does that mean you’re going to tuck in and enjoy a quiet day?”
Marian smiled. “Yes, that’s what it means.”
Lucivar turned them toward the eyrie. “In that case, I’ll look after our littlest beast for a while and give you a chance to settle in.”
Time and rest. She hoped those would be enough to make her healthy again. If they didn’t, if they couldn’t, there would be one last thing to try.
* * *
* * *
That afternoon, Lucivar and Rothvar paused for a moment to watch Jillian and Daemonar sparring in the yard before going into the kitchen.
“Coffee is fairly fresh, if you want some,” Lucivar said.
“I don’t need anything, thanks,” Rothvar replied. He leaned against the kitchen’s archway and looked toward the big front room. “The girl hasn’t come for any sparring these past few days.”
Lucivar poured a mug of coffee for himself. He didn’t really want it, but it served as a prop. “She’s been sparring with Daemonar before she helps Marian with some chores.”
“Tamnar has his brains in his pants lately,” Rothvar observed, not looking at Lucivar.
“He’s at that age.”
“You think the boy crossed a line and that’s why the girl has stayed away?”
Someone crossed a line. Or broke a rule. He had a bigger concern right now, so he’d give Jillian a little more time to find her backbone and tell him what was going on with Tamnar. And then he would put an end to whatever was going on.
“You think there’s something we need to do about it?” Rothvar asked.
“Not us. Not yet.” Lucivar studied his second-in-command. “Did you know Hallevar when he was an arms master in the hunting camps in Askavi Terreille?”
Rothvar shook his head. “I was trained by another arms master.”
“I had firsthand experience with Hallevar.” Lucivar smiled. “Let him deal with Tamnar. He’ll get the boy’s brains back above the shoulders.”
Rothvar chuckled, then tipped his chin in the direction of the yard. “And the rest?”
“I’ll wait.” Lucivar joined Rothvar, leaning against the other side of the archway. “Patience is an important part of a hunt.”
“For this hunt, better you than me.”
Lucivar huffed. “Seems like one day they’re cute and cuddly little witchlings, and the next they have female . . . opinions.”
“Like I said. Better you than me. I’ll make a final sweep around this part of the valley and check in with the camps at the northern end.” Rothvar hesitated. “The Black is in the valley.”
“My brother is staying at the cabin for a day or two.”
After Rothvar left, Lucivar poured the coffee down the sink and rinsed out the mug. If he reached out now, who would answer? Daemon? The High Lord? Or the Sadist?
٭Bastard?٭ he called on an Ebon-gray spear thread.
٭Prick?٭
Thank the Darkness, he felt warmth, not ice, running through the thread between them.
٭Thanks for giving Marian the book. She’s been tucked away in her private room since she got home.٭
٭Good.٭
٭You want to come to the eyrie for dinner?٭
٭Not tonight.٭ Daemon retreated from the link.
Yes, there had been warmth, but there had been something else, too, leaving Lucivar to wonder whether it was physical fatigue or weariness of the heart he’d heard in his brother’s voice.
EIGHT
Daemon clenched his teeth and gripped the edge of the examination table as Nyssa, the newly qualified Healer, ran her hand down his bare back—a possessive, inviting touch rather than a professional one. At least, that’s what it felt like, but the headaches had become severe enough in the past week for him to seek help, so he could be mistaking her intentions.
He hoped so, for her sake.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Prince,” Nyssa said as she caressed his back again. “You’re in prime condition.”
Too much emphasis on the word prime?