٭Prince Yaslana,٭ she called on a Gray thread. ٭Your presence is required.٭

She’d barely had time to pour and warm another glass of yarbarah before Lucivar walked into her suite. He gave her one sharp look, then scanned the room, stopping when he saw the tangled web still connected to its wooden frame.

“Problem?” he asked.

“How is your brother?”

“Still getting bad headaches. The herb mixture Nurian makes for him relieves the pain to some degree, but she can’t find a physical reason for the headaches.”

No, she wouldn’t, Karla thought.

Lucivar closed the distance between them, his eyes never leaving her face. “You know why this is happening.” It wasn’t a question.

“I know there will be a price to pay before this is resolved, and it may be steep.”

“I won’t sacrifice my wife or children, but anything else . . .”

The Tersa in her vision had been right. If Daemon fell, Lucivar would go with him—and Kaeleer would lie in ruins by the time it was done.

“How is Surreal? Are things all right between her and Sadi?”

A flash of hot anger, swiftly controlled, filled the room.

“This hunt would be easier if you told me what kind of quarry I’m looking for,” Lucivar said.

And this is why the dead shouldn’t interfere with the living. And why Black Widows shouldn’t meddle in other people’s lives unless asked. We have no stake in the consequences of our words.

“I think Daemon’s headaches are being caused by his keeping the sexual heat leashed too tight,” Karla said.

Lucivar looked pointedly at the tangled web, then at her. “That’s it?”

No, that wasn’t all of it, but if Tersa was right about the rest and Daemon had to reach an unendurable threshold of pain in order to keep his mind from shattering, relieving any of the pain could be a mistake. She still felt Lucivar should know at least some of it. Since he wore Ebon-gray, he might see the warning signs of deterioration in Daemon faster than anyone else.

She sighed. “There is some indication that Sadi has . . . damaged . . . his ability to control the heat, and that might be causing some trouble between him and Surreal.”

“Shit.” Lucivar blew out a breath. “Well, it’s Winsol, and in a couple more days all our official obligations will be met and the family will gather for a private celebration. I’ll see if he and I can go off on our own for a few hours during that time. Or as alone as we can be with children and Scelties underfoot.”

Lucivar took a step toward the door.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

He turned back. “I’ve known you since you were seventeen. I saw you through your Virgin Night. I know I’m the only man who has ever touched you that way. And I know when you’re lying. Telling me about the sexual heat? You’re just throwing ash in my face, making it hard for me to see the rest. You always talked straight, Karla. The fact that you’re not doing it now means whatever you saw in that web scares you, and there is nothing you or I or anyone else can do about what’s coming. So Daemon and I will do what we’ve always done: wait until we recognize the face of the enemy—and then fight.”

And if the enemy’s face is the one you see in the mirror? “Let’s hope it won’t come to that.”

“You go ahead and hope. I’m going home to sharpen my knives.”

Once Lucivar was away from the Keep, Karla disposed of the tangled web.

Bad choice. Shouldn’t have told him anything, especially during Winsol.

Nothing she could do now except hope that Daemon asked for help before the fighting began, because once it began, help, even if it came, would come too late.

THIRTEEN

Did I leave it too late?

Marian carefully set the clear Jewel that held the healing spell into a large mug and poured hot water over it. She immediately turned the five-minute hourglass timer, then struggled to think clearly for a few more minutes.

She’d made it through Winsol, feeling more frail with each passing day. She hadn’t wanted to upset everyone during the Blood’s most important celebration of the year, but she hadn’t fooled the adults in the family. Lucivar, Daemon, and Surreal had said nothing, but they’d all watched her.

Someone should be here to watch her. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

٭Lucivar?٭ She should have said something before he’d left to check on the villages in Ebon Rih. She should have . . . ٭Lucivar!٭

He was beyond the range of a Purple Dusk communication thread.

Nurian, then? But what if Nurian tried to stop her from taking this healing brew because the Healer didn’t understand what it was and Marian didn’t have time to explain?

She wasn’t thinking clearly. Wasn’t thinking . . .

Lucivar. Had to tell him, explain, something . . . in case the healing took a while.

She reached for a square of paper and the pencil she used to leave notes for her family. She looked at the sand running in the hourglass. Almost time.

Unable to hold the pencil properly because her fingers didn’t work right, she tried to form letters, tried to think of what to tell him. Lu . . . ci . . . var . . .

No time to explain, no time to call for help. Either Jaenelle Angelline’s healing spell cured the fading that had begun at baby Andulvar’s birth or . . .

She wouldn’t think about the alternative. Jaenelle had made the spell, so it would work.

As soon as the last grain of sand fell, she fished the Jewel out of the mug, wrapped it in a kitchen towel, and put the towel in a bowl. Taking bowl and mug with her, she retreated to her workroom. Besides the sewing cabinet, a worktable, and her loom, there were a daybed and a chair where she could rest or read. This was her private space in the eyrie, where she could enjoy solitude when she needed some. Lucivar insisted that no one was allowed to enter without her permission—and that included him.

The room, which usually felt cozy, now seemed impossibly long as she took step by shuffling step to the daybed. She drank the healing brew. When she tried to use Craft to vanish the bowl and mug, she discovered she couldn’t do something even that basic, so she pushed the items under the daybed to keep the room tidy. Had to keep things tidy, had to . . .

She lay down on the daybed, got as comfortable as she could, and pulled up the two quilts she hoped would help her fight the sudden chill that seemed to wrap around her bones.

Then she felt herself fall into rivers and night skies and cold winter winds. Falling, falling, falling. Couldn’t get her wings to open, couldn’t stop the plunge.