Dreams Made Flesh (The Black Jewels #5)

Dreams Made Flesh (The Black Jewels #5) Page 37

Saetan smiled. “You’re not hiding, you’re practicing domestic survival skills. If you leave Marian to deal with all the visitors I expect you’ll have in the next few days, she’ll be more than justified in kicking your ass.”

TWENTY-ONE

Marian rushed into The Tavern, relieved to see Merry behind the bar. Even more relieved that the place hadn’t begun to fill up with the people who stopped by for a midday meal.

“I need a small keg of ale,” Marian said. Then she frowned. “Maybe two.”

“Having a party?” Merry asked as she wiped down the bar.

“A party would be fun. This is—” Marian perched on a stool. “I’m not sure what this is.”

“Word got out,” Merry said, cocking her head. “You’ve been having visitors?”

Marian groaned. “It wasn’t so bad yesterday. Several aristo Ladies from Doun called on Lucivar to assure him they hadn’t done anything to deserve exile. Which makes you wonder what they had done. But today . . .”

“Last night, everyone who came into our place was talking about Roxie’s exile.” Merry reached for the coffee mug on the bar. “Good for us to be rid of the bitch. Good for Lucivar for doing it.” She raised the mug in a salute. “Here’s to the Prince of Ebon Rih.”

“And how is our Lady Marian today?” Briggs said as he walked in from the back room.

“She needs two small kegs of ale,” Merry replied.

“I’ll add a couple of bottles of brandy to that,” Briggs said. “The Prince might need something a bit stronger than ale by the time the day is done.” He grinned. “Or you will.”

Marian smiled weakly. There was more truth in that than Briggs knew. She’d baked yesterday and early this morning in anticipation of having a few visitors after Lucivar had told her about Roxie, but she hadn’t anticipated so many. She’d already stopped at the bakery since there wasn’t time to tend to the visitors and do more baking herself.

When the kegs and brandy appeared on the bar, she vanished them and jumped off the stool. “I’d better get back.”

“I’m making steak pies to serve this evening,” Merry said. “I’ll make an extra and send it up to you. You’ll have enough to do today without putting a meal together.”

“Thanks,” Marian said with a smile. She hurried out of The Tavern and flew home as fast as she could.

Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful, Lucivar thought as he went to answer the door—again. How did Saetan tolerate days like this? A fist in the face had always gotten his message across well enough. Why did he have to talk to all these people?

And where was Marian? The aristo bitches from Doun had looked at her with barely concealed sneers, but the merchants and other family men who were showing up looked relieved when she greeted them and offered some refreshment. He made them nervous. She was someone they felt easy being around. Which is why he’d let her run herself ragged looking after them while they waited for an audience with him.

As soon as she got back, he was going to lock the door and they were going to sit down for a quick meal and an hour’s peace. Until then . . .

When he opened the door, the Queen of Riada’s Consort—and husband—walked in. A Summer-sky Prince, he’d been with his Lady for ten years now and was the father of her two children.

“Is the Queen upset about my decision?” Lucivar asked as he closed the door.

“No,” the Prince replied. Then he smiled. “Although she’s had her share of visitors today. No, I’m not here on my Queen’s behalf.”

Lucivar studied the man. He didn’t know him well since he preferred a place like The Tavern to a dining house that catered to aristos, and the only time he’d attended dinner parties was when Jaenelle had been invited as well and needed him to be her escort.

“When Roxie leaves Ebon Rih, she’ll no longer be your problem—or ours, for which I thank you. But a woman who would make false accusations about an Ebon-gray Warlord Prince is either stupid or trouble or both.”

“We agree on that. I’m sorry to make her someone else’s problem, but I couldn’t justify doing more than getting her out of Ebon Rih.”

“I understand that. There are ways to handle such problems.” The Prince looked uncomfortable. “Sometimes a person takes a wrong turn and needs a new place where a smear on his, or her, reputation isn’t reflected back from every person he meets.”

Bitterness filled the Prince’s eyes for a moment before a different memory warmed them again, making Lucivar wonder what kind of smear had brought the man to Ebon Rih for a fresh start.

“Sometimes that’s all a person needs to find everything he was looking for,” the Prince continued softly. Then he stiffened, as if suddenly realizing he’d said too much. “And sometimes a person won’t change. A Lady can sleep with a different man every day of the year, and no one will say a thing because that is a Lady’s privilege. At least, no one will say anything publicly. But a woman who is a user gets a reputation among the men, and when she leaves one hunting ground for another, word is quietly sent to warn the men there that her . . . affection . . . may not be sincere.”

Lucivar nodded. He would have preferred blunt words to this diplomatic hedging, but he was Eyrien. “You have a solution?”

The Prince tipped his head in acknowledgment. “My brother serves as an escort in a Queen’s court. She rules one of the larger cities on the coast of Askavi. A quiet word to him would spread to the other courts. If Roxie relocates to one of their cities, they’ll know.”

Lucivar thought about the young man he’d met on Roxie’s street, a young man who would spend the next few years working hard to clean that smear off his reputation. “Do it.”

Just then Marian rushed in from the kitchen, looking breathless and windblown—and beautiful.

“Lucivar, I—Oh. Good day, Prince.”

“Lady Marian,” the Prince replied, offering her a slight bow.

“Would you care for refreshments?”

Lucivar almost grinned at the exasperated look she gave him, could almost hear her thoughts: Leave him alone for a few minutes, and he keeps an important visitor standing at the door. She’d come a long way from the frightened hearth witch who had sat at his kitchen table last summer.

“Thank you for the offer, Lady, but I need to be getting back.”

When the Prince left, Lucivar locked the front door and came back to the kitchen, rubbing his hands over his face. “I don’t care who comes knocking, for the next hour you and I are going to have some peace.”

“I brought back kegs of ale and some brandy,” Marian said as she unbuckled the belt of her new cape.

“Give me a hug. That will do more for me than ale and brandy put together.”

She looked at him, startled, then gave him an understanding smile as she walked into his open arms.

“Poor Lucivar,” she said as she slid her arms around him. “You’ve had a beastly day, haven’t you?”

He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “And it’s not over yet.” There was one visitor he was expecting who hadn’t shown up yet. He was almost looking forward to that little discussion.

Marian heard the raised voices when she came out of the pantry with a jar of fruit to go with the steak pie. Feeling cowardly when she recognized Luthvian’s voice, but not sufficiently ashamed of the feeling to enter the front room, she stayed at the edge of the kitchen where it was least likely she’d be seen. She didn’t want to get in the middle of this—especially when she heard a viciousness in Lucivar’s voice that made her shiver.

“Don’t use that tone with me,” Luthvian said.

“What tone?” Lucivar snarled. “I’m not a boy you can slap down, and I’m not a slave you can control. You don’t like my tone, get out of my house.”

Luthvian’s voice gained a sharp, slicing edge. “You exiled an aristo witch simply because—”

“She was a bitch, a liar, and a user. She got away with it because she never quite crossed the line of forcing a male into her bed. Well, planning to accuse me of attempted rape crossed that line.”

“You only have the word of a hearth witch that Roxie intended any such thing.”

“A witch who was willing to open her mind to my Queen, knowing a lie would destroy her. Hell’s fire, Luthvian! It doesn’t matter if Roxie would have gone through with accusing me. Even if she’d had second thoughts about taking me on, she wouldn’t have had second thoughts about trying that game with a male who wouldn’t have known what to do once she’d gotten a Ring of Obedience on him.”

“What would you have done?”

“Ripped the bitch apart. She wouldn’t have lived an hour after she put a Ring on me.”

Marian clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her gasp. As the tense silence continued, she peeked around the corner and caught a glimpse of Lucivar as he paced away from Luthvian and turned back, framed by the archway. The look on his face . . . Warrior. Predator. He looked magnificent. And terrifying.

“You don’t mean that,” Luthvian said, her voice tight.

His laugh was sharp and bitter. “I saw hundreds of Rox ies while I was a slave in Terreille. They didn’t survive me. Do you know why they stopped trying to use me as a pleasure slave, Luthvian? Because I was so damned vicious, and every one of those bitches left the bed damaged in one way or another. The bedroom wasn’t just a battleground for me; it was a killing field. I gloried in the spilled blood, the screams, the pain—because those bitches gloried in inflicting pain, in spilling blood, in hearing men scream.”

“Stop it,” Luthvian said.

“Why? Turning squeamish? I loathed everything Roxie was.”

“She was a high-spirited aristo witch,” Luthvian protested. “Maybe she’d become too obsessed with having you for a lover, but she’s just—”