“And your cuddly witchling? How is she?”
Nerves danced under Lucivar’s skin. He pushed out of the chair, set the snifter on the desk, and began to pace.
Daemon came around the desk, immediately on alert. “Prick?”
“Something I want to show you.”
“All right.”
Lucivar called in the drawing pad and handed it to Daemon as he passed the desk. He needed to move, couldn’t quite look at his brother as Daemon examined the drawings and sketches on each page.
“Titian drew these?” Daemon asked.
Lucivar nodded.
“This upsets you?”
“No, it doesn’t upset me!” Lucivar whirled toward the desk and Daemon. So tempting to aim some of the fury churning inside him at a man strong enough to meet it. But his hot fury would be met by Daemon’s cold rage, and that rage could freeze blood. Literally.
He gripped the back of his neck, trying to ease some tension. “I just found out about her drawings before I headed out to see you. She’d been hiding them from us. From me more than Marian. Someone told her a true Eyrien wouldn’t be drawing flowers, and she was afraid I’d be disappointed in her.” That stung more than anything else.
He inhaled warm air—and exhaled in a room that had turned so cold he could see his breath.
Daemon held up a hand. A few moments later, the room returned to its normal temperature—but the brandy left in the snifters had frozen solid.
“My apologies,” Daemon said.
“No need. It took my mind off destroying your furniture to work off some temper.”
“I could ask Beale to find something in the attics that you could rip to shreds.”
Daemon would do it, and that made him smile. “Save it for another time.”
“Do you know who said that about true Eyriens?” Daemon asked too softly.
Lucivar shook his head. Better if he didn’t know. Much better for everyone if Daemon didn’t know. Besides, he’d have a pretty good idea of who had said it the next time Daemonar scrapped with someone. But . . . “How do I fix this, Bastard? I don’t know a damn thing about art, but if my girl wants to draw flowers or wolf pups or rocks or . . .”
“Nudes?” Daemon suggested.
“Not at her age,” Lucivar snapped. Seeing Daemon’s smile, he blew out a breath and began pacing again. “The point is, if she wants to draw, how do I help her?”
“Does she know you’re showing me her work?”
Lucivar nodded.
Daemon looked through the drawings again, then fingered the paper. “Would you allow an indulgent uncle to handle this?”
“How?”
“A gift of better paper and a set of colored pencils. Not so much that she might think we had expectations she couldn’t meet but enough to let her know we want to encourage her interest and she has our support.”
Lucivar felt the tension easing out of his neck and shoulders. “An instructor?” He wasn’t sure where to find one. Were there any artists in Ebon Rih? Would he trust anyone with a sensitive child who was the daughter of the Demon Prince? His sensitive child? Wouldn’t more verbal needles inserted in a vulnerable heart be a subtle way to attack the man?
“Let her play and explore on her own for a while,” Daemon replied. “If she wants a teacher, give her a chance to ask.”
It might take her a while to work up to it, but if Titian wanted something, she would ask.
Daemon closed the pad and handed it to Lucivar. “How early is that early dinner we’re having?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
“Sometimes, Prick, you’re as useful as a boot full of piss.”
Lucivar laughed. “I’ll ask Beale how much time you have to deal with more of those papers.”
Daemon looked at his desk, then headed for the door. “Forget the papers. Holt can scold me in the morning while he pulls out the paperwork and contracts he needs to have me look at first. Let’s take a walk.”
Lord Holt would scold his employer in the morning. That was one of the things that made him a valuable secretary. Like their father, Daemon needed people around him who didn’t fear him. Standing so deep in the abyss, having so much power and so much potential for destruction could leave a man feeling isolated and lonely. And that, as their family’s history had made clear, could lead to mistakes that would have repercussions for centuries.
Having confirmed the time that dinner would be served, they went out for a walk, happy to be in each other’s company.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Surreal dropped from the Green Wind close to the house she owned in Halaway and had once shared with Rainier, a Dharo Warlord Prince who had been Daemon’s secretary for decades. Before that, Rainier had served in the Second Circle of Witch’s court, so he’d been trusted on many levels. For her, he’d been a friend and companion, but never a lover. During all the years they had lived together, she had never asked about his lovers or liaisons and he had never asked about hers.
And they had never spoken of the attraction they had both felt for the beautiful, dangerous man who was fiercely in love with Jaenelle Angelline and wore her wedding ring.
So many things remained unspoken where Daemon Sadi was concerned.
Pulling back from thoughts that wouldn’t do her any good, Surreal gave the house a quick psychic probe to determine who was home. Confirming that the only people currently in residence were the staff, she went around to the kitchen door and knocked. The cooks came and went, as did the maids and personal servants, but the butler and housekeeper worked for her, not her current tenants. That assured her that her property was not mistreated. It only took a minute’s chat with the butler and housekeeper to confirm that the current staff also wasn’t being mistreated in any way.
If informing a potential tenant that they were renting a house from Sadi’s second-in-command didn’t seem like sufficient warning about the consequences of randy behavior that wasn’t consensual, mentioning that she was a highly paid assassin whose mother had been the Queen of the Harpies and had taught her daughter what to do with a knife usually did the trick.
Of course, some potential tenants bolted a minute after learning that about her.
Unfortunately for them, she gave their names to the Province Queens on her next visit to their territories, just in case some fool thought that what couldn’t be seen wouldn’t have a price.
Wanting to postpone her return to the Hall a little longer, Surreal walked to the village’s bookshop and browsed the new selection of books.