Heir to the Shadows

CHAPTER ONE

1 / Terreille

Surrounded by guards, Lucivar Yaslana, the half-breed Eyrien Warlord Prince, walked into the courtyard, fully expecting to hear the order for his execution. There was no other reason for a salt mine slave to be brought to this courtyard, and Zuultah, the Queen of Pruul, had good reason to want him dead. Prythian, the High Priestess of Askavi, still wanted him alive, still hoped to turn him to stud. But Prythian wasn't standing in the courtyard with Zuultah.

Dorothea SaDiablo, the High Priestess of Hayll, was.

Lucivar spread his dark, membranous wings to their full span, taking advantage of Pruul's desert air to let them dry.

Lady Zuultah glanced at her Master of the Guard.A moment later, the Master's whip whistled through the air, and the lash cut deep into Lucivar's back.

Lucivar hissed through his clenched teeth and folded his wings. "Any other acts of defiance will earn you fifty strokes," Zuultah snapped.Then she turned to confer with Dorothea SaDiablo.

What was the game? Lucivar wondered. What had brought Dorothea out of her lair in Hayll? And who was the angry Green-Jeweled Prince who stood apart from the women, clutching a folded square of cloth?

Cautiously sending out a psychic probe, Lucivar caught all the emotional scents. From Zuultah, there was excitement and the usual underlying viciousness. From Dorothea, a sense of urgency and fear. Beneath the unknown Prince's anger was grief and guilt.

Dorothea's fear was the most interesting because it meant that Daemon Sadi had not been recaptured yet.

A cruel, satisfied smile curled Lucivar's lips.

Seeing the smile, the Green-Jeweled Prince became hostile. "We're wasting time," he said sharply, taking a step toward Lucivar.

Dorothea spun around."Prince Alexander, these things must be do-"

Philip Alexander opened the cloth, holding two corners as he spread his arms wide.

Lucivar stared at the stained sheet. So much blood. Too much blood. Blood was the living river-and the psychic thread. If he sent out a psychic probe and touched that stain . . .

Something deep within him stilled and became brittle.

Lucivar forced himself to meet Philip Alexander's hostile stare.

"A week ago, Daemon Sadi abducted my twelve-year-old niece and took her to Cassandra's Altar, where he raped and then butchered her." Philip flicked his wrists, causing the sheet to undulate.

Lucivar swallowed hard to keep his stomach down. He slowly shook his head. "He couldn't have raped her," he said, more to himself than to Philip."He can't. . . . He's never been able to perform that way."

"Maybe it wasn't bloody enough for him before," Philip snapped. "This is Jaenelle's blood, and Sadi was recognized by the Warlords who tried to rescue her."

Lucivar turned reluctantly toward Dorothea."Are you sure?"

"It came to my attention-unfortunately, too late-that Sadi had taken an unnatural interest in the child." Dorothea lifted her shoulders in an elegant little shrug. "Perhaps he took offense when she tried to fend off his attentions.You know as well as I do that he's capable of anything when enraged."

"You found the body?"

Dorothea hesitated."No.That's all the Warlords found." She pointed at the sheet. "But don't take my word for it. See if even you can stomach what's locked in that blood."

Lucivar took a deep breath. The bitch was lying. She had to be lying. Because, sweet Darkness, if she wasn't . . .

Daemon had been offered his freedom in exchange for killing Jaenelle. He had refused the offer-or so he had said. But what if he hadn't refused?

A moment after he opened his mind and touched the bloodstained sheet, he was on his knees, spewing up the meager breakfast he'd had an hour before, shaking as something deep within him shattered.

Damn Sadi. Damn the bastard's soul to the bowels of Hell. She was a child! What could she have done to deserve this? She was Witch, the living myth. She was the Queen they'd dreamed of serving. She was his spitting little Cat. Damn you, Sadi!

The guards hauled Lucivar to his feet.

"Where is he?" Philip Alexander demanded.

Lucivar closed his gold eyes so that he wouldn't have to see that sheet. He had never felt this weary, this beaten. Not as a half-breed boy in the Eyrien hunting camps, not in the countless courts he'd served in over the centuries since, not even here in Pruul as one of Zuultah's slaves.

"Where is he?" Philip demanded again.

Lucivar opened his eyes."How in the name of Hell should I know?"

"When the Warlords lost the trail, Sadi was heading southeast-toward Pruul. It's well-known-"

"He wouldn't come here."That shattered something deep within him began to burn."He wouldn't dare come here."

Dorothea SaDiablo stepped toward him. "Why not? You've helped each other in the past.There's no reason-"

"There is a reason," Lucivar said savagely. "If I ever see that coldblooded bastard again, I'll rip his heart out!"

Dorothea stepped back, shaken. Zuultah watched him warily.

Philip Alexander slowly lowered his arms."He's been declared rogue.

There's a price on his head.When he's found-"

"He'll be suitably punished," Dorothea broke in.

"He'll be executed!" Philip replied heatedly.

There was a moment of heavy silence.

"Prince Alexander," Dorothea purred, "even someone from Chaillot should know that, among the Blood, there is no law against murder. If you didn't have sense enough to prevent an emotionally disturbed child from toying with a Warlord Prince of Sadi's temperament . . ." She shrugged delicately."Perhaps the child got what she deserved."

Philip paled."She was a good girl," he said, but his voice trembled with a whisper of doubt.

"Yes," Dorothea purred."A good girl. So good your family had to send her away every few months to be . . . reeducated."

Emotionally disturbed child. The words were a bellows, stoking the fire within Lucivar to ice-cold rage. Emotionally disturbed child. Stay away from me, Bastard.You'd better stay away. Because if I have the chance, I'll carve you into pieces.

At some point, Zuultah, Dorothea, and Philip had withdrawn to continue their discussion in the cooler recesses of Zuultah's house. Lucivar didn't notice. He was barely aware of being led into the salt mines, barely aware of the pick in his hands, barely aware of the pain as his sweat ran into the new lash wound on his back.

All he saw was the bloodstained sheet.

Lucivar swung the pick.

Liar.

He didn't see the wall, didn't see the salt. He saw Daemon's golden-brown chest, saw the heart beating beneath the skin.

Silky . . . court-trained . . . liar!

2 / Hell

Andulvar settled one hip on a corner of the large, blackwood desk. Saetan glanced up from the letter he was composing. "I thought you were going back to your eyrie."

"Changed my mind." Andulvar's gaze wandered around the private study, finally stopping at the portrait of Cassandra, the Black-Jeweled Queen who had walked the Realms more than 50,000 years ago. Five years ago, Saetan had discovered that Cassandra had faked the final death and had become a Guardian in order to wait for the next Witch.

And look what had happened to the next Witch, Andulvar thought bleakly. Jaenelle Angelline was a powerful, extraordinary child, but still as vulnerable as any other child. All that power hadn't kept her from being overwhelmed by family secrets he and Saetan could only guess at, and by Dorothea's and Hekatah's vicious schemes to eliminate the one rival who could have ended their stranglehold on the Realm of Terreille. He was certain they had been behind the brutality that had made Jaenelle's spirit flee from her body.

Too late to prevent the violation, a friend had taken Jaenelle away from her destroyers and brought her to Cassandra's Altar.There, Daemon Sadi,

with Saetan's help, had been able to bring the girl out of the psychic abyss long enough to convince her to heal the physical wounds. But when the Chaillot Warlords arrived to "rescue" her, she panicked and fled back into the abyss.

Her body was slowly healing, but only the Darkness knew where her spirit was-or if she would ever come back.

Pushing aside those thoughts,Andulvar looked at Saetan, took a deep breath, and puffed his cheeks as he let it out. "Your letter of resignation from the Dark Council?"

"I should have resigned a long time ago."

"You had always insisted that it was good to have a few of the demon-dead serving in the Council because they had experience but no personal interest in the decisions."

"Well, my interest in the Council's decisions is very personal now, isn't it?"After signing his name with his customary flourish, Saetan slipped the letter into an envelope and sealed it with black wax."Deliver that for me, will you?"

Andulvar reluctantly took the envelope. "What if the Dark Council decides to search for her family?"

Saetan leaned back in his chair."There hasn't been a Dark Council in Terreille since the last war between the Realms. There's no reason for Kaeleer's Council to look beyond the Shadow Realm."

"If they check the registers at Ebon Askavi, they'll find out she wasn't originally from Kaeleer."

"As the Keep's librarian, Geoffrey has already agreed not to find any useful entries that might lead anyone back to Chaillot. Besides, Jaenelle was never listed in the registers-and won't be until there's a reason to include an entry for her."

"You'll be staying at the Keep?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

Saetan hesitated. "For as long as it takes." When Andulvar made no move to leave, he asked,"Is there something else?"

Andulvar stared at the neat masculine script on the front of the envelope."There's a demon in the receiving room upstairs who has asked for an audience with you. He says it's important."

Saetan pushed his chair away from the desk and reached for his cane. "They all say that-when they're brave enough to come at all. Who is he?"

"I've never seen him before,"Andulvar said.Then he added reluctantly, "He's new to the Dark Realm, and he's from Hayll."

Saetan limped around the desk. "Then what does he want with me? I've had nothing to do with Hayll for seventeen hundred years."

"He wouldn't say why he wants to see you."Andulvar paused."I don't like him."

"Naturally," Saetan replied dryly."He's Hayllian."

Andulvar shook his head."It's more than that. He feels tainted." Saetan became very still. "In that case, let's talk to our Hayllian Brother," he said with malevolent gentleness.

Andulvar couldn't suppress the shudder that ran through him. Fortunately, Saetan had already turned toward the door and hadn't noticed. They'd been friends for thousands of years, had served together, laughed together, grieved together. He didn't want the man hurt because, at times, even a friend feared the High Lord of Hell.

But as Saetan opened the door and looked at him, Andulvar saw the flicker of anger in his eyes that acknowledged the shudder.Then the High Lord left the study to deal with the fool who was waiting for him.

The recently demon-dead Hayllian Warlord stood in the middle of the receiving room, his hands clasped behind his back. He was dressed all in black, including a black silk scarf wrapped around his throat.

"High Lord," he said, making a respectful bow.

"Don't you know even the basic courtesies when approaching an unknown Warlord Prince?" Saetan asked mildly.

"High Lord?" the man stammered.

"A man doesn't hide his hands unless he's concealing a weapon,"Andulvar said, coming into the room. He spread his dark wings, completely blocking the door.

Fury flashed over the Warlord's face and was gone. He extended his arms out in front of him."My hands are quite useless."

Saetan glanced at the black-gloved hands. The right one was curled into a claw.There was one finger missing on the left."Your name?"

The Warlord hesitated a moment too long."Greer, High Lord." Even the man's name somehow fouled the air. No, not just the man,

although it would take a few weeks for the rotting-meat stink to fade. Something else. Saetan's gaze drifted to the black silk scarf. His nostrils flared as he caught a scent he remembered too well. So. Hekatah still favored that particular perfume.

"What do you want, Lord Greer?" Saetan asked, already certain he knew why Hekatah would send someone to see him.With effort, he hid the icy rage that burned within him.

Greer stared at the floor."I . . . I was wondering if you had any news about the young witch."

The room felt so deliciously cold, so sweetly dark. One thought, one flick of his mind, one brief touch of the Black Jewels' strength and there wouldn't be enough left of that Warlord to be even a whisper in the Darkness.

"I rule Hell, Greer," Saetan said too softly. "Why should I care about a Hayllian witch, young or otherwise?"

"She wasn't from Hayll." Greer hesitated."I had understood you were a friend of hers."

Saetan raised one eyebrow."I?"

Greer licked his lips. The words rushed out. "I was assigned to the Hayllian embassy in Beldon Mor, the capital of Chaillot, and had the privilege of meeting Jaenelle.When the trouble started, I betrayed the High Priestess of Hayll's trust by helping Daemon Sadi get the girl to safety." His left hand fumbled with the scarf around his neck and finally pulled it away."This was my reward."

Lying bastard, Saetan thought. If he didn't have his own use for this walking piece of carrion, he would have ripped through Greer's mind and found out what part the man had really played in this.

"I knew the girl," Saetan snarled as he walked toward the door. Greer took a step forward."Knew her? Is she . . ."

Saetan spun around."She walks among the cildru dyathe!"

Greer bowed his head."May the Darkness be merciful."

"Get out." Saetan stepped aside, not wanting to be fouled by any contact with the man.

Andulvar folded his wings and escorted Greer from the Hall. He returned a few minutes later, looking worried. Saetan stared at him, no longer caring that the rage and hatred showed in his eyes.

Andulvar settled into an Eyrien fighting stance, his feet apart to balance his weight, his wings slightly spread. "You know that statement will spread through Hell faster than the scent of fresh blood."

Saetan gripped the cane with both hands. "I don't give a damn who else he tells as long as that bastard tells the bitch who sent him."

"He said that? He really said that?"

Slumped in the only chair in the room, Greer nodded wearily. Hekatah, the self-proclaimed High Priestess of Hell, twirled around the room, her long black hair flying out behind her as she spun.

This was even better than simply destroying the child. Now, with her torn mind and torn, dead body, the girl would be an invisible knife in Saetan's ribs, always twisting and twisting, a constant reminder that he wasn't the only power to contend with.