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  • Home > Anne Bishop > Black Jewels > Daughter of the Blood (Chapter 90)      Page
  • Daughter of the Blood(Black Jewels,Book 1)(90) by Anne Bishop
  • "Philip. But he won't acknowledge me." Jaenelle turned another page. "He's Wilhelmina's father too, but he was in a dream web when he sired her so he doesn't know that."

    Daemon sat on the couch, so close that her arm brushed his side. "How do you know he's Wilhelmina's father?"

    "Adria told me." She turned another page.

    "Who's Adria?"

    "Wilhelmina's mother. She told me."

    Daemon considered his next words very carefully. "I had understood Wilhelmina's mother died when your sister was just an infant."

    "Yes, she did."

    Which meant Adria was demon-dead.

    "She was a Black Widow but was broken just before she had completed her training," Jaenelle continued. "But she already knew how to weave a dream web, and she didn't want to be seeded by Bobby."

    Daemon took a deep breath. When he tried to exhale, it shuddered out of him. With an effort, he dismissed what she'd just said. He wasn't here to talk about Adria. "How was your lesson this morning?"

    Jaenelle became very still.

    Daemon closed his eyes for a moment. He was afraid of what she might say if she answered, but he was more afraid of what might happen if she didn't. If she shut him out now . . .

    "All right," she said hesitantly.

    "Did you learn anything interesting?" Daemon rested his arm on the back of the couch and tried to look relaxed and lazy. Inside, he felt as if he'd swallowed shards of glass. "My own education was regrettably spotty. I envy you having such a learned mentor."

    Jaenelle closed the book and stared straight ahead.

    Daemon swallowed hard but pushed on. "Why don't you have your lessons here? It's customary for the tutor to come to the pupil, not the other way around." She wasn't fooled, and he knew it.

    "He can't come here," she said slowly. "He mustn't come here. He mustn't find out about . . ." Jaenelle pressed her lips together.

    "Why can't he come here?" Keep her talking, keep her talking. If she shut him out now, she might shut him out forever.

    "His soul is of the night."

    It took all of Daemon's self-control to sit still, to look relaxed and only mildly interested.

    Jaenelle paused. "And I don't think he'd approve."

    "You mean Philip wouldn't approve of his teaching you?"

    "No.He wouldn't approve of Philip." She shook her head. "He wouldn't approve at all."

    Nor do I, my Lady. Nor do I.As Daemon thought about the little he knew about Guardians and the stories he'd heard or read about the High Lord of Hell, he saw Jaenelle swallow, and his own throat tightened. Guardians. The living dead. They drank . . . "He doesn't hurt you, does he?" he asked harshly, instantly regretting the words.

    Jaenelle twisted to face him, her eyes skimmed with icy anger.

    Daemon immediately retreated, trying to find a way to soften what he'd just said. "I mean . . . does he scold you if you don't get a lesson right? The way Graff does?"

    The anger left her eyes, but she was still wary. "No, he doesn't scold." She repositioned herself until she was sitting back on her heels. "Well, most of the time he doesn't. Only once, really, but that was because I scared them and it was really Prothvar's fault because I asked him to teach me and he wouldn't teach me he just laughed and said I couldn't but I knew I could so I did to show him I could but he didn't know I could and then he got scared and they got angry and that's when I got scolded. But it was really Prothvar's fault." Her eyes were full of an appeal for him to be on her side.

    Daemon felt dizzied by the explanation and grasped the one thing he could pull out. "Who's Prothvar?"

    "Andulvar's grandson."

    Daemon was getting a headache. He'd spent too many nights getting into heated but friendly arguments with Lucivar over who was the most powerful Warlord Prince in the history of the Blood not to know who Andulvar was. Mother Night, he thought as he surreptitiously rubbed his aching temple, how many of the dead did she know? "I agree," he said decisively. "I think Prothvar was at fault."

  • Romance | Fantasy | Vampire