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  • Home > Anne Bishop > Black Jewels > Dreams Made Flesh (Chapter 83)      Page
  • Dreams Made Flesh(Black Jewels,Book 5)(83) by Anne Bishop
  • He sighed. "Thought so."

    But he smiled as he raced through the sky toward home.

    TWENTY-FOUR

    Saetan lingered by the open tavern door. The evening air was chilly this early in the spring, but it hadn't kept the party from spilling out into the street once the tavern's main room got too crowded. People danced in the tavern…and they danced in the street. Ale and whiskey, brandy and wine flowed along with the laughter and high spirits.

    He winked at Prothvar as the Eyrien Warlord slipped into the room. The sun hadn't set in time for Prothvar and Andulvar to make the wedding, and Mephis was still on his way here from the Hall, but the family would gather and celebrate tonight.

    "You know, don't you?" Jaenelle asked as she slipped her arm through his.

    "I'll take care of it, witch-child."

    "In that case, I'm going to dance."

    He watched her join the line of dancers, watched her say something to Merry that had them both laughing so hard they missed the first few steps of the dance. He hadn't been able to make those kinds of friendships, had stood too far apart from the people he ruled. Not by choice; simply because he was who and what he was. But Lucivar, with his hot temper and rough kindness, would have friends who cared about the man. And Marian, with that fire and strength of will beneath her quiet nature, would help him stay connected to the people he ruled.

    "High Lord?"

    He turned and found the Queen of Riada smiling hesitantly at him, her Consort beside her. "We don't have an invitation, but we'd like to offer the Prince and his Lady our warmest regards."

    He smiled at them. "It's an open party. We'd be pleased to have you join us."

    He watched the Queen and her Consort thread their way through the crowd. He saw Jaenelle glance their way and smile. Aristo manners didn't stand a chance against his daughter. Before those two knew it, they'd be dancing with shopkeepers and helping fill plates as if they did it every day.

    Then he looked back at the door and saw her standing there, her eyes hot with suppressed anger. He'd sent her a message as a courtesy because she was Lucivar's mother. He'd deliberately sent it late as a kindness to his son…and to Marian.

    "Luthvian." It was cold satisfaction to watch her anger change to fear as he walked up to her.

    "So," Luthvian said. "You got your way after all."

    "It wasn't a contest, Lady." At least, not for him. He stepped closer, lowered his voice until only she could hear. "I warned you, Luthvian. The only reason you aren't on your way to Hell is because Lucivar asked me to let it go. I'm going to honor that request…as a wedding present. But if you ever use a spell on Marian again…or try to cast one on Lucivar…I'll break you. I'll strip you of your Jewels and your power, strip you down until you have nothing left but basic Craft. And it will be done so fast, no one will be able to stop me."

    She paled but said nothing.

    "Now," Saetan said, fighting to keep his temper reined in. "Will you join us in celebrating your son's wedding?"

    "There's nothing to celebrate," she said roughly. Then she turned and walked away.

    Lucivar shifted to block Marian's view. The dark ripples of anger from Saetan and Jaenelle were sufficient warning to tell him who had arrived. He turned slightly so he could watch the door. After what he suspected was a brief, and futile, pissing contest with Saetan, Luthvian walked away.

    *She wouldn't stay?* he asked Saetan on an Ebon-gray spear thread.

    *No, she wouldn't stay.*

    *So be it.* It stung that she wouldn't make the effort to wish him happy, but he wasn't surprised. She'd tried to drive Marian away, and she'd failed. That would be a sharp little bone in her throat for a long time to come. And the sad truth was, although she was his mother, she wasn't family.

    "Lucivar?"

    Before Marian had a chance to ask him what was wrong, a voice said, "So, Cousin. This is the Lady who captured your heart."

    Lucivar grinned as Marian stared at the Red-Jeweled Eyrien Warlord standing before her. "Sweetheart, this is my cousin, ProthvarYaslana."

    "Oh, my," she squeaked.

    Prothvar smiled. "I'm hoping my new cousin will honor me with a dance."

    "Wait your turn, puppy," another male voice said. "This dance is mine."

  • Romance | Fantasy | Vampire