Daughter of the Blood

"What was . . . is his name?"
    "He has many names," Manny whispered, staring at her cup.
    "Manny." Daemon fought for patience.
    "They call him the Seducer. The Executioner."
    He shook his head, still not understanding. But the door opened a little wider.
    "He's the High Priest of the Hourglass."
    A little wider.
    "You're stalling," Daemon snapped, clattering the cup against the saucer. "What's my father's name? You owe me that. You know what it's been like for me being a bastard. Did he ever sign the register?"
    "Oh, yes," she said hurriedly. "But they changed that page. He was so proud of you and the Eyrien boy. He didn't know, you know, about the girl being Eyrien. Luthvian, that was her name. She didn't have wings or scars where wings were removed. He didn't know until the boy was born. She wanted to cut the wings off, raise the boy as Dhemlan maybe. But he said no, in his soul the boy was Eyrien, and it would be kinder to kill him in the cradle than to cut his wings. She cried at that, scared that he really would kill the babe. I think he would have if she'd ever done anything that might have damaged the wings. He built her a snug little cottage in Askavi, took care of her and the boy. He would bring him to visit sometimes. You'd play together . . . or fight together. It was hard to tell which. Then she got scared. She told me Prythian, Askavi's High Priestess, told her he only wanted the boy for fodder, wanted a supply of fresh blood to sup on. So she gave the boy to Prythian to hide, and ran away. When she went back for him, Prythian wouldn't tell her where he was, just laughed at her, and—"
    "Manny," Daemon said in a soft, cold voice. "For the last time, who is my father?"
    "The Prince of the Darkness."
    A little wider.
    " Manny. "
    "The Priest is the High Lord, don't you understand?" Manny cried.
    "His name."
    "No."
    "His name, Manny."
    "To whisper the name is to summon the man."
    The door blew open and the memories poured out.
    Daemon stared at his hands, stared at the long, black-tinted nails.
    Mother Night.
    He swallowed hard and shook his head. It wasn't possible. As much as he would like to believe it, it wasn't possible. "Saetan," he said quietly. "You're telling me my father is Saetan?"
    "Hush, Daemon, hush."
    Daemon leaped up, knocking the chair over. "No, I will not hush. He's dead, Manny. A legend. An ancestor far removed."
    "Your father."
    "He's dead. "
    Manny licked her lips and closed her eyes. "One of the living dead. One of the ones called Guardians."
    Daemon righted the chair and sat down. He felt ill. No wonder Dorothea used to beat him when he would nurse the hurt of being excluded by pretending that Saetan was his father. It hadn't been pretend after all. "Are you sure?" he asked finally.
    "I'm sure."
    Daemon laughed harshly. "You're mistaken, Manny. You must be. I can't imagine the High Lord of Hell bedding that bitch Hepsabah."
    Manny squirmed.
    Memories kept pouring over him, puzzle pieces floating into place.
    "Not Hepsabah," he said slowly, feeling crushed by the magnitude of the lies that had made up his life. No, not Hepsabah. A Dhemlan witch . . . who'd been driven out of the court. "Tersa." He braced his head in his hands. "Who else could it be but Tersa."
    Manny reached toward him but didn't touch him. "Now you know."
    Daemon's hands shook as he lit a black cigarette. He watched the smoke curl and rise, too weary to do anything else. "Now I know." He closed his eyes and whispered, "My best ally or my worst enemy. And the choice will be mine. Sweet Darkness, why did it have to be him?"
    "Daemon?"
    He shook his head and tried to smile reassuringly.
    He spent another hour with Manny and Jo, who had finally come in from the woodshop. He entertained them with slightly [unclear] stories about the Blood aristos he'd served in various courts and told them nothing about his life. It would hurt him beyond healing if Manny ever thought of him as Hayll's Whore.
    When he finally left, he walked for hours. He couldn't stop shaking. The pain of a lifetime of lies grew with each step until his rage threatened to tear apart what was left of his self-restraint.
    It was dawn when he caught the Red Wind and rode to Draega.
    For the first time in his life, he wanted to see Dorothea.

CHAPTER FIVE
    1—Terreille
    As Kartane SaDiablo walked from his suite to the audience rooms, he wondered if he'd fortified himself with one glass of brandy too many before appearing before his mother and making a