Dreams Made Flesh

sent you here, didn't he? He knew well enough what's going to happen. But nobody is going to miss the likes of you."
    She leaped skyward. There wasn't much room to maneuver under the trees, but she was only a few wingstrokes away from open land…and open sky. If she could get past the Warlords, she might be able to stay ahead of them long enough to catch one of the Winds and… head where?
    The Black Mountain. If she could reach the Keep, she could beg for sanctuary, and the Warlords couldn't hurt her.
    She'd almost reached the open land when she heard the crack of a whip, felt the leather cut her skin as it wrapped around her ankle. They hauled her back under the cover of the trees…and they were on her, flying around her, letting her flail and struggle and try to fly while their knives and war blades sliced her. Blood flowed from dozens of shallow cuts. When they sliced her wings, she managed a rough landing, but there was nowhere to run, no way to escape.
    Ripples of dark power coming closer. Closer.
    "Help me!" she screamed. "Please! Help me!"
    Laughing, the Warlords grabbed her arms and legs and flipped her over on her back, holding her down. The fifth man dropped to his knees between her legs and ripped her torn, bloody clothes to expose her.
    "Hurry up," another Warlord said, "or the bitch will bleed out before we all have a chance to use her."
    "She'll last long enough," the Warlord kneeling between her legs replied as he opened his trousers.
    No, Marian thought. No.
    "You want to play with a witch?" a midnight voice said quietly. "Then play with me."
    The last thing Marian saw before her vision blurred was the fear on the face of the Warlord in front of her. Then a wave of freezing black rage washed over her, pulling her under. She thought she heard muted screams of agony and terror, then the sounds were gone. Everything was gone…
    …until she felt a hand close over hers, felt power that wasn't hers flowing into her. She forced her eyes open and stared at the golden-haired, sapphire-eyed woman kneeling beside her. Stared at the Black Jewel that hung from a chain around the woman's neck.
    "You're the Queen," Marian said, barely able to draw enough breath to shape the words.
    "Yes, I'm the Queen," the woman replied.
    "I don't want to die."
    "Then don't." The woman placed her other hand on Marian's forehead.
    The dark power closed in around her again, but it was warm now, gentle, a cocoon of soft blankets. Power not her own kept her heart beating, kept her lungs moving.
    Her last thought before she surrendered to it was, I've seen the Queen of Ebon Askavi.
    As soon as Saetan stepped through the Gate, he knew Jaenelle wasn't in the Keep in Terreille. A moment later, when her psychic scent flooded the corridors, he knew she'd returned…and the control on his temper frayed a bit more.
    That she was his Queen didn't matter. That her power eclipsed his didn't matter. By the time he was done explaining things, his Lady would be in no doubt about how her Steward felt about her entering Terreille, which was the enemy's territory, without even one escort going with her.
    Then he stepped out of the room that held the Dark Altar and saw her moving toward him, one hand under the blankets wrapped around…
    He smelled the blood, noted the dangerous, feral look in Jaenelle's eyes, and felt the heat of his temper chill to cold rage as he rose to the killing edge.
    Jaenelle stopped in front of him. She said nothing while he carefully pulled aside a part of the blankets and looked at the young Eyrien woman, while he studied the torn clothing and the slices in her skin that still seeped blood despite the healing web he sensed Jaenelle weaving around her.
    "Why?" he asked.
    Jaenelle turned her head. "Ask them."
    Five bodies appeared in the hallway. Saetan used Craft to probe the bodies. He felt equally chilled by and approving of what Jaenelle had done. From neck to toes, the bones of the Eyrien males had been crushed into small pebbles, making the bodies look like oddly shaped sacks. The muscles and internal organs had been ripped apart, as if claws had slipped beneath the skin, leaving it untouched while they tore through everything else in long, leisurely strokes. Which, he imagined, is exactly what she'd done. And for the few seconds it took her to do it, the pain would have been exquisite…
    He looked at the Eyrien woman.
    …but not enough to pay the debt.
    "This is what you saw in the tangled web last night?" he