Heir to the Shadows

dead? WHO?"
    Lucivar snapped his arms up, breaking Daemon's grip. "Dorothea."
    Pain flashed over Daemon's face. He stepped back. "Since when do you listen to Dorothea?" he asked bitterly. "Since when do you believe that lying bitch?"
    "I don't."
    "Then why—"
    "Words lie. Blood doesn't." Lucivar waited for Daemon to absorb the implication. "You left the sheet, Bastard," he said savagely. "All that blood. All that pain."
    "Stop," Daemon whispered, his voice shaking. "Lucivar, please. You don't understand. She was already hurt, already in pain, and I—"
    "Seduced her, lied to her, raped a twelve-year-old girl."
    "No!"
    "Did you enjoy it, Bastard?"
    "I didn't—"
    "Did you enjoy touching her?"
    "Lucivar, please—"
    "DID YOU?"
    "YES!"
    With a howl of rage, Lucivar threw himself at Daemon with enough force to snap the chains—but not fast enough. He crashed to the floor, scraping the skin from his palms and knees. It took a minute for him to get his breath back. It took another minute for him to understand why he was shivering. He stared at the thick layer of ice that covered the cell's stone walls. Then he slowly got to his feet, swaying on shaking legs, feeling a bitterness so deep it lacerated his soul.
    Daemon stood nearby, his hands in his trouser pockets, his face an expressionless mask, his golden eyes slightly glazed and sleepy.
    "I hate you," Lucivar whispered hoarsely.
    "At the moment, brother, the feeling is very mutual," Daemon said too calmly, too gently. "I'm going to find her, Lucivar. I'm going to find her just to prove she isn't dead. And after I find her, I'm going to come back and tear out your lying tongue."
    Daemon disappeared. The front of the cell exploded.
    Lucivar dropped to the floor, his wings tight to his body, his arms protecting his head while pebbles and sand rained down on him.
    There were more shouts now. More running feet.
    Lucivar sprang to his feet as the guards poured through the opening. He bared his teeth and snarled, his gold eyes shining with rage. The guards took one look at him and backed out of the cell. For the rest of the night, they blocked the opening but didn't try to enter.
    Lucivar watched them, his breath whistling through clenched teeth.
    He could have fought his way past the guards and followed Daemon. If Zuultah had tried to stop him by sending a bolt of pain through the Ring of Obedience around his organ, Daemon would have unleashed his strength against her. No matter how bitterly they fought with each other, he and Daemon were always united against an outside enemy.
    He could have followed and forced the battle that would have destroyed one or both of them. Instead he remained in the cell.
    He had sworn that he would kill Daemon, and he would. But he couldn't quite bring himself to destroy his brother. Not yet.

CHAPTER TWO
     
    1 / Terreille
     
    The knocking sounded forceful, urgent. Dorothea SaDiablo hid her shaking hands in the folds of her nightgown and positioned herself in. the middle of her bedroom, her back to the single candle-light that dimly lit the room.
    She had been searching for Daemon Sadi for seven months now. In the hard light of day, with her court all around her, she could almost convince herself that he wouldn't come to Hayll, that he would stay in whatever hole he'd found to hide in. But at night, she was certain she would open a door or turn a corner and find him waiting. He would spin out the pain beyond even her imagining, and then he would kill her. The insult underneath that violence was that he wouldn't destroy her for all the things she'd done to him, he would destroy her because of that child.
    That damned child. Hekatah's obsession, the High Lord's reappearance, Greer's death, her son Kartane's mysterious illness, Daemon's fury, Lucivar's sudden hatred for his half brother—all of it came back to that girl.
    The doorknob turned. The door opened an inch.
    "Priestess?" a male voice called softly.
    Giddy relief was swiftly replaced by anger. "Come in," she snapped.
    Lord Valrik, Dorothea's Master of the Guard, entered the room and bowed. "Forgive the intrusion at this hour,
    Priestess, but I felt you should know about this immediately." He snapped his fingers, and two guards entered, holding a man roughly by the arms.
    Dorothea stared at the young Hayllian Blood male cowering between the guards. Little more than a boy really. And pretty. Just the way she liked them. Too much the way she liked them.
    She took a step toward the youth,