Heir to the Shadows

Craft is for. That's not what my Craft is for."
    "I know, Cat," Lucivar murmured. "I know."
    "I could have put a shield around them, holding them in until we got help from Agio. That's what I meant to do, but the rage just boiled out of me when Khevin ... I could feel their minds, could feel them wanting to hurt. I couldn't stop the anger. I couldn't stop it."
    "It's the drugs, Cat. The damn things can scramble your emotions for a long time, especially in a situation like this."
    "I don't like killing. I'd rather be hurt than hurt someone else."
    He didn't argue with her. He was too exhausted and her emotions were too raw. Nor did he point out that she'd reacted to a friend's pain and death. What she couldn't, or wouldn't, do for her own sake she would do for someone she cared for.
    "Lucivar?" Jaenelle said plaintively. "I want a bath."
    That was just one of the things he wanted. "Let's go home, Cat."
    11 / Terreille
    Dorothea SaDiablo sank into a chair and stared at her unexpected guest. "Here? You want to stay her?" Had the bitch looked into a mirror lately? How was she supposed to explain a desiccated walking corpse that looked like it had just crawled out of an old grave? "Not here in your precious court," Hekatah replied, her
    fleshless lips curling in a snarl. "And I'm not asking for your permission. I'm telling you that I'm staying in Hayll and require accommodations."
    Telling. Always telling. Always reminding her that she never would have become the High Priestess of Hayll without Hekatah's guidance and subtle backing, without Hekatah pointing out the rivals who had too much potential and would thwart her dream of being a High Priestess who was so strong even the Queens yielded to her.
    Well, she was the High Priestess of Hayll, and after centuries of twisting and savaging males who, in turn, did their own share of savaging, there were no dark-Jeweled Queens left in Terreille. There were no Queens, no Black Widows, no other Priestesses equal to her Red Jewel. In some of the smaller, more stubborn Territories, there were no Jeweled Blood at all. Within another five years, she would succeed where Hekatah had failed—she would be the High Priestess of Terreille, feared and revered by the entire Realm.
    And when that day came, she would have something very special planned for her mentor and adviser.
    Dorothea settled back in her chair and suppressed a smile. Still, the bag of bones might have a use. Sadi was still out there somewhere, playing his elusive, teasing game. Although she hadn't felt his presence in quite some time, every time she opened a door, she expected to find him on the other side waiting for her. But if a Red-Jeweled Black Widow High Priestess was staying at the country lodge she kept for more vigorous and imaginative evenings, and if he happened to become aware of a witch living there quietly . . . well, her psychic scent permeated the place and he might not take the time to distinguish between the scent of the place and the occupant's psychic scent. It would be a shame to lose the building, but she really didn't think there would be anything left of it by the time he was done.
    Of course, there wouldn't be anything left of Hekatah, either.
    Dorothea tucked a loose strand of black hair back into the simple coil around her head. "I realize you weren't
    asking my permission, Sister," she purred. "When have you ever asked me for anything?"
    "Remember who you speak to," Hekatah hissed.
    "I never forget," Dorothea replied sweetly. "I have a lodge in the country, about an hour's carriage ride from Draega. I use it for discreet entertaining. You're welcome to stay there as long as you please. The staff is very well-trained, so I do ask that you not make a meal out of them. I'll supply you with plenty of young feasts." Frowning at a fingernail, she called in a nail file and smoothed an edge, studied the result, and smoothed again. Finally satisfied, she vanished the nail file and smiled at Hekatah. "Of course, if my accommodations aren't to your liking, you can always return to Hell."
    Greedy, ungrateful bitch.
    Hekatah opaqued another mirror. Even that little bit of Craft was almost too much.
    This wasn't the way she'd planned to return to Hayll, hidden away like some doddering, drooling relative dispatched to some out-of-the-way property with no one but hard-faced servants for company.
    Of course, once some of her strength returned . . .
    Hekatah shook her head. The amusements would have to come