Heir to the Shadows

was just extraordinary intuition that he always showed up whenever I felt grumpy. He certainly never hinted it was anything more than that."
    "He's not an idiot, witch-child," Saetan replied, sipping his brew to hide his smile.
    "That's debatable. But why did he have to go and tell the others?"
    He understood why the Queens were annoyed. The foundation of any official court was twelve males and a Queen. Through the Ring of Honor, a Queen could monitor every nuance of a male's life. But because the Queens respected the privacy of the males who served them and because no woman in her right mind would want to keep track of the emotional currents of that many men, they usually adjusted their monitoring to block out everything but things like fear, rage, and pain—the kinds of feelings that indicated the wearer needed help.
    Each man, however, only had to keep track of one Queen.
    He'd have to talk to Lucivar about the self-imposed limits of that kind of monitoring. He'd be interested in where his son drew the line.
    "Speaking of the pain in the ass who's not an idiot," Jaenelle said, pointing to the two figures walking slowly toward the camp.
    Mistral bugled wildly. *Moonshadow! Moonshadow!*
    He took off at a gallop. At least, he tried to.
    As Mistral leaped forward, Gabrielle jumped up from her seat on the other log, reached out, closed her hand as if she'd grabbed something, and jerked her hand up.
    Mistral hung in the air, his legs flailing.
    Gabrielle's arm shook from the effort of holding that much weight suspended, even if she was using Craft. Watching her, Saetan decided he and Chaosti needed to have a chat very soon. A witch who could pull a trick like that after an exhausting day of healing was a Lady who needed careful handling.
    "If you gallop on that leg, I'll knock you silly," Gabrielle said.
    *It's Moonshadow!*
    "I don't care if it's the Queen of the unicorns or your mate," Gabrielle replied hotly. "You're not galloping on that leg!"
    "Actually," Jaenelle said with a dry smile, "she's both."
    "Well, Hell's fire," Gabrielle set Mistral down but didn't let go.
    "Gabrielle," Chaosti said in that coaxing tone of voice Saetan labeled male-soothing-female-temper. "She's his mate. He's been worried. I wouldn't want to wait if it were you. Let him go."
    Gabrielle glared at Chaosti.
    "He'll walk," Chaosti said. "Won't you, Mistral?"
    Mistral wasn't about to turn down allies, even if they did have only two legs. Til walk.*
    Reluctantly, Gabrielle released him.
    Mistral plodded toward Moonshadow, his head down like a small boy who's been scolded and hasn't yet gotten away from the scolder's watchful eyes.
    Now see what you did," Khary said. "You made his horn wilt."
    "I'll bet your horn wilts too when you're scolded," Karla said with a wicked smile.
    Before Khary could reply, Jaenelle set her cup down and said quietly, "It's time."
    Everyone became subdued as she walked into the trees. "Do you know what's supposed to happen?" Lucivar asked Saetan when he reached the camp and sat down next to his father.
    Saetan shook his head. Like everyone else in the camp, he couldn't take his eyes off the mare. "Mother Night, she's beautiful."
    "She's also a Black Widow Queen," Lucivar said dryly, watching Mistral escort his Lady. "Well, if someone's going to get kicked for fussing, better him than me."
    Saetan laughed softly. "By the way, your sister has something she wants to discuss with you." When he didn't get a response, he looked at his son. "Lucivar?"
    Lucivar's mouth hung open, his eyes fixed on the trees to Saetan's left—the trees Jaenelle had walked into a few minutes before.
    He turned . . . and forgot how to breathe. She wore a long, flowing dress made of delicate black spidersilk. Strands of cobwebs dripped from the tight sleeves. Beginning just above her breasts, the dress became an open web framing her chest and shoulders. Black Jewel chips sparkled with dark fire at the end of each thread.
    Black-Jeweled rings decorated both hands. Around her neck was a Black Jewel centered in a web made of delicate gold and silver strands.
    It was a gown made for Jaenelle the Witch. Erotic. Romantic. Terrifying. He could feel the latent power in every thread of that gown. And he knew then who had created it: the Arachnians. The Weavers of Dreams.
    Saying nothing, Jaenelle picked up Kaetien's horn and glided toward open ground, the gown's small train flowing out behind her.
    Saetan wanted to remind her that it was her moon time,