Heir to the Shadows

whispered. "Where'd she find so many uncut Jewels to make the scales?"
    Trembling, Saetan shook his head, unable to speak. Maybe Andulvar couldn't see the darkness beyond the lit bas-relief from where he stood, a darkness that suggested another large chamber beyond this one. Maybe he couldn't see the iridescent fire in the dragon's scales. Maybe he'd forgotten the sound of that ancient, powerful voice. Maybe . . .
    Eyelids slowly opened. Midnight eyes pinned them where they stood.
    Geoffrey clutched Saetan's arm, his fingers digging in
    hard enough to hurt. "Mother Night, Saetan," Geoffrey said, his breathing ragged. "The Keep is his lair. He's been here all the time."
    He hadn't expected Lorn to be so big. If the body was in proportion to the head . . .
    Dragon scales. The Jewels were dragon scales somehow transformed into hard, translucent stones. Had there been dragons who matched the specific colors of the Jewels or had they all been that iridescent silver-gold, changing color to match the strength of the recipient?
    Saetan gingerly touched the Black Jewel around his neck. His Birthright Red and the Black had been uncut Jewels. Were there two missing scales somewhere along the great body that must lie in the next chamber that would have matched his uncut Jewels?
    Then he finally understood why there had been a hint of maleness in the uncut Jewels Jaenelle had been gifted with.
    Lorn. The great Prince of the Dragons. The Guardian of the Keep.
    Needing to get his mind focused on something other than the power that ancient body must contain, Saetan turned to Geoffrey. "His Queen. What was the name of his Queen?"
    "Draca," said a sibilant voice behind them.
    They turned and stared at the Keep's Seneschal.
    Her lips curled in a tiny smile. "Her name wass Draca."
    Looking into her eyes, Saetan wondered what subtle spell had been lifted that allowed him to see what he should have guessed long before. Her age, her strength, the uneasiness so many felt in her presence. Which made him think of something else. "Does Jaenelle know?"
    Draca made a sound that might have been a laugh. "Sshe hass alwayss known, High Lord."
    Saetan grimaced, then gave in as gracefully as he could. Even if he'd thought to ask, he doubted he'd have gotten an answer. Jaenelle was very good at keeping her own counsel.
    "Are they relatives of yours?" Lucivar asked, indicating the Fyreborn dragons who were staring at Lorn.
    "You are all relativess," Draca replied, looking pointedly at Lucivar's Ebon-gray Jewel. "We created the Blood. All
    the Blood. Therefore, you are all dragonss under the sskin."
    Saetan glanced at the kindred who were edging closer. "You, of course, would know." He saw amusement in Draca's eyes.
    "It iss not I who ssayss sso, High Lord. Jaenelle ssayss sso." Draca looked past them to the Dark Throne.
    As one, they turned.
    Dressed in that cobwebby black gown and wearing Ebony Jewels, Jaenelle sat serenely in the blackwood chair. Her long golden hair was brushed away from the face that finally revealed its unique beauty.
    "The time has come for me to take up my duties as the Queen of Ebon Askavi," Jaenelle said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried throughout the chamber. "The time has come for me to choose my court."
    A breathless tension filled the chamber.
    Saetan concentrated on breathing slowly, steadily. For days he'd been telling himself that court service was for the young and vigorous, that he'd never intended to serve formally, that the unspoken service he performed was enough, that he had experienced serving in the Dark Court at Ebon Askavi when he'd been Cassandra's Consort.
    Except he hadn't, because, in a way he couldn't put into words, it hadn't really been the Dark Court. Not like this one.
    And he suddenly understood why Cassandra had withdrawn from them.
    This was the court he had waited to serve in. This was the court he'd always craved. He wanted to serve the daughter of his soul, who had finally come into her dark, glorious power.
    Witch. The living myth. Dreams made flesh.
    This had been his dream.
    And Lucivar's, he realized, seeing the fire in his son's eyes. Yes, Lucivar would have craved a Queen who could meet his strength.
    Jaenelle's voice pulled him back. "Prince Chaosti, will you serve in the First Circle?"
    Gracefully, Chaosti knelt on one knee, a fisted hand over his heart. "I will serve."
    Saetan frowned. How was Chaosti going to serve in Jaenelle's First Circle when he'd already accepted service in