Twilight's Dawn

predators in the game. Surreal had been wounded, and the poison still hadn’t worked its way out of her body completely. And Rainier . . .
    He was a dancer , Daemon thought sadly. Then he added, Everything has a price.
    “How’s the leg?” Daemon asked, even though anyone could see the healing wasn’t going the way it should. Hell’s fire, Rainier had been walking better a few weeks ago when he’d joined them for a viewing of Jaenelle and Marian’s spooky house, an entertainment for children that had been one of the reasons Jarvis Jenkell had created a deadly version of the place.
    Rainier shrugged, but his face was pale and strained despite his effort to smile, and there was a fear in his green eyes that he couldn’t quite hide. “Some days it’s better than others. I wanted your opinion of something.”
    Trying to change the subject, boyo? All right, I’ll let you lead this dance . For the moment.
    Using Craft, Rainier called in a rectangular box and floated it over to the desk, placing it directly in front of Daemon.
    Jewelry box, Daemon decided, leaning forward to study the flowers and leaves carved into the top. The box itself was excellent in craftsmanship and sufficient as a Winsol gift, so when he opened the lid, he whistled softly.
    A gold metalwork gauntlet. Delicate-looking, if you ignored the talons on the ends of the articulated fingers. A weapon disguised as a pretty.
    “It’s a Winsol gift for Surreal,” Rainier said. “Do you think she’ll like it?”
    “It’s beautiful and deadly,” Daemon replied. “She’ll love it.” He closed the box and returned it to Rainier before offering the man a brandy.
    Something was wrong here. Very wrong.
    Rainier had been a dance instructor for years. Hell’s fire, he’d been Jaenelle’s dance instructor—a young Warlord Prince who had been able to hold his own with Jaenelle and the coven of young Queens who had been her closest friends.
    Now Rainier worked for him, and he paid the man a generous salary. But he recognized Banard’s work. The jeweler made some pieces that wouldn’t beggar an ordinary man’s pocket for a year, but that custom-made gauntlet wasn’t one of them.
    What was Rainier trying to prove?
    “What are your plans for Winsol?” Daemon asked.
    “I’m going to Dharo to spend some time with my family,” Rainier replied, his smile looking sicker than before.
    Why? Daemon wondered. They usually prefer that you keep your distance. Hadn’t Rainier made a family visit a few weeks ago? Right around the time when something began to go wrong with the healing of his leg?
    “Unless there’s something you need from me,” Rainier added.
    “No, I don’t—” A thought occurred to him, and he didn’t think he’d get an honest answer without inflicting some pain. So he would inflict the pain.
    “It’s come to my attention that there is a traditional Winsol dance. It would be prudent for me to learn it.”
    “Don’t look to me to teach you,” Rainier said. “I’m crippled.”
    At least he didn’t have to dig for the bitterness festering inside the other Warlord Prince.
    “And who do you blame for that, Rainier?” Daemon asked too softly, leaning back and steepling his fingers again.
    “I don’t blame anyone,” Rainier snapped. “It happened.”
    “Yes, it happened, because you did what you were supposed to do—defend and protect.”
    “Not well enough. Three children died and Surreal got poisoned. I didn’t protect them well enough, and I lost . . .” He swallowed, obviously fighting not to say more. “I was a dancer. It’s all I’ve ever been. All I wanted to be. I’ll never be that again.”
    “Are you sure?” Daemon asked.
    “Yes, I’m sure!”
    Daemon hesitated, but it had to be said. “Everything has a price, Prince Rainier. An escort’s life is always on the line.”
    “I know that.”
    “Do you? You were wounded in battle. It doesn’t matter what the battleground looked like; that’s the truth of it. You’re not the first man who’s had to rebuild his life because of battle scars.You won’t be the last.” Knowing that he wasn’t getting through to the man, Daemon unleashed some of his own frustration. “You could have lost your leg instead of losing some mobility. Hell’s fire, Rainier, you could have died in that place .”
    “Maybe it would have been better if I had,” Rainier said softly.
    Daemon felt his temper rise from the depth of his Black Jewel—sweet, cold, and