Twilight's Dawn

Eyriens in Kaeleer.
    These men belonged to Lucivar, and for the time being, there was nothing he could do about that. So he was going to have to look to the men in the northern camps for the help he needed to save all of them.

    Surreal dropped from the Green Wind and landed lightly in the courtyard of Lucivar’s eyrie. If she’d been polite, she would have used the landing web and climbed the stairs to the courtyard, but she wasn’t feeling polite since she was the messenger who had to hand over this basket.
    Merry woke up this morning feeling hungry and well and had been cooking and baking since sunrise. The goodies in the basket were her thanks for the pot of soup Marian had made yesterday.
    “This is payment and more for a pot of soup,” Surreal grumbled as she banged on the door. “And I deserve these goodies as much as anyone.” Especially after the dream that had ripped through her sleep last night—the boy Trist, torn and bloody as he’d been in the spooky house, smiling at her and saying over and over, “The worst is still to come.”
    Maybe it was just lack of sleep, or maybe it was something more that made the floor and walls of her room seem to rise and fall this morning—and made her chest hurt in a different way. Maybe she should stop and see one of Riada’s Healers before going back to The Tavern. Maybe ...
    The door swung open. Lucivar looked edgy, heading toward pissed off, and he was wearing the heavy wool cape he used as a winter coat. Wishing she’d just left the basket, she started to step back when he reached out, grabbed her coat, and hauled her inside.
    “Some of this has to go in the cold box until you’re ready to eat,” Surreal said, trying to hand him the basket.
    “Fine.” He hustled her into the kitchen and put the basket on the table. Then his hands clamped down on her shoulders, holding her in place. “Marian is in the village running errands. Falonar needs to talk to me. He says it’s urgent. I need you to stay here and watch Daemonar.”
    “No.”
    “Thirty minutes. An hour at the most. Tassle and Graysfang are on their way back here, so you won’t be alone with the boy for long.”
    Her heart banged against her chest so hard she could barely hear him. “Lucivar, I can’t do this.”
    “Yes, you can. Just sit and read him stories. He loves that. And he’s housebroken, so you don’t have to worry about changing diapers.”
    He couldn’t pay her enough to change a diaper. “I have to go.”
    Lucivar gave her a smacking kiss on the forehead and was moving toward the door, saying, “Daemonar! I’ll be back soon.”
    Little feet running. The sound of small boots smacking on a stone floor as Daemonar raced into the large front room. “Papa! I want to go with you!”
    “Not today, boyo. Play nice with your auntie Surreal.” Lucivar looked at her. “One hour.”
    He was outside and flying off before she reached the door.
    “Lucivar!”
    Sick shivers. Feverish heat. Too damn hard to breathe.
    She closed the door and turned around. Daemonar gave her the sweetest smile.
    She hadn’t been alone with a child since that night in the spooky house. Had made sure she was never alone with a child. But maybe this wouldn’t be too bad. After all, this was Lucivar’s home, not a place that had been designed as a trap to kill members of the family. And he’d promised he’d be back in an hour.
    She slipped out of her coat and hung it on the coat tree near the door.
    “You want to play a game, Auntie Srell?” Daemonar asked, following her into the kitchen.
    “All right.” Her heart gave her chest another kick. “Let me put this food away first, and then we can play a game.”
    Steak pie. Vegetable casserole. A small jar of chopped fruit to be served over sweet biscuits. She put everything but the biscuits in the cold box. Leaving those on the table, she set the basket on the counter and looked around.
    “Daemonar?”
    A little-boy giggle. “Come find me, Auntie Srell. Come find me.”
    No.
    She crept toward the archway that led to the large front room. “Daemonar?”
    The patter of small boots on stone.
    She moved fast, following the sound. The eyrie was a warren of rooms, but the boy should be easy enough to find. It wasn’t like he was being quiet .
    Then there was no sound. None at all.
    “Daemonar?”
    She headed for the bedrooms, then heard, from behind her, “Come find me,” and the sound of feet running back toward the kitchen.
    She dashed back to