Twilight's Dawn

something would help him influence people into making the right decisions. He’d used that influence to temper a punishment when a man didn’t deserve to be punished at all. He’d used the liquid to stop perversions that would have harmed common Eyriens as well as aristos. That had to count for something.
    But he’d used too much of the liquid when, at his father’s demand, he tried to save his older brother from a punishment the fool had deserved. The change in the Master of the Guard’s chosen method of discipline had been too pronounced. No one had suspected Falonar of causing that change, but the discovery that someone had tried to manipulate the Queen’s Master had thrown the Lady into a rage.
    The new punishment had gone beyond cruel. Falonar, his father, and their other male relatives had been required not only to witness the punishment but to participate in order to retain the family’s social standing and their own status in the courts where they served. When it was done, the Queen let what was left of his brother live and sent him back to the family. And that had been the cruelest punishment of all.
    His father couldn’t publicly blame him without bringing attention to himself, but neither of his parents forgave him for what had happened to the favored son, and his mother deliberately began closing social doors, leaving him vulnerable to the whims of Prythian and the most elite members of the High Priestess’s court.
    The service fair had offered him a way to escape his family and Terreille, but it hadn’t given him a way to regain his standing in Eyrien society because there was no Eyrien society . He accepted invitations for social events held by Riada’s aristos, but it wasn’t the same. He wasn’t someone among the people who mattered.
    There was nothing left for him in Askavi Terreille. What he needed he would have to build here. Since his effort to influence Lucivar had failed, he had no other choice except to eliminate the obstacle that stood in his way.

    Lucivar opened the front door of his eyrie and smelled vomit.
    Shit , he thought as he used Craft to remove the winter cape. Had Surreal come down with that stomach illness?
    He didn’t have time to wonder, didn’t even have time to turn and hang up the cape. The wolf pups rushed him, so panicked their attempts to communicate were completely incoherent. Then Tassle appeared and ...
    “Papa! I’m sorry, Papa! I’m sorry! ”
    He heard Daemonar’s voice, heard the slap of boots on stone, felt the change in air as something launched at him.
    As he dropped the cape and reached out, he formed a skintight Ebon-gray shield around himself. His hand filled with fabric, and in the heartbeat he had to decide whether to shove something away or pull it close, he realized he’d grabbed Daemonar and pulled his boy close.
    Little arms wrapped around his neck in a choke hold. “I’m sorry!”
    Mother Night. When had Daemonar learned to create a sight shield? He was much too young for that level of Craft.
    *Sorry sorry sorry!* the wolf pups wailed.
    That probably explained how the boy had learned it.
    “Okay, boyo,” he said soothingly. “What are you sorry about?” From the smell of him, the boy had wet his pants, proving he wasn’t as housebroken as Lucivar had thought.
    “I broke Auntie Srell!”
    Lucivar’s legs went out from under him. He sank to his knees, clutching his son, trying to make sense of the words. He looked at Tassle.
    *Graysfang is with her. She will not hear us, Yas. She cries like she is being torn up in a trap, but we cannot smell a wound.*
    Sweet Darkness, have mercy.
    He pried Daemonar off him. “Listen to me, boyo. You have to drop the sight shield.”
    “I don’t know how!” Daemonar wailed.
    “All right. Tassle will help you. You stay with him. I have to help Auntie Surreal. Stay here , Daemonar.”
    He whistled sharply as he headed toward the family’s rooms. Graysfang howled in reply.
    He found Surreal in the parlor on the floor, crying in a way that went beyond simple pain. He dropped to his knees and gathered her in his arms.
    “Surreal? Surreal! It’s Lucivar. You’re all right now. You’re all right!”
    “He’s just a little boy!” she screamed, feebly beating on his chest. “How could you leave me with a little boy?”
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize . . .” What? That she wasn’t easy around children? That she’d been fine playing with Daemonar at Winsol as long as Marian or