Lucivar gave Luthvian a hard, steady look. She might be jealous of the way the men in the family were drawn to Jaenelle, but she cared. He kissed her cheek roughly. "I'll send word."
Luthvian stepped back. "You spent all those years training to be a warrior, so go make yourself useful."
No.
Lucivar sped along the Ebon-gray Web, squeezing out all the speed he could, knowing it was already too late.
I won't let you.
Whatever happened, he'd take care of her afterward. Sweet Darkness, please let there be an afterward. He pushed harder.
No feelings from the Ring. No buzzing. Nothing at all except . . .
Noooooo!. . .the rage. Mother Night, the rage!
Lucivar thrust his way through the sick-faced crowd, homing in on the spot where Jaenelle's unleashed power was concentrated. A middle-aged Warlord stood on one side of the hallway, babbling at a grim-looking Mephis. The aftertaste of power swirled behind a door on the opposite side.
Lucivar swung toward the door.
"Lucivar, no!"
Ignoring Mephis's command, Lucivar snapped the Gray lock his demon-dead elder brother had placed on the door.
"Lucivar, don't go in there!"
Lucivar threw the door open, stepped inside the room, and froze.
In front of him, a finger lay on the carpet, its gold ring partially melted into the flesh, the Jewel shattered to a fine powder.
It was the largest—and the only identifiable piece—of what must have been a full-grown man. The rest was splattered all over the room.
The buzzing in his head warned him to take a normal breath before he passed out. If he took a normal breath while standing in this room, he'd heave for a week.
But there was something wrong about the room, and he wasn't leaving until he figured it out.
When he did, Lucivar's temper rose to the killing edge.
One male body. One demolished bed. The rest of the furniture, although ruined by bone fragments and blood, was untouched.
Lucivar backed out of the room and turned toward the man who had been babbling at Mephis. "What did you do to her?" he asked too calmly.
"Toher!' The Warlord pointed a shaking hand toward the room. "Look what that bitch did to my son. She's mad. Mad! She—"
Roaring an Eyrien war cry, Lucivar slammed the Warlord against the wall."what did you do to her?"
The Warlord squealed. No one tried to help him.
"Lucivar." Mephis held up a handful of papers. "It appears Jaenelle got married this afternoon to Lord—"
Lucivar snarled. "She wouldn't marry willingly without the family present." He bared his teeth at the Warlord. "Would she?"
"T-they were in Hove," the Warlord stammered. "A whirlwind r-romance. She didn't want you to know until it was done."
"Someone didn't," Lucivar agreed. Smiling, he called in the Eyrien war blade and held it up where the Warlord could see it. "Do you want your face?" he asked mildly.
"Lucivar," Mephis warned.
"Stay out of this, Mephis," Lucivar snapped, his barely restrained fury freezing everyone in the hallway.
Think. She'd been afraid, and very little frightened Jaenelle. She'd been afraid, but also angry enough to consider breaking the link between spirit and body, determined enough to abandon the husk rather than submit. Think. If this was Terreille . . .
"What did you give her?" When the Warlord didn't answer, Lucivar set the edge of the war blade against the man's cheek. The skin sliced cleanly. The blood ran.
"A m-mild brew. To calm her down. She was afraid. Afraid of all of them. Especially y-you."
A stupid thing to say to a man holding a weapon large enough and sharp enough to cut through bone.
They had drugged her. Something strong enough to scramble her wits while still leaving her capable of signing the marriage contract. That still didn't explain that room.
"Afterward," Lucivar crooned. "What did you give her to prepare her for the marriage bed?" When the Warlord just stared at him, he shifted the war blade, cut a little deeper this time. "Where are the bottles?"
Panting, the Warlord waved a hand toward a nearby door.
Mephis went into the room, then returned with two small bottles.
Lucivar vanished the war blade, took one bottle, and nicked the top off. Probed the drops in the bottom. If he'd been given a drink with this in it, he wouldn't have touched it. Under normal circumstances, Jaenelle wouldn't have either.
He vanished that bottle, took the other one that was still half filled with a dark powder, and swore viciously. He knew—how well he knew!—what a large dose ofsafframate would do to someone of his build and weight. He could imagine the agony it would produce in Jaenelle.
He held up the bottle. "You gave her this? Then you're responsible for what's in that room."
The Warlord shook his head violently. "It's harmless. Harmless! Added to a glass of wine, it's just a variety of the Night of Fire brew. Always use a Night of Fire brew on the wedding night."
Lucivar bared his teeth in a smile. "Since it's harmless, you won't mind drinking the other dose. Mephis, get him a glass of wine."
Sweat popped out on the Warlord's forehead.
Mephis disappeared for a minute, then returned with the wine.
After pouring almost all of the dark powder into the wine, Lucivar handed the bottle to Mephis and took the wineglass. His other hand closed around the Warlord's throat. "Now, you can drink this, or I can tear your throat out. Your choice."
"W-want a hearing before the Dark Council," the Warlord whimpered.
"That's certainly within your rights," Mephis agreed quietly. He looked at Lucivar. "Are you going to tear his throat out or shall I?"
Lucivar laughed maliciously. "Wouldn't do him much good to go to the Council then, would it?" His fingers dug into the Warlord's throat.
"D-drink."
"I knew you'd be reasonable," Lucivar crooned. He loosened his hold enough to let the Warlord swallow the wine.
"Now." He threw the Warlord into the room where Mephis had found the bottles. "In order to give the Dark Council an accurate accounting, I think you should enjoy the same experience you intended for Lady Angelline." After sealing the room with an Ebon-gray shield and adding a timing spell, he turned to a man hovering nearby. "The shield will vanish in twenty-four hours."
This time he didn't have to shove his way through the crowd. They pressed against the walls to let him pass.
Mephis caught up with him before he got out of the manor house. Probing the area, he walked into the nearest empty room-—someone's study. He found it grimly appropriate, even if it wasn't Saetan's.