It’s a romantic novel,” Jaenelle said in a small voice as he called in his half-moon glasses and started idly flipping the pages. “A couple of women in a bookseller’s shop kept talking about it.” Romance. Passion. Sex. He suppressed—barely—the urge to leap to his feet and twirl her around the room. A sign of emotional healing? Please, sweet Darkness, please let it be a sign of healing.
Anne BishopYes, Smoke told him reluctantly, Lucivar had cried. Heart pain. Caught-in-a-trap pain. The Lady had petted and petted, sung and sung. It had been more than a dream, then. In one of the dreamscapes Black Widows spun so well, Jaenelle had met the boy he had been and had drawn the poison from the soul wound. He had wept for the boy, for the things he hadn’t been allowed to do, for the things he hadn’t been allowed to be. But he didn’t weep for the man he’d become.
“Ah, Lucivar,” she’d said regretfully as they’d walked through the dreamscape. “I can heal the scars on your body, but I can’t heal the scars of the soul. Not yours, not mine. You have to learn to live with them. You have to choose to live beyond them.
Who do you have to find?”
“The boy. My son. Daemon.” Lucivar’s heart clogged his throat as he watched Jaenelle pale. “Daemon.” Jaenelle shuddered. “The gold key.”
“I have to find him.” Tersa’s voice rang with frustration and fear. “If the pain doesn’t end soon, it will destroy him.”
Jaenelle gave no sign of having heard or understood the words. “Daemon,” she whispered. “How could I have forgotten Daemon?”
“I must go back to Terreille. I must find him.”
“No,” Jaenelle said in her midnight voice. “I’ll find him.”
Tersa stopped her restless movements. “Yes,” she said slowly, as if trying hard to remember something. “He would trust you. He would follow you out of the Twisted Kingdom.
The lover is the father’s mirror. The brother stands between. The mirror spins, spins, spins. Blood. So much blood. He clings to the island of maybe. The bridge will have to rise from the sea. The threads are not yet in place.
Anne BishopHer smile faded. “Do you know the worst thing about it? I forgot him. Daemon was a friend, and I forgot him. That Winsol, before I was…he gave me a silver bracelet. I don’t know what happened to it. I had a picture of him. I don’t know what happened to that either. And then he gave everything he had to help me, and when it was done, everyone walked away from him as if he didn’t matter.
Anne BishopJaenelle squirmed. “My…mate…is trapped in the Twisted Kingdom. If I don’t show him the way out, he’ll be destroyed.
Anne BishopI’ve been insulted by fools before. I survived.” Even in the dim light he saw her eyes change.
“Just because he was using words instead of a knife, you can’t dismiss it, Saetan. He hurt you.”
“Of course he hurt me,” Saetan snapped. “Being accused of—” He closed his eyes and squeezed her hand. “I don’t tolerate fools, Jaenelle, but I also don’t kill them for being fools. I simply keep them out of my life.” He sat up and took her other hand. “I am your sword and your shield, Lady. You don’t have to kill.”
Witch studied him with her ancient, haunted sapphire eyes. “You’ll take the scars on your soul so that mine remains unmarked?”
“Everything has a price,” he said gently. “Those kinds of scars are part of being a Warlord Prince. You’re at a crossroads, witch-child. You can use your power to heal or to harm. It’s your choice.
When you’re fully healed,” she said sternly, then spoiled it with a silvery, velvet-coated laugh. “Oh, Lucivar, the dragons who live on the Fyreborn Islands are going to love you. You not only have wings, you’re big enough to wave whomp.
Anne BishopJaenelle tried to smile. “They won’t find their way through the maze. Not this maze, anyway.” Then she looked sadly at Daemon’s gaunt, bruised body and gently brushed the long, dirty, tangled black hair off his forehead. “Ah, Daemon. I had gotten used to thinking of my body as a weapon that was used against me. I’d forgotten that it’s also a gift. If it’s not too late, I’ll do better. I promise.” Jaenelle placed her transparent hands on either side of Daemon’s head. She closed her eyes. The Black Jewel glowed. Listening to the Hayllian guards thrashing around somewhere in the maze, Surreal sank to the ground and settled down to wait. *Daemon.* The island slowly sank into the sea of blood. He curled up in the center of the pulpy ground while the word sharks circled, waiting for him. *Daemon.
Anne BishopHe wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and massaged gently. “Listen to me, Cat, because I’ll only say this once. You’re the finest Lady I’ve ever met and the dearest friend I’ve ever had. Besides that, I love you like a brother, and any bastard who hurts my little sister is going to answer to me.
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