He didn't know who the men were—and didn't care.
Reaching up from the depth of the Black, he slipped under the men's inner barriers and unleashed iced rage, turning their brains into gray dust and consuming their psychic strength, finishing the kill.
He was across the room before they fell. Kneeling beside Karla, he dropped the sight shield and reached out cautiously.
The shield around her held a feral, deadly hunger.
Not sure how to get through the shield, and wondering what he might unleash if he did it incorrectly, Daemon took a deep breath and brought his hand a little closer.
A flick of power against his palm. A tasting. An acceptance.
His hand passed, unharmed, through the shield.
"Karla," he said as his hand closed on her arm."Karla." Her rasping effort to breathe told him she was still alive. But if she'd gone so deep into a healing sleep that she couldn't hear him...
"Kiss kiss," Karla rasped.
Relief washed through him. He leaned over her so that she could see him without trying to move her head. "Kiss kiss."
"Poisoned," she said. "Can't identify. Bad."
Pushing her robe aside, Daemon laid his left hand on her chest and sent out a careful psychic probe. His knowledge of healing Craft was limited, but he knew about poisons. And he recognized at least part of this one.
"Get your hand ... off my ... tit," Karla said.
"Don't be bitchy," Daemon replied mildly, probing a little more. Her body was fighting it far better than he would have thought possible, but she wouldn't survive without more help than he could give her. He hesitated. "Karla ..."
"About... three hours left. Body... can't fight more..."
Riding the Black Winds, it had taken him almost two hours to get there from Scelt. Pandar and Centauran were closer, but he didn't know Jonah or Sceron as well as he knew Khardeen, and he didn't know if the satyr or centaur Healers could deal with this poison.
Besides, Jaenelle would most likely head for Scelt. And that decided him.
"I'm getting you out of here," he said as he started to lift her. Then he realized her hand was still clamped around the bladed stick. "Sweetheart, let go of the stick."
"Have to clean... the blades. Can't... put a weapon away... without cleaning the blades. Lucivar... would skin me."
Daemon almost gave her his succinct opinion about that, but glancing over his shoulder at the hacked-up woman, he swallowed any criticism he might have had about Lucivar's training methods. "I'll clean the blades. And I promise I'll never tell Lucivar you didn't do it yourself."
Karla's lips curved in the barest of smiles. "You'd be likable if ... you weren't somale."
"My Queen likes me that way," Daemon said dryly. He vanished the bladed stick, carefully lifted Karla, and turned.
Her Master of the Guard blocked the doorway. "What are you doing with my Queen?"
"Taking her away from here," Daemon answered quietly. "She's been poisoned. She needs help."
"We have Healers."
"Would you trust them?" Daemon saw the moment's hesitation. "I have no quarrel with you, Prince. Don't force me to go through you."
The other man studied him, focused on the Black-Jeweled Ring. "You're Lady Angelline's Consort."
"Yes."
The man stepped aside. As Daemon passed him, he said quietly, "Please take care of her."
"I will." Daemon paused. "Have you seen Morton?"
The Master of the Guard shook his head.
There was no time to think about Morton or what might have happened to him. "If you see him, tell him I'm taking Karla to Scelt. Don't tell anyonebut Morton."
The man nodded. "Come this way. There's a Craft-powered carriage out back. It'll get you to the Winds faster."
The Master of the Guard drove the carriage while Daemon held Karla, using those precious minutes to wrap Black shields around her to protect her during the ride on the Winds. They stopped a few feet from where he had landed.
"May the Darkness embrace you, Prince," the man said.
"And you." Wrapping his arms around Karla, Daemon caught the Black Wind and rode hard toward Scelt.
He stopped once, halfway there, to send a message to Khary. *I'm on my way back with Karla. She's been poisoned. We'll need a Healer and a Black Widow. The best you have.*
*Jaenelle's on her way here,* Khary replied.
That was all he needed to know. He caught the Black Wind again and continued the journey, knowing the sand in the hourglass was trickling away far too fast.
10 / Kaeleer
Sight shielded, Kaelas and twenty Arcerian males crouched on the roofs of the human dens, watching the bad winged males move around the village. Some of the dens had lights now that night had closed around them, and he could smell food cooking.
*Meat?* one of the Arcerian Warlords asked.
*No,* Kaelas replied. He felt a ripple of anger run through the other males. *The meat tastes bad.*
*We have come for the hunt but will have no meat to bring back to the home dens?* another male asked irritably.
*We promised the Lady we wouldn't hunt human meat,* a younger male said tentatively.
*These males killed a male who belonged to the Lady,* Kaelas said firmly. *They killed the pale humans who belonged to Lady Karla.*
Another ripple of anger, this time directed at the bad winged males. Arcerians didn't have much use for humans, but they liked Lady Karla and adored the Lady. For them, they would hunt and return to the dens without meat.
The wind shifted slightly, brought a different scent.
*We will take the animals that belonged to the pale humans,* Kaelas said. *The humans do not need them now. It will be payment for work.* He was pleased that he remembered that peculiar human idea. If the Lady snarled at him for taking animals from a human village, he could use those words.
*Payment for work?* a couple of males echoed. Then one of them asked, *This is a human thing?*
*Yes. We kill these bad males, then we can take good meat back to the dens.*
Satisfied, the Arcerians settled down to study their prey.
Kaelas watched the winged males for a minute. *We must hunt fast... and silent.*
*Fast kills,* the others agreed.
Kaelas watched the Green-Jeweled Warlord Prince walk to a den near the Sanctuary.But not for that one.
11 / Kaeleer
Jaenelle was waiting for him by the time Daemon reached Khary and Morghann's house.
"She's bleeding too much for this just to be moon's blood," he said abruptly as he rushed into the guest room, followed by Morghann, Khary, and Maeve, the village Healer. "And there's not much time left."
Jaenelle placed a hand on Karla's chest, her eyes focusing on something only she could see. "There's enough," she said too calmly.
Morghann laid a padding of towels on the bed.
Daemon gave her a cold stare as he laid Karla on the bed. Was the woman more worried about her precious linens than about a friend who had been poisoned?
"It'll disturb her less to change a towel than to change the linens," Morghann said quietly, her eyes clearly telling him she knew what he'd been thinking—and had been hurt by it.
There was no time for an apology. Morghann and Maeve stripped off the bloody nightgown and robe, and quickly wiped the blood off Karla's skin. Jaenelle paid no attention to the physical ministrations, remaining focused on the healing.
Daemon was about to tell her what he knew about the poison when he looked down at his blood-soaked sleeve. Memories of being soaked in Jaenelle's blood rushed at him. He ripped off the jacket, then the shirt. Khary took them and handed him a wet cloth.
As he scrubbed the blood off his skin, Jaenelle said, "There were two poisons used. I don't know one of them."
Handing the cloth back to Khary, Daemon moved to the bed. "One of them comes from a plant that only grows in southern Hayll."
Jaenelle looked up, her eyes blank and iced. "Do you know an antidote?" she asked with an odd calm that scared him.
"Yes. But the herbs I have are several years old. I don't know if they'll still be potent enough."
"I can make them potent enough. Make the antidote, Daemon."
"What about the other poison?" he asked as he started clearing a work space on the bedside table.
"It's witchblood."
A chill went through him. Witchblood only grew where a witch had been violently killed—or where she had been buried. Used as a poison, it was virulent and deadly—and usually undetectable.
"You can detect it?" Daemon asked cautiously.
"I can recognize witchblood in any of its forms," Jaenelle replied in her midnight voice.
Another memory rushed at him. Jaenelle staring at the bed of witchblood she had planted in an alcove on the Angelline estate.Did you know that if you sing to them correctly, they'll tell you the names of the ones who have gone?
Even dried into a poison, did the plants tell Witch the names of the ones who were gone?
Locking away the memories, along with his heart, Daemon concentrated on making the antidote.
"Maeve," Jaenelle said, "get some basic plasters ready. We'll have to draw out some of the poison. Morghann, I want you to leave the room. Don't come back for any reason until I tell you."
"But—"
Jaenelle just looked at her.
Morghann hurried out of the room.
"May I stay?" Khary asked quietly. "You three will be involved in the healing. You'll need a free pair of hands to fetch things."
"This won't be easy, Lord Khardeen," Jaenelle said.
Khary paled a little. "She's my Sister, too."
Jaenelle nodded her consent, then leaned over the bed and said so softly Daemon was sure he was the only one close enough to hear, "Arms or legs, Karla?"
The answer, if she got one, was private—Sister to Sister. But it began a healing so gruesome he desperately hoped he would never witness anything like it again.
