Blood Rebellion

"You will now know what you have dealt to others and you will search for the love you denied but it will not come to you. Ask not for pity from those who were once your family. It will not be granted." Cleo’s words held Power. I had to Look to see where it came from. Cleo had a direct connection to something on the other side.

"What’s her name?" I almost whispered my question to Griffin.

"Narissa," Griffin’s voice was also soft as he watched his mother weep. We left her there, folded up on the ground and rocking herself.

I think Kyler took us back to the High Demon palace; I wasn’t sure Griffin was able at the moment. He was finally allowing the information his mother had given to sink in, with devastating results. His hands shook and he might have been close to hyperventilating. "Em-pah, what are you going to do?" Kyler and Amara led him to a chair once we were inside a suite at the palace. Garde sent the two High Demon guards away and stayed with us. Griffin shook with shock and I wasn’t prepared to console him. I did know what I could do, however.

"I’m calling Erland," I said, and sent out mindspeech.

* * *

"Lissa, my love, dare I hope you’ve changed your mind?" Erland appeared in seconds after I sent mindspeech. He looked so hopeful as he took my hand and kissed it. The smile he gave me was blinding, too. Most women would have fallen to the floor in an orgasmic faint at that smile.

"Erland, I haven’t, that isn’t why I called you," I blew out a breath. Amara was doing what she could for her mate and Cleo and Kyler were both sitting with Griffin. They each held a hand, squeezing it tightly.

"What has happened?" Erland knew something was up, now.

"Daddy just found out who his father was from his Elemaiyan mother," I took Erland’s arm and led him from the suite with Garde on our heels. When we reached the hall outside, I asked my question. "Have you ever heard of a Karathian Warlock named Wylend Arden?"

Erland stared at me in shock for seconds. "What’s wrong, Erland?" I asked.

"Fuck me," Erland breathed, his beautiful face displaying shock.

"Yeah, you keep asking and I keep saying no. Who’s Wylend Arden?"

"Perhaps it is better if I show you." Erland folded me away before Garde could protest.

* * *

"Where are we?" We’d landed in an entryway that reminded me of the rotunda at Grey House—the one that held all the sculpture and artwork. Only this one was six times bigger and even more obscenely opulent. The marble tiles were veined in gold and silver. Some of the sculptures were gold or appeared to be gold and depicted humanoids and animals in many poses. Some danced; some played musical instruments or leapt and ran against polished marble walls.

A uniformed man appeared quickly in the middle of a central, wide doorway. "Lord Morphis, if you and your guest will follow me," he bowed slightly, seeming unsurprised that we’d appeared from nowhere without an invitation. Erland nudged me forward and I walked on feet that had suddenly gone numb. Recognition shone in our greeter’s eyes—he knew Erland and knew him well. We followed our guide through a seemingly endless hall. Paintings and priceless treasures hung on walls or rested on ornately carved furniture throughout its length. We reached another doorway eventually and our guide stopped before us, causing Erland to pull me to a halt as well. Erland’s arm was around my shoulders and his fingers gripped my upper arm tightly, as if he were afraid I might disappear. I was thinking about it, but the opportunity passed quickly.

"Lord Erland Morphis," our guide announced in a loud voice. "And guest," he added before moving away. Erland pulled me forward, although I was beginning to have second (and third) thoughts about all this.

The throne room (that’s what it was, I discovered quickly) was magnificent. The value of the tile alone could have fed a Third World country on Earth for several years. Who had wealth such as this? I had no idea. Small knots of men and women stood here and there inside that throne room and they gazed upon us in curiosity as Erland steered me through them, heading toward the throne and the man who sat there. Flanked by two Warlocks in uniform, the man on the throne observed us with guarded interest as we approached.

When we reached the bottom step leading to the ornate chair and the man who sat upon it, Erland bowed low. He didn’t ask me to bow with him, or kneel or curtsy (not that I would have). The man on the throne lifted an eyebrow at me when Erland straightened up from his bow. I already knew from the scent who he was.

"Explain why your guest does not bow, before I call my guards to imprison her," Wylend Arden asked Erland calmly.

"Even if she were not who she is, it would be foolish to attempt to imprison her," Erland talked in circles. One of King Wylend’s eyebrows lifted higher.

"You bring me a puzzle to solve?" Wylend seemed quite happy at the prospect.

"If you wish it, my King," Erland flashed a dazzling smile.

"Let me see," Wylend stood and walked down the steps, the two Warlock guards remaining at his side as he descended. King Wylend Arden was beardless, wore only a simple gold band on his forehead, dressed richly in a silk shirt and trousers and wore a heavy gold chain that circled his neck. His eyes and his height were Griffin’s—there was no mistaking them, as well as the brown color of his hair. Narissa had been shorter—very close to my height. Kyler and Cleo had gotten their beauty and rich auburn hair from her. I was staring at my grandfather. Had I ever thought to have one? My mother always said her parents were dead and Howard Graham’s were deceased before I was born.

"Let’s see," Wylend examined me carefully as he circled Erland and me. He stroked his chin lightly as he considered the conundrum I presented. "Do I get the standard three questions?" Wylend was still walking around me, much like a large cat might consider its prey.

"If you wish it, my King," Erland repeated, grinning wider, now.

"Very well. Is she human?"

"Not human," Erland was enjoying this. I wanted to elbow him in the stomach. Instead, I was forced to stand there and bear the King’s scrutiny. Honestly, I had no idea what to do or how he might react when he learned he had a granddaughter (or great-granddaughters, for that matter). How was Griffin going to deal with this? He had a living father. I think he imagined his father was dead and merely wanted to know the name. Who knows—with his ability to bend time, he might have gone back and watched his father from afar. That wasn’t necessary. His father was here and staring at me intently.

"Is she pregnant with your child?" Wylend asked his second question.