Daughter of the Blood (Page 102)

Surreal stood up, brushing the snow from her knees. Jaenelle laughed softly. It was the most haunting, terrifying sound Surreal had ever heard.

"Briarwood is the pretty poison," Jaenelle said softly. "There is no cure for Briarwood. Beware the golden spider who spins a tangled web." Her hand touched Surreal’s arm, drawing her toward the garden. "Rose said I should build a trap, something that will snap shut if my blood is spilled. So I did. If they spring the trap . . . dying is what they’ll wish for, but their wish will be long in coming."

"You’ll still be dead," Surreal said hoarsely. As she saw the shadows in the garden beginning to take shape, she tried to stop, tried to turn and run, but her legs wouldn’t obey her.

Jaenelle shrugged. "I’ve walked among thecildru dyathe. Hell doesn’t frighten me."

"She’s too old to be one of us," said a voice Surreal knew had come, at one time, from a poorer section of Beldon Mor.

Surreal turned. A few minutes ago, seeing a girl walking toward her in a bloody dress with her throat slit would have been a shock. Now it was something her numbed mind cataloged as simply part of Briarwood.

"This is Rose," Jaenelle said to Surreal. "She’s demon-dead."

"It’s not so bad," Rose said, shrugging. "Except I can only cause trouble now after the sun goes down." She laughed. It was a ghastly sound. "And when I tickle a lollipop, it makes them feelso queer."

Jaenelle plucked at Surreal’s sleeve. Her smile was sweetly vicious. "Come. Let me introduce you to some of my friends."

Surreal followed Jaenelle to the garden, grateful that Rose had disappeared.

Jaenelle’s giggle held the echo of madness. "This is the carrot patch. This is where they bury the redheads."

Two redheaded girls sat side by side in blood-soaked dresses.

"They don’t have any hands," Surreal said quietly. She felt feverish and slightly dizzy.

"Myrol wasn’t behaving for an uncle and he hurt her. Rebecca hit him to make him stop hurting Myrol, and when he hit Rebecca, Myrol started hitting him, too." Jaenelle was silent for a moment. "No one even tried to stop the bleeding. They’d been bought from a poor family, you see. Their parents never expected them back, so it didn’t make any difference." Jaenelle gestured toward the whole garden filled with misty shapes. "None of them were asked about. They ‘ran away’ or ‘disappeared.’"

They walked to the end of the garden.

Surreal frowned. "Why are some of them easy to see and others so misty?"

"It depends on how long they’ve been here, how strong they were when they died. Rose was the only one strong enough to becomecildru dyathe who wanted to stay. The othercildru dyathe have gone to the Dark Realm. Char will look after them. These girls have always been ghosts, too strong to slip into the ever-night but not strong enough to move away from where their bodies lay." Jaenelle nodded to the girl at the end of the garden. To Surreal’s eyes, she looked more vivid, more "real" than Jaenelle. "This is Dannie." Jaenelle’s voice quivered with pain. "They served her leg for dinner one night."

Surreal ran for the nearby bushes and retched. When she turned around, the garden was empty. A low wind swept over the snow, wiping away her footprints. When it was done, there was only the building, the empty lawn, and the garden with its secrets.

4—Terreille

Daemon Sadi watched the sun rise.

All through the long, long night, he’d listened along the Black threads of a psychic web he’d created around Beldon Mor for any disturbance, any indication that Jaenelle might be in danger. Without using the Black Jewels to aid him, it was a strain to keep the web functioning, but like a determined spider, he stayed in the center, aware of the most minute vibration along every strand.

It had been a reluctant gamble to leave her in Briarwood. He didn’t trust Alexandra, but if Jaenelle had been drugged, especially with something likesafframate, it was safer for her to come out of it in the same surroundings. He’d seen too many young witches flee into the Twisted Kingdom when their minds couldn’t understand the change in their surroundings, couldn’t comprehend that they were safe. The thought of Jaenelle lost in madness was unbearable, so he could only hope the drugged sleep would make her uninteresting prey. If it didn’t . . .

There was no reason for him to stay among the living without Jaenelle, but if he did go to the Dark Realm, he promised himself he wouldn’t be the only new subject kneeling before the High Lord.

Daemon stripped off his clothes, showered, dressed in riding clothes, and quietly slipped down to the kitchen. He put a kettle on for coffee and made breakfast. When Jaenelle returned, they would have to leave quickly, not giving Philip or Alexandra any additional time to present obstacles. There would be no time for good-byes. He’d seldom had time for good-byes. Besides, there hadn’t been that many people in his life who’d regretted seeing him go. But there was one here who deserved to know the Lady would be gone forever.

By the time he’d washed his breakfast dishes and was drinking his second cup of coffee, Cook stumbled into the kitchen, sinking heavily into one of the kitchen chairs. She looked at him sadly as Daemon set a cup of coffee in front of her.

"She’s back in that hospital, isn’t she?" Cook dabbed at her eyes.

Daemon sat beside her. "Yes," he said quietly. He held her hands and rubbed gently. "But not for long. She’ll be out this afternoon."

"Do you think so?" She gave him a grateful, trembling smile. "In that case, I can—"

"No." Daemon squeezed her hands. "She’ll be out of Briarwood, but she won’t be coming back."

Cook withdrew her hands. Her lips quivered. "You’re taking her away, aren’t you?"

Daemon tried to be gentle. "There’s a place she can live where she’ll be cared for and she’ll be safe."

"She’s cared for here," Cook protested sharply.

It hurt to watch her eyes fill with tears. "But not safe. If this continues, she’ll break under the strain or die." He wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I promise you, she’ll be in a safe place, and no one will ever lock her away again."

Cook dabbed her eyes with her apron. "They’re good people, these folk you found for her? They won’t be . . . critical . . . of her odd ways?"

"They don’t think her ways are odd." Daemon sipped his coffee. This, too, was a gamble. "However, I would appreciate your not mentioning any of this until we’re gone. There are some here who want to harm her, who would use whatever means they could to stop us if they realized I’m going to take her out of their reach."