Dreams Made Flesh (The Black Jewels #5)(78)
Author: Anne Bishop

"Like the spelled music crystals retain a musical performance?"

Daemon nodded. "But this one holds what is seen as well as what is heard."

Surreal studied the web and crystal again, this time with keen interest. "That’s brilliant! But… why?"

He hesitated. "Jaenelle is still too fragile to come to Amdarh to see a play… so I bring the plays to her."

Emotion that felt appallingly sentimental welled up in her. She punched it down. "Does she enjoy the plays?"

Now he smiled ruefully. "I hadn’t quite worked out all the snags in the spell the last time I tried it. There was a… lag… between when the actor said his lines and the words were heard. She found it entertaining, but not in the way I’d intended."

Surreal laughed. "Anything I can do to help?"

"This spell doesn’t work independently. At least not yet. So I need to stay focused on the play."

She heard the warning under the words. "That explains why you Black-locked the door." And why he’d told her he preferred to attend the theater alone when she’d asked him earlier if he ever invited anyone to join him as a guest. She’d been thinking of Marian, Lucivar’s wife, but the chill in the air when he’d replied made her wonder how many offers he’d had for company whenever he came to Amdarh.

It also told her how much of a concession he’d made by inviting her to join him tonight. And how he trusted her to let him do what he’d come here to do.

As the house lights went down, Daemon made himself comfortable and focused his eyes on the stage.

The play was entertaining, but Surreal found Daemon more interesting to watch, even though she, too, kept her eyes fixed on the stage. How much of the play did he actually notice since he kept looking at the center of the stage to see the whole of it instead of shifting his gaze to follow the action when it moved closer to one wing or the other? Or would he finally enjoy it when he replayed it for Jaenelle? Although she doubted his attention would be on the play at that point.

When the first act ended and she offered to fetch some refreshment, his quick agreement surprised her…until she made her way through the crowd to the curved bar at one end of the theater’s lobby and ordered two glasses of sparkling wine. The number of women who had given her a cool appraisal as she passed made her wonder how many of them were trying to find out how deep Daemon’s attachment to Jaenelle still ran.

From their point of view, she understood the interest. Daemon was no longer officially Jaenelle’s Consort. Few beyond the family and Jaenelle’s former First Circle would know he’d committed himself to Jaenelle years before he ever became her Consort. They wouldn’t know what he’d done…and suffered…to try to save an extraordinary child who became the most powerful Queen in the history of the Blood. What they saw was a beautiful, sensual male who came from one of the most powerful, and wealthiest, families in Kaeleer, and was a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince in the bargain.

He’d be a prize for any woman who could win him.

She shuddered at the thought of any woman trying to win him away from Jaenelle.

"That’s a lovely bracelet."

Surreal glanced over at the Warlord who had squeezed in beside her to wait for his order. "Thank you."

"Is it a design by Banard?"

Something about his interest wasn’t quite right, but she couldn’t figure out what it was about him that made her want to spill his guts all over the floor. So she hooked her long black hair behind one delicately pointed ear…and saw his eyes widen at the evidence that she wasn’t solely from any of the long-lived races.

"No," she said, "it’s Dea al Mon,"

Nerves danced in his eyes at the mention of the Children of the Wood…a race who fiercely protected their Territory and seldom let anyone who crossed their border walk out again…but he worked to keep his smile easy.

"Then you must be Lady Surreal," he said. "I’ve heard of you."

You didn’t hear enough, sugar. If you’d heard about more than my "public" profession, you wouldn’t be crowding me.

She smiled at him, called in a silver mark and put it on the bar when the server gave her the glasses of sparkling wine, and turned to leave. The woman directly in her path stared at her with hostile jealousy for a moment before moving aside.

She dismissed the look without a second thought as she worked her way back up to the box. She’d seen enough of those looks when she’d been a whore in Terreille.

Maybe that accounted for the odd feeling she got from the Warlord and his interest in the bracelet. Maybe he’d just been trying to find out where he could buy something similar and was nervous about his Lady seeing him talking to another woman. Besides, there was something about the woman in the moment when their eyes met that practically shouted "possessive bitch" to someone who’d spent her life quickly sizing up rivals, enemies, and prey.

Not her problem, she thought as Daemon opened the door enough for her to slip back into the box. Noticing the unhappiness lurking in his eyes before he took the glass she offered, she almost said something, but the house lights began fading as a warning that the second act was about to begin.

No, the Warlord and the bitch weren’t her problem…not when she had a bigger, and more dangerous, one sitting beside her.

3

Surreal waited until they’d enjoyed the appetizers at the dining house Daemon had chosen for their after-theater meal.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked quietly.

"The play?"

"No, about what’s going on between you and Jaenelle that’s making you so unhappy."

"Leave it alone, Surreal," he said, his voice turning icy and razor-edged.

She shook her head. "Can’t, sugar."

"Do you want to talk about Falonar?" he countered.

She hissed.

"Exactly." Smiling, he raised his wineglass in a salute. Then he looked down at his plate…and sighed. "I’ll talk if you will."

Hell’s fire. The least said about Falonar to any male in her family the better. But… "I have your word you won’t do anything to him?Anything?"

She didn’t like the fact that he thought about it for several seconds before inclining his head in agreement.

Pushing her plate aside, she folded her arms on the table. Not a ladylike posture, but it let her lean closer to him. It occurred to her that they could have this entire conversation on a psychic thread to keep it silent and private, but it felt necessary to give the words the weight of sound.

"I’m not what he wanted," she said, feeling the sting of the truth.