Heir to the Shadows (The Black Jewels #2)(110)
Author: Anne Bishop

"Come, Daemon."

His hands lightly brushed the crests of the red, frozen waves. He stepped onto the bridge.

The word sharks circled, tore off chunks of the island, tried to slice away the bridge beneath his feet.

You are my instrument.

Jaenelle called in a bow, nocked an arrow, and took aim. The arrow sang through the air. The word shark thrashed as it withered and sank.

Words lie. Blood doesn’t.

Another arrow sang a death song.

Butchering who—

The island and the last word shark sank together.

Jaenelle vanished the bow, turned away from the sea, and walked into the twisted, shattered-crystal landscape.

Her voice reached him, faint and fading. "Come, Daemon."

Daemon rushed across the bridge, hit the shore running, and then swore in frustration as he searched for some sign of where she’d gone.

He caught her psychic scent before he noticed the glittering trail. It was like a ribbon of star-sprinkled night sky that led him through the twisted landscape to where she perched on a rock far above him.

She looked down ,at him, smiling with exasperated amusement. "Stubborn, snarly male."

"Stubbornness is a much-maligned quality," he panted as he climbed toward her.

Her silvery, velvet-coated laugh filled the land.

Then he finally got a good look at her. He sank to his knees. "I owe you a debt, Lady."

She shook her head. "The debt is mine, not yours."

"I failed you," he said bitterly, looking at her wasted body.

"No, Daemon," Jaenelle replied softly. "I failedyou. You asked me to heal the crystal chalice and return to the living world. And I did. But I don’t think I ever forgave my body for being the instrument that was used to try to destroy me, and I became its cruelest torturer. For that I’m sorry because you treasured that part of me."

"No, I treasuredall of you. I love you, Witch. I always will. You’re everything I’d dreamed you would be."

She smiled at him. "And I—" She shuddered, pressed her hand against her chest. "Come. There’s little time left."

She fled through the rocks, out of sight before he could move.

He hurried after her, following the glittering trail, gasping as he felt a crushing weight descend on him.

"Daemon." Her voice came back to him, faint and pain-filled. "If the body is going to survive, I can’t stay any longer."

He fought against the weight. " Jaenelle!"

"You have to take this in slow stages. Rest there now. Rest, Daemon. I’ll mark the trail for you. Please follow it. I’ll be waiting for you at the end."

"Jaenelle!"

A wordless whisper. His name spoken like a caress. Then silence.

Time meant nothing as he lay there, curled in a ball, fighting to hang on to the glittering trail that led upward while everything beneath him pulled at him, trying to drag him back down.

He held on fiercely to the memory of her voice, to her promise that she would be waiting.

Later—much later—the pulling eased, the crushing weight lessened.

The glittering trail, the star-sprinkled ribbon still led upward.

Daemon climbed.

Surreal watched the sky lighten and listened to the guards shouting and cursing as the maze sizzled from the explosions of power against power. Throughout the long night, the guards had pounded their way toward the center of the maze as Jaenelle’s shields broke piece by piece. If the screams were any indication, it had cost the guards dearly to break as much of her shields as they had.

There was some satisfaction in that, but Surreal also knew what the surviving guards would do to whomever they found in the maze.

"Surreal? What’s happening?"

For a moment, Surreal couldn’t say anything. Jaenelle’s eyes looked dead-dull, the inner fire burned to ash. Her Black Jewels looked as if she’d drained most of the reserve power in them.

Surreal knelt beside Daemon. Except for the rise and fall of his chest, he hadn’t stirred since he collapsed. "The guards are breaking through the shield," she said, trying to sound calm. "I don’t think we have much time left."

Jaenelle nodded. "Then you and Daemon have to leave. The Green Wind runs over the edge of the garden. Can you reach it?"

Surreal hesitated. "With all the power that’s been unleashed in this area, I’m not sure."

"Let me see your Gray ring."

She held out her right hand.

Jaenelle brushed her Black ring against Surreal’s Gray.

Surreal felt a psychic thread shoot out of the rings as they made contact, felt the Green Web pull at her.

"There," Jaenelle gasped. "As soon as you launch yourself, the thread will reel you into the Green Web. Take the beacon web with you. Destroy it completely as soon as you can."

Daemon stirred, moaned softly.

"What about you?" Surreal asked.

Jaenelle shook her head. "It doesn’t matter. I won’t be coming back. I’ll hold the guards long enough to give you a head start."

Jaenelle opened Daemon’s tattered shirt. Taking Surreal’s right hand, she pricked the middle finger and pressed it against Daemon’s chest while she murmured words in a language Surreal didn’t know.

"This binding spell will keep him with you until he’s out of the Twisted Kingdom." Jaenelle faded, came back. "One last thing."

Surreal took the gold coin that hovered in the air. On one side was an elaborate S. On the other side were the words "Dhemlan Kaeleer."

"That’s a mark of safe passage," Jaenelle said, straining to get the words out. "If you ever come to Kaeleer, show it to whomever you first meet and tell them you’re expected at the Hall in Dhemlan. It guarantees you a safe escort."

Surreal vanished the coin and the small beacon web.

Daemon rolled onto his side and opened his eyes.

Jaenelle floated backward until she faded into the hedge. "Go quickly, Surreal. May the Darkness embrace you."

Swearing quietly, Surreal tugged Daemon to his feet. He stared at her with simpleminded bewilderment. She pulled his left arm over her shoulders and winced as she tightened her right arm around his waist.

Taking a deep breath, she let the psychic thread reel them through the Darkness until she caught the Green Wind and headed north.

The hiding place was ready and waiting.

Before the night when she’d drunkenly broken the warm friendship that had existed between them, Daemon had told her about two people: Lord Marcus, the man of business who took care of Daemon’s very discreet investments, and Manny.

Shortly after Jaenelle had contacted her, she’d gone to see Lord Marcus about finding a hiding place and had discovered that one already existed—a small island that was owned by "a reclusive invalid Warlord" who lived with a handful of servants.