Queen of the Darkness (The Black Jewels #3)(42)
Author: Anne Bishop

They didn’t listen. Because they were so sure they were right, so sure that they knew what was best. Even Philip. He kept telling her that it would be all right now, that Robert was dead so it would be all right. But it wouldn’t be,couldn’t be, all right because they thought of her as being "damaged" somehow—she could see that in their eyes—and anything she thought or felt or wanted would be colored by that conviction. And because she cared for Philip and knew he would be hurt by it, she couldn’t tell them why shereally wanted to stay there.

Her fear that they might actually be able to take her away after she’d struggled so hard to get to Kaeleer had escalated to the point where she had leaped up from the couch, and yelled, "No! I don’t want to!"

Lucivar was in the room and hurrying her away from them before anyone else could move.

But she couldn’t stop shaking, and the fear was eating her alive.

Lucivar’s hand came down on her shoulder, stopping her. A moment later, he called in a flask. He vanished the cap, gripped the back of her head with one hand, and held the flask up to her lips.

"If you keep shaking like that, you’re going to rip something," he said, sounding annoyed. "Take a sip of this. It’ll settle your nerves."

"I don’t want a sedative," Wilhelmina said, trying to pull away as desperation swelled inside her. "There’s nothing wrong with me."

"Nothing except you’ve gone way past scared, and that’s not good for you." Lucivar paused, studying her. "It’s not a sedative, Wilhelmina," he said quietly. "It’s Khary’s home brew. It’s got a kick to it that will mellow you out—and it’ll also keep you from breaking apart. Now, hold your nose and swallow."

She didn’t hold her nose. Shedid swallow the sip he gave her.

Golden.

It flowed over her tongue like ripe plums and summer heat, pooled in her stomach for a moment, and then flowed into her limbs.

When he offered her another swallow, she took it. That glorious heat melted her fear and produced a sensuous warmth inside her. If she had another sip, she might even feel brave—fiercely, wonderfully brave.

But Lucivar wasn’t offering another sip. She wasn’t aware that he’d released her, but he had the cap in one hand now and the flask in the other, and he was going to take away that delicious heat.

She snatched the flask and ran down the corridor, whipped around a corner, and guzzled as much as she could before he caught up to her and took it away.

She leaned against the wall and smiled at him. She felt enormously pleased when he took a couple of steps back and watched her warily.

Lucivar sniffed the flask, took a small sip, and said, "Shit."

"That would be a rude thing to do in the corridor."

He swore softly while he capped the flask and vanished it, but it sounded more like laughter. "Come on, little witch. Let’s get you settled somewhere while you can still walk."

She walked toward him to prove that she could, but the floor suddenly got lumpy, and she tripped and fell against him.

"I am very brave," she told him, leaning against his chest.

"You are very drunk."

"Mmmm not." Then she remembered the important thing she had to do. The most important thing. "I want to see my sister." She smacked her hand as hard as she could against the surface she was leaning on to emphasize her point. She looked at her stinging hand. "It hurts."

"We’ll have matching bruises," Lucivar said dryly.

"Okay."

Muttering, he steered her through the corridors.

She felt so wonderful, she wanted to sing, but all the songs she knew seemed so … polite. "Do you know any naughty songs?"

"Mother Night," he muttered.

"Don’t know that one. How does it go?"

"This way," he said, steering her around a corner.

She got away from him and ran down the corridor, flapping her arms. "I can flyyyyy."

When he caught her again, he wrapped one arm around her waist, knocked once on the door in front of them, and hauled her inside.

"Cat!"

Tears filled Wilhelmina’s eyes when Jaenelle walked out of the adjoining room. The warm smile of greeting was all she needed to see.

Slipping out of Lucivar’s grip, she stumbled a couple of steps and hugged Jaenelle.

"I’ve missed you," Wilhelmina said, laughing while tears ran down her face. "I’ve missed you so much. I’m sorry I wasn’t braver. You were my little sister, and I should have looked after you. But you were the one who always looked after me." She leaned back, holding Jaenelle’s shoulders for balance. "You’re so pretty."

"And you’re drunk." Those sapphire eyes stared at Lucivar. "What did you do to her?"

"Her nerves were so strained after meeting your relatives, I was afraid she’d break. So I asked Khary for the strongest brew he had in a flask because I figured she wouldn’t take more than a sip." Lucivar winced. "She guzzled half the flask—and it wasn’t one of his home brews, it was the concoction you created."

Jaenelle’s eyes widened. "You let her drink a ‘gravedigger’?"

"No no no," Wilhelmina said, shaking her head. "You shouldn’t ever drink a gravedigger until he’s had a bath." She smiled placidly when Jaenelle and Lucivar just stared at her.

"Mother Night," Lucivar muttered.

"Do you know that song?" Wilhelmina asked Jaenelle.

"What did you have for breakfast?" Jaenelle demanded.

"Water. I was too nervous to eat. But I’m not nervous anymore. I am very brave and fierce."

Lucivar wrapped one hand around her arm. "Why don’t you sit on the couch now?"

She headed straight across the room—more or less. When he started to lead her around the table, she dug in her heels.

"I can go through the table," she announced proudly. "I studied my Craft. I want to show Jaenelle that I can do that now."

"You want to do something really challenging?" Lucivar asked. "Then let’s walkaround the table. Right now, that will be impressive."

"Okay."

Getting around the tablewas sufficiently challenging, especially since Lucivar kept getting his feet in the way. When she finally reached the couch, she plopped down next to Jaenelle. "I brushed Dejaal, and now he likes me. If I brushed Lucivar, do you think he’d like me, too?"

"He’d promise to like you if you stopped stepping on him," Lucivar growled softly while he pulled off her shoes.

"It’s Marian’s job to brush Lucivar," Jaenelle said solemnly.

"Okay."