Twilight’s Dawn (The Black Jewels #9)(13)
Author: Anne Bishop

“We took a couple of trees whose elimination would benefit the surrounding trees,” Jaenelle said. “We’ll use the branches to create wreaths or other decorations. That will add the scent to the room.” She edged toward the door, then stopped as if listening to something beyond the room. “Oh, good. Marian is here.”

Which meant Lucivar was also here. *Prick?* he called on a psychic spear thread.

*Let me stash the little beast and I’ll meet you,* Lucivar replied.

“All right,” Daemon said to Jaenelle. “Since Marian is here, I’ll—”

“Stay here,” Jaenelle said, heading for the door. “I need to pee, and someone needs to guard the gifts until they’re all properly shielded.”

Daemon looked at the gifts stacked around the tree. “Huh?”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t leave the room.When I get back, Marian and I will sort the gifts and put on the appropriate shields.”

“What are you figuring is going to happen to them?”

She just looked at him.

“Fine,” he said, trying not to grumble. “I’ll guard the gifts.”

She was almost out the door when she stopped and looked at him over her shoulder. “Papa arrived a little while ago, but I haven’t seen him yet.”

Then she was gone, and he felt as if he’d been shuffled to a back room and given a senseless task just to keep him out of the way. Hell’s fire, his father and brother were in the Hall. He should be spending time with them instead of guarding boxes. Or he should be in his study, working. He still had some work to do. Not much, but some. And even if he didn’t have work and just stretched out on the couch and read a book, he wouldn’t feel like a stray puppy that someone had forgotten. Not if he was in his study.

A quick knock on the door. Before he could say anything, a maid and two footmen entered the room, their arms full of boxes.

“Excuse us, Prince,” the maid said. “We were told to bring these gifts here.”

Daemon smiled at them and stepped aside.

“Are you going home for Winsol?” he asked.

“We’re drawing lots tonight to see who’s working which days,” the younger footman said.

They stacked the packages in front of the tree. Moments after they walked out the door, Lucivar walked in.

“Hiding already?” Lucivar asked. “Winsol hasn’t officially started.”

“I’m guarding the gifts,” Daemon replied.

“From what? You didn’t put any food under there, did you? You never put food gifts under the tree. I did that one year, and the younger kindred found the boxes of fudge and the boxes of rawhide strips. What a mess.”

“If there’s food under the tree, I didn’t put it there.”

“Good. There’s something I want to show you. I had it made for Daemonar and—”

A quick knock on the door, and another maid entered the room.

“I was told to put these packages under the tree,” she said.

“They’re going to be in and out of here for the rest of the day,” Lucivar muttered as soon as the maid left. “Let’s find another room. We need a couple of minutes in private.”

“I’m supposed to guard the gifts,” Daemon said.

“Tch. The little beast is in the playroom, enthralled by jingling puppies, so the room will be fine. We won’t go far. Besides, he doesn’t know which room has the presents.”

Since Daemon thought guarding the gifts was a pointless exercise anyway, it didn’t take much persuasion. He and Lucivar hurried along the corridor, sneaked around the corner, and slipped into another sitting room.

“Do we ever use this room?” Daemon asked, looking around.

“Male sanctuary,” Lucivar replied. “Used to use it when the coven lived here most of the time. Gave the boyos breathing room to talk among themselves while still being close by if they were needed.” He waved a hand, dismissing further interest in the room. “Look at this.” He called in a rectangular wood-and-glass box.

Daemon obediently leaned over to look into the box.

“It’s a bug-in-a-box,” Lucivar said, grinning.

From one end of the box, a little black beetle emerged. As it made its way to the other end, it grew and grew and grew until . . .

Pop!

There were sounds. Daemon wasn’t sure a beetle actually made sounds that were a cross between insect noise and cranky grumbling, but it added to the appeal. Or the disgust. He had a strong suspicion the emotion of the person viewing this little toy would depend on whether that person had a penis or br**sts.

“You have that box shielded, don’t you?” he asked.

Lucivar made a huffy sound of disbelief. “I’ve got it triple shielded. There is no way Daemonar is getting that bug out of the box.”

“If he does . . .” Daemon looked at his brother.

Lucivar sighed. “The only question will be whether Marian tries to kill me before she divorces me or after.”

“As long as you know the risks.” He grinned. Couldn’t help it. “Daemonar will love it.”

“Yeah, he will.”

Picturing Daemonar’s face when the boy opened that gift reminded him of where he was supposed to be. “I’d better get back to guarding the gifts.”

Lucivar vanished the box. “I’ll go with you. If I look like I’ve got something to do, maybe I won’t get cornered into doing something.”

They hurried back to the other room, opened the door—and froze just inside the doorway.

Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.

“He wasn’t anywhere near this room when we left,” Lucivar said. “I swear by all I hold dear, he wasn’t anywhere near this room.”

Well, the little beast was in the middle of it now, sitting on the floor surrounded by various-sized boxes and drifts of torn wrapping paper.

“Papa!” Daemonar cried. “Unka Daemon! Lizzen!”

Bang bang bang. The sound of box on floor.

And the sound of something delicate—and no doubt expensive—breaking inside the box.

Daemon felt his face muscles shift into a tight smile—or maybe it was a grimace. Must have been the appropriate response, because Daemonar grinned at him and went back to banging the box on the floor.

“Whatever is inside is already broken,” Lucivar said. “No point taking it away from him now. He’ll just grab for something else.”