Disclaimer: The Black Jewels Trilogy and subsequent novels were written by Anne Bishop. Although I own all the books, I do not own, nor make money from, the copyright.
A/N: And thus I begin to fill my time with more stories I shouldn't be writing. This is an Alternate Universe from TBJ although most of cannon happens as it was originally written. Some of it comes from a different point of view, or is referenced. This chapter is a rewrite of the Prologue of Daughter of the Blood.
The Trickster waited. Tucked away in a corner of the Court, sipping wine as slowly as he could, he watched. He kept his mind blank, both to keep from attracting attention and to keep his disgust at the false Dance that swirled around him. The Blood of this Court mouthed the phrases of Protocol without thinking of their meaning, and it disgusted him.
"Tell us a story, Weaver," one of the men shouted.
The Trickster stiffened, hating to watch, but unable to look away as the broken Black Widow took her place before the Court. Years spent fighting the Twisted Kingdom had left their mark, but the youth and beauty she'd once claimed were visible. A man drifted between the Trickster and the Weaver and he looked up, furious. The Sadist's golden eyes watched him, warm amusement flickering in them for just a moment.
The Trickster flinched slightly and looked away, hoping the Sadist wouldn't reveal him for what he was. The dark jeweled Warlord Prince remained for a brief moment before moving on. The Trickster started looking for his escape route; no way was he going to play the Game when the Sadist was there.
A sharp voice, the Trickster jumps, and bites his lip to keep from swearing. Not only is the Sadist there, but the Eyrian as well. He sets his wine glass down and prepares to stand. "She is coming."
The Trickster stares at the Weaver, sensing the sudden interest of the Sadist and the Eyrian. There is a tangled web beside the Weaver, and the Trickster worries that she has taken the final steps to the Twisted Kingdom. "Stupid bitch," a Warlord crowed,
"Tell me who I'll love tonight."
"What does it matter?" The Weaver replied sharply, "She is coming; The Realm of Terreillee will be torn apart by its own foolish greed. Those who survive will serve, but few will survive."
As the Sadist went to the Weaver, the Trickster fought to hide the internal pain at the idea of Terreillee, his home, falling apart even as he moved closer, unnoticed beneath the webs spun for such a purpose.
Quieter, the Weaver continues, "The Blood in Terreille whore the old ways and make a mockery of everything we are. They twist things to suit themselves. They dress up and pretend. They wear Blood Jewels but don't understand what it means to be Blood. They talk of honoring the Darkness, but it's a lie. They honor nothing but their own ambitions. The Blood were created to be caretakers of the Realms. That's why we were given our power. That's why we come from yet are apart from, the people in every Territory. The perversion of what we are can't go on. The day is coming when the debt will be called in and the Blood will have to answer for what they've done."
The Eyrian also approaches, drawn to them despite his own thoughts.
"The Darkness has had a Prince for a long, long time. Now the Queen is coming. It may take decades, even centuries, but she is coming. They will be dust by then, but you and the Eyrien will be here to serve."
The Trickster closes his eyes in wonder at her words, "The living myth. Dreams made flesh."
The Warlord's death can wait. The Trickster turns and heads for the back exit. In his mind, he sees an old chess set, all the pieces waiting for the game to start save one. The darker jeweled Queen had not been placed. They were all waiting for that final piece to come into play.
She Is Coming!