Disclaimer: I do not own the Black Jewel Trilogy. It is owned, written, and copyrighted by Anne Bishop.
AN: Ummm, how to start this off? Okay, I know probably next to no one is going to read this, but I apologize for taking three years to return to this fanfic, and it was very unfair of me to do that. Bows in shame Unfortunately at the time, this fanfic was no more than a notion written on a coaster. In the first two chapters I had written myself into a corner and had no idea how to write out of it. But in the past few months, thanks to many of my friends I found direction and an actual plot! Thank you, thank you, very much. Grovels As usual this chapter has been edited and beta'd by Shanis. Another bow before edging away from the frightening editor and her army of pointy stick-armed muses
I hope that in this chapter I have addressed all your concerns that you have left in your reviews. As for Demona's name, I can't change that but what I can tell you is that her name had at most 3 seconds of thought in it, and I was watching Gargoyles when I playing around with beginnings of this fanfic. When I name characters I tend to give minor or antagonist characters more thought in their names. Actually Lord Karvan of Chapter two had more thought to his name, a whole hour of rearranging letters, than say Luthvian and Demona. It's just how I write. As for my style of writing, I am very flattered that some of you have commented that I write close or exactly to Anne Bishop's style and I thank you for such high praise. As for those of you who are dissatisfied, please keep in mind that unless I somehow actually become Anne Bishop, this is about as close as I can get.
Again I'm sorry to the nth time. Thank you for your patience and I hope that this chapter had been well worth your waiting.
Chapter 3
1/Kaeleer
The moon hung low in the twilight sky as the rays of dawn were hours away from rising. Deep within the woods on the Isle of Scelt, a twig snapped and leaves cracked as the creatures of the night roamed the woodlands with freedom as their right. They were not the only ones to claim the shadows, to claim the night, as two figures were speaking in a hushed tongue, a language older than dust, deader than sin.
"It is almost time, I can feel it."
"You are not the only one, my sister."
"Has Draca received our message?"
"Such little faith in my abilities," the second speaker drawled, "you mock me. Of course I delivered the message, you doorknob."
"Who are you calling a doorknob?"
"You."
"Cunt."
"Slut."
"Whore."
"You have the tits to call me that? At least the races I came from didn't mother the greatest whore of all Terreille."
"Yes but remember the amount she had killed in compensation."
"Not nearly enough." The latter grumbled in distaste.
An enormous cloak of living flesh, emerging out of the surrounding foliage and the glamour of their Craft, chuckled humorously. Both figures flowed, out of lightning quick reflexes and instinct, to their weapons. The first speaker of the two was armed with a bow, a quiver of arrows, and a deadly aim; the other with a double-edged sword nicked from centuries of use but still endowed with a cutting blade sharp enough to slice a hair.
My, my, how terribly amusing. Two of the greatest powers in all three realms squabbling like two women of high society over a good-looking buck. The visitor burst out in snuffled laughter once again.
"You can stop laughing now Karadur. If the positions had been reversed and you had come earlier, you would have been squabbling just as much as either of us." The archer pointed out dryly as she unhooked the arrow.
Oh, is that so? Her joy rising like the bubbles on the surface of a good champagne when it tickled the face delicately.
"You wouldn't have found it as amusing if I had cut off a limb by accident." A practice swing of the sword sung of metal against flesh to prove her point.
Karadur growled low in her throat, I would like to see you try. She said in a deathly-soft voice, her wings unfurling slightly, fangs bared.
The archer stepped between the two snarling females. "We do not have time for this. Our timing must be exact if we wish for what we want to have done, done."
"I'm already well aware of that, Titian," the swordswoman growled.
Titian sighed. It was times such as these that she did wonder if possibly one of them had been adopted, "If you are so sure, how do you plan to lure the child out into the open?"
A fox-like grin shaped the swordswoman's mouth. "Leave that to me and my careful hands. I have everything perfectly planned. Even thought out this time. A few pawns here, a few pawns there, a touch of manipulating, what's the worse that can possibly happen?"
Famous last words, muttered Karadur, but the sentence was lost to the air for the swordswoman had promptly vanished from sight. Now what?
Titian turned, silver hair gleaming in the moonlight. Emotionless and silent as stone on the outside, she parted her inner barriers of her mind, sending forth a private thread of pray. Good luck, my sister. May the Darkness embrace you.
Are you sure we are doing the right thing? Karadur pressed on again.
"For the sake of the Blood, I hope so. It was, after all, what we had promised."
Do you need a lift back to the Dea al Mon?
"It is all right. I will walk to the nearest point where a Web landing is located."
Karadur snorted. It's times like this I wonder why you gave up your own wings.
"Someone had to. Everything has a price…"
2/Kaeleer
"That's the last time I play hide-and-go-seek with you, Demi. You don't even play by your own rules. We agreed, no Craft." Daemonar snarled at his cousin Demona before turning his head forward again. Lengthening his stride without exaggeration in each careful step that his gangly, still growing, body took was all that stood between restraining his temper and strangling the little girl beside him.
As the couple passed Lord Beale, the Red-Jewel Warlord who was the butler of the SaDiablo hall, decided that it was in his own best interest not to comment on Daemonar's present condition. While it was true that Daemonar was never as impeccably groomed as his uncle was, he had never been this disordered before. And something told Lord Beale, that this would not be the last time he would see the young man in this sort of state. Daemonar, in his own right, was trying to ignore the squishing sounds that his boots made when his feet hit the floor. There was no doubt that Helene, the housekeeper, was going to have a strict word with him later in the day.
"I didn't lie," protested the young Queen, who was four years his junior, dashing up beside him. "You agreed we were both allowed to use basic Craft."
The Eyrien Warlord Prince promptly stopped and studied Demona carefully. "And since when has air walking over water been classified as 'basic Craft?'"
"Since it was one of the first things Mama had taught me. Basic Craft is whatever grown-ups teach you before you go through," she paused for a moment, trying to consider a word, "the change."
Daemonar's mouth twitched in a struggle not to laugh. If he laughed, he would have to explain the joke to her considering her enormous curiosity. And may the Darkness be merciful he would rather face his father than to explain the connotation of 'change' his aunt had been referring to.
Demona's large gold eyes widened with concern, "Are you all right? Did you swallow another frog?"
If Daemonar had been a few decades older, he would have throttled Karla, the Queen of Glacia, for her explanation of why an adolescent human male's voice cracked. Hell's fire, to add to the embarrassment, she had explained it in front of the whole family, the entire adopted family. A steadily growing adopted family, he duly noted as he entered the training hall.
"Catch any frogs today?" Came a voice from behind him, revealing the aforementioned elder to be throttled, if he was older. She was a Sapphire-Jeweled Black Widow Healer and Queen. He was Birthright Red-Jeweled Warlord Prince who had just poorly survived his cousin's version of hide-and-go-seek. How was he to know that little Demi had been floating over the gray mud that had accumulated on top of the water? She looked like she had been standing on solid stone from the angle he had been flying in at!
"It was rather hot outside so I decided to take a swim." He muttered.
"Ah hmmm," was all that came from Karla as she plucked out a leaf of a water plant clinging to his black hair and held it in front of his face. Daemonar snarled.
Karla grinned. "Kiss kiss," she said as she headed to the intimate group of First Circle females.
He looked back down to see Demona grinning up at him with a smirk more found on her uncle, his father, than him. "Now what are you up to, you little imp?"
Fluttering her eyelashes with a look of sweet innocence that would melt a man's heart within a few years, her grin widened. "You're just pissed because you fell in."
"I did not fall in," Daemonar growled, slowly enunciating each syllable.
"You lost control of your wings which caused you to be propelled into the water like a wet fly falling. Does that sound better?"
His main duty as assigned from the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih, his father, was to guard and protect his little cousin. Strangling her wouldn't be easy but it would soothe his temper. On the other hand, so would catapulting her into the nearest fountain to see how she would enjoy being wet herself. But before he could lift a hand, an Eyrien stick being held in front of Demona stopped him from proceeding with his objective.
"Time for your lesson, Vixen," Lucivar said, while shooting an amused grin at his son's drenched and dripping state.
Daemonar snorted. The large number of people, occupying the hall, had been divided into three groups: beginners, intermediates, and experts based on his father's judgment on their proficiency with sticks. Everyone in the court from the First Circle down had to participate. Lucivar had made quite sure of that.
"Dear, what happened to you?" Marian asked her son as she came to his side, extracting yet another soppy water frond from his hair, arching an eyebrow.
"Demi was 'helping' me with my tracking skills, of which Father had declared I needed improvement on."
"Ah, that explains it."
3/Kaeleer
Saetan quickly scanned the report once, then twice to make sure he wasn't seeing things before handing it back to Daemon. "And what is Jaenelle going to do about this?"
"She doesn't know yet."
"She'll find out namesake," Saetan pointed out mildly.
"Hopefully not until things have settled down."
"You're assuming things will calm down."
"I am hoping, Father. I am hoping."
"It seems that Hekatah has left us a legacy of which we will have to deal with." The High Lord of Hell mused.
"We?" Daemon arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow.
"Namesake, it is either Jaenelle, Lucivar, or either of us who will have to deal with these uprisings. Would you send either Lucivar or Jaenelle?"
"If I send Lucivar, he'll deal with the situation, permanently."
"If you send Lucivar, he'll create an even bigger situation. That is the least of our problems."
"How so?" The Sadist inquired.
"There are uprisings in Little Terreille. So unless we wish for a repetition of what had happened 12 years ago…" Saetan let the sentence hang.
"We'll have to do something very soon."
"Before Jaenelle decides to take action." The High Priest of the Hourglass studied his son for a moment before elaborating, "Jaenelle intercepted a letter from a post outside of Little Terreille. Apparently a SaDiablo signature was required, and Jaenelle was the only SaDiablo Beale could find at that time."
"Mother Night." Daemon muttered.
"We both knew of the repercussions that would occur if she reclaimed the ceremonial title as the Queen of Ebon Askavi. She is determined not to repeat past errors."
Daemon didn't answer. Instead he gazed past his father to the window of sunlight behind and delved into his thoughts. After their marriage, Lucivar, Saetan, and Daemon had yielded Dhemlan to Jaenelle. From there, it had only been days before the Queens of the other Territories started to yield their own lands to Dhemlan's new Queen. All of Kaeleer that is, except for Little Terreille and the small island that the Dark Council still owned. Just as how things had been before Witch cleansed away the Tainted Blood. While it was true that Jaenelle no longer wielded the Black, she now held the Twilight's Dawn in her possession. A power unknown to them except for three: Lorn, the last Prince of the Dragons who were the founding race that created the Blood, Draca, and of course Witch.
Although the Queen of Ebon Askavi always wore the Black, to merely call Jaenelle the Queen of Dhemlan was just as politically incorrect. The fact had remained that she was the Queen of Ebon Askavi because the people wanted her to be. No one in their right mind would possibly bother questioning any of the Territory Queens why by the Darkness would they yield to a Queen who caused such destruction. Actually, there had been one such Queen from Little Terreille who had been foolish enough to travel to Tajrana and demand for Queen Kalush of Nharkhava to explain why she yielded her lands to a murderous bitch who ruled by the threat of using her power.
Needless to say, Kalush's answer had been quite clear by the time the visiting Queen had left the private sitting room. It was not an easy task to anger gentle Kalush the most serene member of Jaenelle's First Circle, but when her temper began to climb one of sound mind would wisely exit while they still could.
Jaenelle, at first, did not want to rule, anything for that matter, ever again. She had pointed out, however, that she could always settle for being a Black Widow and Healer as her profession instead of being a ruling Queen. But because of her marriage to Daemon and the rules of Blood society, she ruled the lands that belonged to SaDiablo Hall as his partner if not his Queen. The kindred had been quite insistent on her being their Queen to protect them and their lands from humans who turned a blind eye to their existence. As for the non-kindred Queens, it was impossible for Jaenelle to refuse her friends' surrender in a polite manner without insulting them in an outright refusal as well as to fight off her own natural Queen instincts to protect those who called for her protection. The stability she had held before was one craved and sought out by the people and as such demanded by honor, Jaenelle was entitled to provide for them from her heart. Kaeleer's heart.
"What is it, Daemon?"
Daemon refocused his attention to the man in front of him. "I was thinking about something Draca had said when she summoned me to the Keep to show me who Witch really was."
"And who was She?"
"Witch is one who is truly dreams made flesh, which was why Jaenelle is Witch and Cassandra was not."
"What exactly had Draca said?"
"'They were all dreams made flesh, Prince. Some only had one kind of dreamer, others were a bridge. These were Witch…There have been quiet dreams and strong dreams. There have been Queens and songmakers.'"
"In other words, it depends on whose dreams give Witch her physical form. Based on what you have just told me, Jaenelle is a bridge. There was more than one kind of dreamer involved with her birth."
"And is exactly what didn't make Cassandra Witch. She was a Black-Jeweled Queen but not every dreamer dreams Witch to be as such."
"They are not always one and the same."
"I know, namesake, I've known for a long time." Saeton slowly sipped a taste of his wine. "But that wasn't exactly what you were thinking just now."
"Draca has called Jaenelle Kaeleer's Heart." Daemon replied.
"Not surprising considering Witch's physical form as we have both seen her. Ears of the Dea al Mon, claws of the Tigrelan, hooves of centaurs and satyrs, a horn of the unicorns, fur of the kindred and the hair and shape of humans. She was Kaeleer's dream, more of dreams of Kaeleer's kindred than anything else."
"I still do not understand what Draca meant."
"You know as well as I do namesake that a Queen is considered to be the land's heart. Jaenelle no longer holds the Black, but she is still a Queen. Unlike Jewel strength, that can never be taken away."
"I know that."
"Do you?"
"I thought I knew, but I still don't understand. I've always believed Witch and the Queen of Ebon Askavi to be the same person. At least till that day."
"Daemon, Jaenelle is Witch, the living myth. She is Kaeleer's heart for she is their dream. If you haven't noticed there are no traces of Terreille that are a part of her. I believe that might be why her First Circle conceded their lands to her again. They dreamed of her, and they held onto her. Their blood of memories, combined with the Kindred, anchored down the dream was what had brought Jaenelle back."
"What was her purpose then?"
"Does a dream need a purpose?"
"Isn't a dream merely a goal or somewhere to escape to?"
Saeton sighed. "A dream can be that, but a dream can also be so much more." His slender fingers clasped the wineglass tightly.
Daemon studied his father. "You are worried." He stated.
"Of course I am. Somehow, these uprisings are only the beginning, Daemon. If Hekatah has left us a legacy to remember her by, she must have also left a protégée to carry on that legacy. Someone who is either better or worse than who Dorothea was shaped into depending on your point of view. A puppet is one sort of pawn; a puppet who can think on their own to carry out such an order is another instrument altogether."
4/Terreille
"My Prince." Lord Karvan bowed as one foot was placed inside the study. "Queen Isareal from Goth has arrived."
"Send her in," his master ordered with the arrogance of a royal.
A young woman, just barely over thirty years of age, entered the room, indifference in her steps and hatred in her molten pewter eyes. Fine white-blonde hair had been bound into complicated braids pinned up to form silver silk crown upon her head. Her fair skin looked bleached and was the only feature her host could pronounce plain.
"Please have seat Lady Isareal," the man gestured the emerald velvet chairs in front of his desk, "I apologize for the inconvenience of the timing for this meeting, but it was in our common interest that drove forward the need for an encounter face to face. Perhaps a chance to negotiate a future partnership…an alliance if you will."
For the first time since she entered the room, Isareal's eyes focused on her host with regard. Her eyes held hatred but other emotions had flooded in since her arrival. The Warlord Prince had only seen that look from only one other race and that was not of Terreille but in Arceria of Kaeleer. In the frozen impending death that reflected in the eyes of the Arcerian cats.
While much of the Blood, both from before and after the Destruction, had considered the kindred, the four-legged Blood, to be no more than a myth, he kept an open mind. Many things were considered myths and then when least expected they appeared from behind, greater than ever imagined each time. It was because of these foolish disregards that had lead those of Terreille and Little Terreille to fall behind. If the unexpected had been anticipated, perhaps the Kaeleer would have paid a higher price and Witch would not have been so fortunate as to die.
It was because of the price of the Destruction that had lead him to find Isareal. Although she was neither a Territory Queen nor a Province Queen, she was a very powerful potential ally. A young District Queen who had seen her mother strangled out of what had made her one of the Blood before a child's eyes. A daughter who served her mother with the honor, the same honor which had saved her from being destroyed or broken. There were rumors in that court of how they found the girl whose face was wiped of emotion as she carefully arranged her mother's shattered Purple Dusk Jewels like a puzzle on the spot where her mother had vanished.
Isareal was a good Queen, admirable for her efforts to reunite what was left of Little Terreille. She appeared with an uncut Gray Jewel in her hands after her Offering to the Darkness, yet even after all that she had done, Isareal made no effort to claim the Territory as her own. A gesture that had made many around her uneasy with fear and suspicion of what was of left of her sanity and her mind.
A Warlord Prince, who had been serving her at one point, before her Virgin Night, had decided to test how this state of being she had adopted. His screams had not been quick enough to save him as she killed him not with her Jewels nor her Craft but with the bone that she had snapped out of his leg with her bare hands. Again she was found with a face devoid of all emotions but this time with the eyes of shivering demise.
"Prince Athelstan, I did not travel as far as I have to discuss petty plans. What I had traveled for was your offer for the head of that murderous bitch." She snarled with the first show of emotion she had emitted for long time.
"I see, and what would you exchange for the head of Witch? You've already rallied those who are like yourself wish for the death of the Queen of Ebon Askavi."
"Queen indeed!" Isareal spat, "She is a fake. She is nothing. A murderess who had no right to play a Queen's gamble."
Athelstan's gold eyes concentrated on her with a slight hind of amusement. "Actually my Lady, Witch and the Queen of Ebon Askavi are two separate titles. They are not always the same woman."
"It matters to me not what or who she is. What does is the justice denied to my people for her death. The concern of mine that does apply to you is what do you receive out of this alliance you had wished forge."
"Like yourself, I only wish for her to pay for the crimes she committed."
She stared at him, back rigid. Only her breathing, the slight rising of breasts, showed that she was alive. "I am not a fool, Prince. If that was all you wished, you would not have needed to ask me on my thoughts for they would have mirrored your own. You have an ulterior reason for your cause. While I respect your dedication, I will not enter a bargain without knowing all the details that are included or connected in any shape or form."
So she does still conceive coherent thoughts. Perhaps her mind is not as close to the Twisted Kingdom as rumors have exaggerated. Isareal is certainly not like any of the pet Queens Dorothea had her claws imbedded in. The irony if she were to be one who was turning point of Witch's fate. "Forgive me, I had not intended to insult you. I assumed that my other interests might not be of any fascination."
"Do not assume when you do not know what lies beneath the surface. While your other motives may not fascinate me, they concern me when it comes to the fate of my people." Again the Queen spoke without so much as a rise of emotion as she had done before.
Before Athelstan could speak again, Isareal gracefully rose from her seat, the folds of her lavender gown sliding back into place without so much as a wrinkle. Delicate hands pulled the cloak's hood over her head till all he could see was her rosebud mouth and the curve of a pointed chin. "Until you are willing to yield such private thoughts to me, I will hear no more of plans or schemes, no matter how pragmatic or feasible. You know where I am staying in Draega if you decide to change your mind and tactics when confronting potential allies."
Minutes passed until Athelstan stepped out of his seat to pour out two glasses of the brandy he kept for his silent partner and twin brother. There wasn't a point to pouring out a good drink early for Elijah who was perfect company for Isareal when it came to determining the lines of sanity and delirium but then again, Elijah wasn't easy to predict.
A tall man passed through the wall opposite to Athelstan instead of obviously using the door. Black hair, golden brown skin, and gold eyes with a lean build were where the similarities ended for them both. They were half-breed bastards, half Eyrien and half Dhemlan. Their father, Hesten, was a Dhemlan Opal-Jeweled Prince who had wandered into the favor of the High Priestess of Askavi, Prythian. Fortunately, or unfortunately as Prythian's case had been, seeds were caught which led to their birth. Prythian had played no role in the upraising of her twins, severing any ties she could with Hesten. Even to the point of removing Elijah's wings to hide his parentage, which contributed to his present state of being. Athelstan, on the other hand, had been lucky to have been born without signs of an Eyrien parent.
"Did you meet Isareal as planned? Will she fit into our plans?" Elijah asked as he sank into one of the chairs, downing one of the glasses.
"As much as you ever do." Athelstan replied, as he slowly paced around the room. "Where have you been? I thought the plan had been for both of us to meet Isareal."
"And for me to be contained in one room for so long while the two of you talked on and on? It would be enough to drive one mad," Elijah smiled brightly. "But if you must know, I was at the Keep's library again."
"Satisfying your insatiable curiosity again?"
"There are so many interesting legends about Blood that I could not help myself."
"Anything that will be of any help?"
"What would you consider helpful?" Elijah tilted his head in a teasing manner.
"Anything about Witch, the dragons, or the beginning of the Blood."
"Dreams made flesh, destruction of a race, and sacrificial caretakers respectively."
"Besides what we already know." Athelstan fought to control his temper. He was more aware of his brother's mental condition than he ever wished to know, but that did not stop him from wanting to strangle him at times. Elijah's wings had been removed when he was a small boy, before he had his Birthright Ceremony. A memory that was well imbedded into his being for the rest of his life and caused him to hate the sight of winged beings, from birds and bats to Eyriens and their enemy the Craftless Jhinka. A hatred their dear mother had later decided to nurture by sending any Eyrien she wished to make an example of to Elijah in a locked room. Athelstan shuttered at the images of some of the bodies that Elijah had been more creative with when it came to removing wings.
"Would it be of any interest to you of how the reign of dragons came to an end?"
"Tell me."
"Say pretty please."
"Elijah, I am in no mood for your games. If you wish for me to continue investing in your indulgences of myths, then you would do yourself the favor of answering my questions when I ask them."
"Well…the most common basis was that the dragons realized that their race was coming to an end and they had the need to pass on their knowledge and power. They needed to pass those so others could become the caretakers of the Realm. But in most written records there is no mention of why the dragons came to an end. There have been many speculations to how it could have happened: disease, lack of fertility, etc. etc. Another thing that has gone unmentioned, and this is in all versions that I have read, is the Queen of the dragons. Her name is never mentioned. Her consort Prince Lorn is but that is the only name stated. At least till today."
Athelstan leaned forward in anticipation, straining to hear even though he could have heard just fine when lounged comfortably in the chair. "And?"
"I found an old piece of writing, in Old Tongue. It was carefully wrapped in preservation spells and was unfolded several times. The message was 'For remembrance. As a reminder.' And it was signed Eldora."
"'For remembrance. As a reminder.' That had been written on the scroll submitted to the Dark Council by Witch when she claimed most of Kaeleer to be her Territory the first time around."
"Ah, but dear brother, this piece of writing was old. Older than the last war between Kaeleer and Terreille."
"How old exactly?"
"I'm not sure. All I know is what it is older than that."
Athelstan studied his brother through narrowed eyes. "And how did you come across this piece of writing? If it was so carefully preserved, it would not just be recklessly lying about the Keep."
"My beloved had told me where to find it before her demise."
"Which surprises me for the Dark Priestess was not one who was interested in the ancient myths."
"She wasn't. But she told me she had been drawn to it upon its discovery. Hekatah had only recognized the name Eldora in Old Tongue. I had deciphered the rest of the message for her back then."
"So what is so interesting about this Eldora? Are you declaring her to be the lost dragon Queen who gave us our Craft?"
"No." Elijah bent his body closer to Athelstan's, his mouth inches away from his twin's ear. "I am stating that she is the dragon who had brought about the end of dragons."