Disclaimer: I do not own the Black Jewel Trilogy. It is owned, written, and copyrighted by Anne Bishop.

AN: I updated in 6 months. That's good, right? Hears crickets chirping. Okay never mind.

In the last chapter there was one other concern but I forgot to address it. Near the end of the Queen of the Darkness, yes there was tension between the coven and Daemon however please keep in mind that this story takes place over more than a year later. I mean when we see Jaenelle return to Daemon, she was really fragile so I highly doubt that they would have had sex that soon. Therefore while it is plausible for her to retake her throne (or in her case everyone shoving their Territories back and insisting that she rule) it would have been a while longer before she was strong enough for sex. Then I mentioned "long after" so that means time must have taken place for Jaenelle to recover, Daemon and her wedding, and honeymoon. Furthermore, my definition of a few months really varies so that's open to your interpretation for how long Jaenelle's "first few months" on the throne were. Then you have to add in 9 months of pregnancy. Jaenelle is 25 in QotD, but I merely assumed that it was an early 25. She's 26 when she gave birth but it was a late 26. In other words, very near her 27th birthday. This can be noted by the age difference of Daemonar's age against Demona's, which would be 4 almost 5 years apart depending on how you look at it.

Now returning back to the tension that was mentioned, would you stress someone out if they just returned from almost being dead? No you would not. Just like how Lucivar understood at the end of QotD, I believe the rest of the coven would have understood Daemon's actions by the time Jaenelle came back. The important thing to them was that she returned and when she returns, the first thing they're not going to do is scream and bitch. Okay they might a little but that's understandable considering their own distress in the situation. And would you stress someone out when they are in labor? No, you take your own petty concerns and shove it out the door till it can be dealt with later. Birth is supposed to be a happy occasion and if they are the close family as the books have dictated, I'd say everyone would try in their own right to create a happy atmosphere. I think that covers the last plot hole. Drops her shovel as she sinks to the ground, panting in exhaustion.

Angharad Gwyn, Raven Hunda, Jixnce, Klia: Yes I should update more quickly or at least consistently however I have one of the worst work ethics out there but I am trying. My fondest wish this year would be to finish this story by September 2005. Whether I will get there or not is the hard part. Please stick with me, I'm trying, I'm trying. Thank you so much for reviews, I really appreciate them.

Daecivar: No, I thank you for reading my story. After three years I was afraid no one would even bother reading it again.

Katrassidy and wabbito: bows, Thank you for complementing that my work is quite similar to Anne Bishop's because that's one of the highest praises I can receive. I hope as this story progresses that I do not disappoint you.

da wiccan kitten: I'm really, really, sorry that it's so short for now but I promise big long chapters. Will that work as a bribe?

On a further note, I would like to thank the incredible, amazing, gorgeous, wise (and several thousand wonderful praising words) shanis for her help as THE Editor. Thanks to her for making sure this story flows instead of dribbling on the floor and encouraging me looks at her muses with their numerous pointy sticks to write.

Chapter 4

1/Kaeleer

I'm an Eryien Warlord Prince with a Birthright Jewel of Red. I'm the first son, well only, son of the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih, so how is it that I'm reduced to playing hide-and-go-seek again? Why do I let her talk me into this again and again?

"Because Uncle Lucivar said that your tracking skills are adequate but being the perfectionist that you are you have to be better." Demona answered flippantly from her lookout tree stump that gave a wonderful view the entire valley.

And why must I always say the last part out loud?

"Because you are strange but don't worry you'll grow into it," she patted his head condescendingly from her newly acquired height.

"And why are you answering questions that you know I'm only thinking of?"

The little girl smirked, "Because it annoys you. What sort of cousin would I be if I didn't take over Luthvian's duties?"

"A pleasant one." Daemonar snarled back to no one for Demona had already ran off to hide.

"Why me?" Daemonar wondered as he slowly counted to twenty. His ears picked up the sound of torn leaves, crushed grass, and splintered twigs. She's heading to the river.

When he finished his count, he first glanced at the ground, trying to find any hints of his cousin. Although he would never admit it to her face, Demona had actually helped him improve his tracking skills through this childish game. Not a vast improvement but enough to meet his father's satisfaction. Nor had Daemonar the nerve to tell his father how he made such progress. There could be nothing more embarrassing for an Eyrien warrior than to confess that he was honing his skills through games of hide-and-go-seek.

Actually there was something more humiliating: having one's little sister sneak up from behind and being a success at, bluntly put, scaring the shit out of him. "What are you doing here, pest?"

"Aunt Wilhelmina told me you were outside with Demi. Are you playing hide-and-go-seek again?"

"Yes." Daemonar answered tightly.

"Mind if I play?"

"YES! I do mind if you play." But little Luthvian had disappeared into the shelter of the woods before he could say any more. He took a step in her direction, with any luck he would find Demona along with where ever Luthvian disappeared to.

You're supposed to start counting again. Otherwise you're cheating. Luthvian sent sharply over a Red thread.

Knowing better to argue with her, the young Eyrien grumbled as he turned around and slowly began counting again. If Mother and Father decide to have another child, please by the Darkness let it be a male. I don't think I will survive another 'little sister.'

Demona fidgeted silently from her perch in the ancient oak with its foliage of golden leaves. The perfect place in the fall for someone of her colouring to hide in. It would take Daemonar time to find her, even with the parameters they agreed on which this time included no Craft for the young Eryien's sake. Her cousin who was most adept at Eryien sticks and strategy for his age was almost completely hopeless at tracking.

It was childishly pleasing to her to find something her perfect cousin wasn't good at. But to add more insult to injury, he was also a natural Black Widow. A startling discovery among the First Circle especially since neither of his parents were Black Widows in their own right. He was truly following the footsteps of his uncle in ways she could not yet. Both he and Luthvian were masters at weaving tangled webs and brewing potions, poisons, and the like. Such masters, that Demona couldn't help but feel left behind.

That was not as to say people found her a complete failure. More that they expected too much, not that anyone could blame them. As the sole daughter, the only child much to her own displeasure, of Prince Daemon Sadi and Queen Jaenelle Angelline of Ebon Askavi, she was expected to do great things.

The young girl snorted at the thought. It both amazed and frightened her, these expectations. Demona wished more times than she could care to count for people to treat her like a normal witch. She learned basic Craft at the same rate, more or less, as everyone else her age. Once in a while she was able to make a great leap but that was it. Disappointment always seemed to stain the air no matter how slight or small behind pleasant faces that she never was able to make the dazzling leaps her mother had made in her own youth.

Wind tussled the tree branches, bringing her out of her reverie, as burnt gold leaves fell all around, dancing in the air. If there was anything she could be most grateful for, it was the trips made to her Aunt Wilhelmina's. Away from all the restraints of expectations, these trips were getting shorter and shorter and being spread further apart as she got older because of the uprisings.

A piece of charcoal and a small sketchbook were called in as she sat back and dabbled, waiting for her cousin to find her.

2/Terreille

"Excuse me, but I've been told that the Keep has the largest resources on the legends of the Dragons who preceded the Blood?"

Geoffrey stared the Warlord Prince in front of him with the same intensity returned by the visitor. Geoffrey's pale white skin, black hair, black eyes, and blood red lips made his appearance rather striking, the only one of his kind left in the three Realms. As a Guardian, he was more ancient than the High Lord of Hell was.

"Yes…Prince. Did you have any specific topic in mind about the Dragons?"

"Are there any records of their culture, their personal history?"

"You wish to know more about Lorn?"

Elijah waved a dismissive hand. "Bah, no. Everyone knows about Lorn. I wish to know more about the dragons before their…unfortunate demise."

If Geoffrey was uneasy about the matter, he didn't show it to this frequent visitor. According to what Draca had told him this morning, this Warlord Prince should be watched carefully for this was not his first visit, nor had it been his first request to be allowed access to the records about the Dragons.

"It has been a long time since such a request has been made. I'm sure if some of the literature we once had still exists, but we had it stored. Not many people show an interest to the old legends."

"Which must have been Terreille's downfall. If there had been more open minds, the arrival of Witch would not have come as such a shock. The living myth has arrived so it was a severe case of curiosity as to why I wish to know more about the Dragons."

"I see. Then what you are looking for is more likely to be in the western wing of the library. In case you prefer to look up what history of the first of the Blood just after the Dragons, there are some accurate records in the north end of the western wing. If you'll follow me."

The librarian was able to pick a number of appropriate titles for the disturbing patron. Every now and then while selecting, he would peak behind him to find Elijah staring at him with eerie curiosity. That gaze was more than enough to send a cold laughing chill down his spine. Having chosen enough to hopefully quell the man's, if he could be called a man, request, Geoffrey directed him to a small study area in between the aisles of the bookshelves.

Geoffrey did not know what to make of him. The psychic scent that cloaked him had a light veil of madness to it; the flavor was undistinguishable unless someone was to become very intimate with this Warlord Prince.

It was not as if Prince Elijah did any damage to the texts he borrowed, and it also wasn't as if he had been the first to be interested in the myths and legends of old. This one had a sense of wrongness about him. Something the Keep's historian/librarian just couldn't put his finger on.

"What isss your interessst in him?" The Keep's Seneschal whispered in Geoffrey's ear.

"How long have you been watching?"

"Long enough." Draca eyed Elijah cautiously. "You do not like that one, do you?"

Geoffrey didn't answer as he continued staring.

"But I will admit he ssshould be watched carefully. There isss sssomething not right about him."

Elijah, by no means unaware of being watched, continued to rifle through the given texts. In his humble opinion, he was wasting time. To depend on anything written by Terreillean authors was meaningless. They wrote as if stating a child's stories rather than believing the myths to be actual fact.

And as far as Elijah was passionately concerned, these stories were actual fact. It had been the driving force, within him for centuries that kept his teeth firmly clamped around life even more than revenge ever did. Or hatred. More than anything else, his love for myths and legends of old had sustained him steadily throughout the centuries. In their world, it was safe and warm. There were no freaks of nature or the perversed. They just were.

Elijah's earliest memories involving his fancy had included his nursemaid. Isabella had not been one of the long-lived races. A woman of Shalador, she had long dark hair and warm sun-kissed skin that seemed to glow. And her eyes…were the deepest emeralds that held joy and laughter. From babies to adolecence, she, not their father or mother, raised them. He remembered being pulled into her lap as she began to weave her tales for their ears to hear each night. Always had they been stories about the great Dragon Prince Lorn and his mysterious Queen, about the first of the Blood to rise from the Dragons' ashes, about the promised coming of Witch.

While his mother was "away" and his father on "business," Bella fed them a steady diet of lore. Athelstan was never that interested, especially by the time he grew out of the childhood. Elijah thought he had gone mad because of that. What in the name of Hell was that brother of his thinking?

The situation of being twins at birth does not always denote closeness as was the case between Athelstan and Elijah. Hayllian society had not been the most kind of territories. To survive, one would need strong allies. In Athelstan there had been his determination and will. While in his brother's eyes, Elijah had his craftiness and his "madness."

Elijah never understood that. How could his own brother believe that he was mad? He was perfectly sane, even their mother agreed. It was not his fault that his wings were too perversed for him. This was the reason why she had them removed. His mother didn't have wings nor did his father or brother. His mother had been one of the few who believed in his respect that of all of the Blood, only the original Dragons were allowed to have wings. But some could be so ungrateful! Yelling and cursing at him after all the hard work he personally had put in to remove and cleanse them of their sinful wings.

But after his own purification, he did not understand why Bella cried for him. Even if he had been cleansed, it would be a long time before he was truly clean. By the time he was in his forties, his mother came for him with open arms, praising him for his bravery to understand his wings' removal.

In fact, she even helped him with his duty to the Dragons by bringing the accursed winged ones to him. No one, from beautiful songbirds to the winged Eryien race, was too big or to small to be saved like he was saved.

Clearing out a good third of the Keep's library's public section on the history of the Blood, Elijah was no better off than when he started. He needed more!

Six hours of research, mainly of cross-referencing history and myths had reaped very little reward. There was plenty in the texts about Kaeleer's distinctive and isolated races, a bit more on the legend of Witch and those who could have been Witch in the past, and a paragraph more than what he originally had on the Dragons. What he was itching to get his hands on were the texts stowed away down in the restricted area. Unfortunately, the old coot of a librarian refused to let him see anything. He had known thanks to Hekatah that Geoffrey was ancient compared to even herself. His former lover had also informed him that Geoffrey was also the main historian of many of the library's records. Therefore, if the Guardian had been more open, Elijah would have been able to find more of what he desired. But it was not Geoffrey who truly spiked his curiousity; it was Draca.

The Keep's Seneschal had been rumored to have lingered in the Keep long before that of Geoffrey's time. In all the times that Elijah had seen her, she was always dressed in her long dark robes of volumous sleeves. But it was her physical appearance, what little he was able to observe, that intrigued him. Her manner of speech, her dark elliptical-pupiled eyes, and overall a reptilian demeanor.

His curiousity constantly drove him up the wall with questions. How old was she really? From what race did she descend from? What caused her race to disappear? How closely related was she to the Dragons?

The latest theory he had concocted was that she could have been part of an inferior race that had lived during the age of the Dragons and as such was one of the first to receive the power of the Blood. Or perhaps she was a mixed breed of sorts between humans and dragons. The Warlord Prince knew for a fact that the so-called "mythical beings" of centaurs, Tigre, satyrs, and pixies existed as did the cursed Eryiens with their wings. Although Craftless, the Jhinka were another factor to consider.

But that did not mean Draca would have been the offspring of a human and a Dragon or of a race that bore the characteristics of both Dragons and humans. Could she have been an experiment? There had been a Queen at his mother's coven who had too much time on her hands that she manipulated hacked animal parts in hopes of recombining them differently.

"Have you found what information you had wissshed to ssseek?"

Elijah turned around, a pleasant grin below calculating eyes. "Oh yes. Some very useful. I thank you, Lady Draca, and Lord Geoffrey for your most invaluable assistance."

"We are here to ssserve."

"Though I did find one subject a bit problematic. Perhaps I could have further assistance in my research?"

"Perhapsss. What were you hoping to find?"

"Well it has always been a special interest of mine about our predessors, the Dragons who gave us our Craft. Unfortunately," he gestured dramatically, a deep sigh placed for emphasis, "I have been unable to unearth any more knowledge of them besides the original tales of Prince Lorn and his Queen."

"I am sssorry, but that isss all that we have in the modern common tongue"

"Actually, I have quite the knack for linguistics. Everywhere from all the present languages to Old Tongue."

"But I am afraid that you have exhausted the resssourcesss of all the textsss of any tongue in both Terreille and Kaeleer."

Still smiling, Elijah stepped closer to the Keep's Seneschal. "I believe you are mistaken for what I had in mind was of whatever memories you still hold."

"Oh? And what makesss you, Prince Elijah ssso confident in my age to say have originated in the time of the Dragonsss?"

"Oh no, no, no. I never implied such a thing. I was just inquiring if it were possible if you could share any knowledge you have on the Dragons from your past. Any information, no matter how small, will be quite useful."

"I know no more than what you have acquired from thessse textsss. I offer my apologiesss, Prince Elijah. Good day." Draca lowered her head in a humble bow before walking in the opposite direction from where she had entered.

"You have been quite helpful already, Lady Draca." Elijah assured as he offered a bow to her retreating form.

Sighing, he was about to return to his books carefully probing this section of the library before settling down again. Fools, what did they take him for? He knew they were hiding something and it was obviously something those two didn't want him to find by the way Geoffrey's psychic scent had been dipped in fear. When he saw a small iron key on the floor. His fingers delicately examined every groove and detail of it. It was the shape that had caught his eye. He knew it from somewhere but where?

No matter, Elijah thought to himself, I always do get what I want sooner or later. His mind began to formulate an elaborate yet well prepared plan of action as he opened one of his notebooks to reveal an old map. You would think they would store the floor plans to the Keep somewhere safer from prying eyes.

"He hasss them."

"I can see that; the question is why Draca?"

"I wisssh to know what he isss up to. Which I cannot find out if he continued ssslithering inssside the ssshadowsss. He hasss sssomething planned, but at least now we are more likely to sssee it before it unfoldsss completely."

"And until then we keep a close watch on him?" Geoffrey stated questioningly. "Should we tell Jaenelle about this?"

Draca shook her head. "No. I do not wisssh to worry her. Perhapsss Prince Elijah isss only sssatisfying hisss curiousssity but until it isss more, we cannot tell anyone else." She was about to leave when the Keep's seneschal sent a distaff thread to the librarian.

And if you can, keep Sssaetan away from him.

As you wish but why?

But there was no answer.

Her rooms had never been elaborately furnished even though after the thousands of milleniums she had lived through she could have redecorated them a million times over and more. The stark rooms were immoderately neat and tidy. Not a single scroll or bed sheet out of place. Order was a stability Draca had used to keep herself sane for this long.

The last Dragon Queen had never fully adjusted to her new body. She had gotten used to it but never truly used to it. It wasn't hers. It was a prison almost. There was no freedom of flight, of the rich taste of pure Craft as she wove spells with her powers.

True this body had power but not her power. Her power was now resided in the Blood and in the Darkness. When she awoke from her exhausted slumber she was like this. It was still reptilian but the similarities ended there. And Lorn…her love and Consort was now out of her reach. He was just too powerful, too large, for intimate contact. At least the Darkness had been kind enough to let him stay so they could stay together.

And yet through all they had been through, of the sacrifices, she, Lorn, and many others made, the Realms were about to collide with one more almighty force. One more prophecy had yet to be fulfilled. She was as sure about that as the note that she held in her hands in dread.

The unsigned note read: "Everything has a price but even those who paid can be repaid. A promise made is an oath foresworn. The golden one will return as the moon's metal is reforged to meet the challenge. A promise has yet to be fulfilled but who is willing to pay the price?"

3/Terreille

"Do you understand what I require of you?"

"Of course, Prince Athelstan."

"Will you be able to bring her back as unharmed as possible?"

"Give me but a while. Sweet prey like this one need a little wooing before they fall heads over heels into a trap."

"Then bring me her."

A thump of the hilt of a polished sword met against flesh, "As you wish, my Prince."

4/Kaeleer

The blistering of his ears had not been as horrid as he had imagined. Unfortunately Daemonar could not say the same for his honor. How could he have lost Demi? She never intentionally hid so that it would be quite the challenge to find her. Unless she was taken…

Daemonar shook his head violently, sending water droplets everywhere in his room. It was possible. If a large number of Blood particularly of Warlord Princes and Black Widows had been sent to capture her and if fear overtook her senses and concentration…it was possible. His cousin was adequate at battle Craft though he like many others preferred to stay out of her way when she practiced with witchfire.

But she was still a child. A child gifted to the second darkest Jewel. It was usually assumed that children weren't born with Jewels darker than Red because of the delicate minds of the untrained Blood. His aunt had been the exception for she was Witch. Demi, on the other hand, was a normal child. Not a savior Queen, not a living myth, not a progeny at Craft, just another child.

Unfortunately her colossal psychic strength did set her back in learning basic Craft. In addition to regular lessons, she spent time with his father in order to learn how to control the Ebon-gray. Which meant when faced with a kidnapper, Demona would have to control her power and run, or release it and with that, make her first kill.

More than mildly annoyed and angered Daemonar dried himself off and pulled on a pair of leather pants forgoing a shirt as he stretched his wings to his full length. His room, like those of any other Eryien who stayed at SaDiablo Hall, was larger than normal for the accommodation of their wings. He reached for another spare towel and began harshly drying his long hair.

How could he have lost her? Her tracks were confusing what with the dodging and twisting, the hidden shortcuts, and the double backing, but even she knew better than to wander off so far. She knew of the dangers, especially those specific to her. It was hard, heavy, burden to place on a child but the family and court had both agreed that the sooner she was aware of the dangers the better.

At a young age, his cousin had dangers of the Blood forced into her head particularly of her own position. If enough force had been exerted, especially during her Virgin Night, it would not be impossible for someone to break a Birthright Ebon-gray, triple-gifted, Queen. It had been done once before with his Aunt Jaenelle who was a Birthright Black, triple-gifted, Queen. She was still a triple-gifted Queen but now she was only able to hold the mysterious Twilight's Dawn after her Jewels shattered in the Cleansing.

Daemonar shuddered at a recent memory. It had occurred shortly after Demona had wandered away from her parents on a shopping excursion in Amdarh, the panic but not the fear vanishing after locating her in front of a crystal shop. Her hands were pressed against the window display along with her face in awe of light splintering in the colours of the rainbow, completely oblivious to the terror she had caused by a simple disappearance.

Daemon had taken her, after that incident, into his private study to begin lessons of a different nature. He never knew what had transpired between father and daughter that day but whatever it had been it had scared Demona. As of late, Daemonar couldn't tell if it was fear of what others could do to her or what she was more than capable of doing to them if emotions overcame her control.

His uncle had taught her all that he could delicately as did everyone else in the extended family in what she might have to do if she was on the verge of being raped or broken ever arose. Being kidnapped from his own experiences when he was 3 barely 4 years old had left few but deep mental scars. But he had only been destined to hold a Birthright of Red. He dreaded to think what could happen to the little imp or what she would be forced to do.

The Ebon-gray! How could anyone be born to the Birthright of Ebon-gray? It was understandable for Aunt Jaenelle but even with the dark SaDiablo bloodline with that of Witch, a child of Ebon-gray was still unbelievable. Everyone had been expecting her to receive one of the darker Jewels, even so far as Red, but Ebon-gray?

Daemonar slowly flexed his long fingers before curling them into white fists. He continued doing so several times as his thoughts dwelled on Demona again. It wasn't as if he had to worry about her being dull-witted but the fact that she was a good judge of character did not comfort him either. It was that she was out there on her own with an unwillingness to do what had to be done if necessary. Demona had no inner ruthlessness whatsoever.

She might have been taught what to do if a man grabbed her, what to do if he possibly tried to force himself on her, or if another of the Blood tried to shatter her mind or break her but would she have the will to take another's life? Sparring with sticks was one thing but to kill…Demona would never recover from that. It was about as much her as allowing the twisted, tainted, Blood to live was for him.

"It's not your fault," Luthvian hugged him from behind, "nor is it Demi's."

The girl glided to his front until their noses almost touched. Daemonar heaved a sigh, "I wasn't thinking about that."

His sister scoffed. "You don't have to lie to me, Daemonar. If you must have your male pride, do it around other males but not me."

"But I was supposed to protect her."

Luthvian sighed. "Yes and it was also supposed to be cloudless in Amdarh today. Brother, you can try all you want but there are just some things out there that you cannot control. What appears to be control at those times is really adaptation to the situation. Or so Father says."

"I should have watched her more carefully."

"Just listen to yourself." She viciously rubbed her temples with a taste of aggravation, plopping herself right next to him. "Daemonar, the game is called hide-and-go-seek for a reason. If you had been watching her more carefully, as you put it, there wouldn't have been any point to the game now will there? Have faith in Demi and her abilities."

Daemonar was about to respond but she gently continued, "Demi might not have the ruthlessness most of the family has but she does have a shrewd mind. Might I remind you that it took almost a year before you figured out that she was trying to help you with your tracking skills."

The young Warlord Prince managed a grin. "Sometimes a keen mind can more advantageous than a ruthless attitude."

"By the Darkness, my brother can actually think! I'm so proud of my little Daemonar." Luthvian teasingly sobbed as she pretended to wipe a tear away.

The grin got bigger. "Now quit that before someone hears us. It might ruin my reputation."

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Daemonar spoke up again. "Do you have faith in her?"

"What kind of silly question is that?" Luthvian huffed, "Of course I have faith in her just like how she has faith in me."

Daemonar arched an eyebrow, "You never struck me as the type of person who needs something or someone to believe in."

"Sometimes belief is all you need to survive. Sometimes faith is the turning point from one path to another."

5/Kaeleer

Something was definitely wrong. She had gone through this way many times so why wasn't she at the back door of her aunt's home? It was not a question of survival that hung in the air; it was getting home. If there was anything Lucivar had drummed into his children and her, it was how to survive outside for extended periods of time.

Demona had found herself awaking in the elderly tree earlier in the night. The misty waning moon was still rising higher into the sky. Somehow she had fallen asleep during the game. But what puzzled her was how neither Daemonar nor Luthvian could find her. She had caught Luthvian's scent intermingled with her brother's when she was observing their tracks. They had passed by her hiding spot many times yet they could not find her.

It figures that mouse breath couldn't find me.

Demona had to smile at the nickname Luthvian and her had dubbed Daemonar. A few years ago, when his hunting and tracking skills were even far worse than they were now, he was lucky to have caught anything during the wilderness outings that Uncle Lucivar tended to take them on. But during this one particular time, Luthvian and Demona managed to ensnare a rabbit between the two of them while Daemonar by sheer luck was able to capture a few mice. She still remembered how Luthvian and herself fell over the log they were sitting on in a huge bout of laughter. Lucivar, for his part, cracked down laughing as well at a very embarrassed young Daemonar.

But how could Luthvian have missed me? She's a better tracker than Daemonar and I combined. And I'm going to get an ear blistering when I get back. It's so late out. How was I able to fall asleep?

The best thing she could do for now was to find shelter and then set off again in the morning. She knew there was a Web landing point nearby, however, Web travelling was about as much of her specialty as tracking was Daemonar's. She recalled that her practice runs quite vividly as equally frightening and embarrassing experiences.

Her prey was here. The psychic scent saturated the perimeter. A compulsion spell had indeed been too bold of a move, however merely blocking out memories temporarily could hardly count as being too bold. A little manipulative perhaps but not too bold.

But the girl was certainly taking her sweet time to come forth. Perhaps she had expected too much from the little thing. Perhaps her prey would actually be unable to locate her. As if I could build this fire any higher without causing a forest fire.

Patience, she reminded herself, was an asset even if she had already had been waiting for a long time. The plan agreed upon was not for her to be tracking the child but to allow the girl to find her. So for now, all she could do was wait. And hopefully not kill anything on the way. She had just polished her sword just this morning.

She smelt wood smoke close by. Perhaps she could ask for help, which would make a difference from stubbornly wandering around for hours. From what she could tell, she had been in these woods for at least a day and a night now. How could she be lost?

Demona was willing to believe there was a spell at work here. If she was still within the boundaries, with all the wandering she had done, she should have arrived at Aunt Wilhelmina's back doorstep by now. Was this a compulsion spell?

The girl shook her head trying to remember the lesson. What were the requirements for a compulsion spell again? They were best cast by Black Widows because the spell would have the stronger foundation of being based off of an illusion web. That and Black Widows were the professionals when it came to this sort of Craft. But other castes of the Jeweled Blood were capable of casting such a spell depending on their level of training, talent, and how elaborate the compulsion spell was to be.

Then how elaborate was this compulsion spell? Grandpapa had taught her how to test the strength of one without hurting herself. Compulsion spells pulled harder at their targets when they fought back. A deep breath followed another and then another.

Her inner barriers were lightly shielded, her physical body relaxed, her fear replaced by peaceful composure. It wasn't that strong. It was actually balancing on the end of the definition of a compulsion spell. The subtle nature disturbed her for this was a minor memory spell. No wonder why she couldn't find her way back. Had someone meant for her to lose her way or did they wish to lead her somewhere?

Yes, this spell definitely wanted her to go somewhere. The girl, allowed the spell to wrap itself around her like a second skin, allowed herself to walk in the lead direction until she had an idea where it was trying to lead her: a Web landing. A Web landing accessible to those of the Sapphire Jewel or darker.

So I'm probably going up against a Sapphire-Jeweled Black Widow. A well trained one if she was able to cast that memory loss spell. She isn't trying to force me anywhere; this spell is only nudging me, not forcing. Demona desperately hoped they were not of Aunt Karla's skill, remembering that she had barely not broken through the drills that Karla had created.

Her mother's voice echoed in her mind: "First shield your inner barriers and your mind." The next step was to build another shield that tightly fitted over her form and let it spread until she could push the entire spell off, every trace of it.

Moments later, her breath came in quick pants, a result of her running, as she crept closer and closer to the fire that she had sensed earlier. There was only one figure next to it and Demona could not taste any other psychic scent in the area besides that one person.

Black wings graced her back while as her hands were cupped like claws. Dark stripes ran down her arms and on the sides of her face over tawny-golden brown skin. Her hair had been gathered and hidden underneath the violet scarf framing her face. Deep gold eyes studied Demona carefully from top to bottom.

"Aren't you far from home little one?" The woman asked as she poked at the fire with small branch. Her violet cloak, the same hue as her scarf, rustled with each movement. Cooked and skewered fish were neatly arranged beside her, cooling down to be eaten.

"I'm playing hide-and-go-seek."

Amusement filled the woman's eyes as a small smile hinted of a childhood memory. "I see, but still, isn't this a bit far for hiding?"

"Daemonar won't find me that fast. Last time I was in Scelt I didn't have time to explore."

"Daemonar?" The woman arched an eyebrow, "A friend?"

"Sometimes, but he's always my cousin."

"Yes, cousins are forever. But forever or not, I would think that it's rather late to having little adventures." The woman pursed her lips.

"I got a little lost when I was hiding."

"Have you eaten yet, little Sister?"

"Not since lunch." Lunch yesterday.

Reaching to her side, the woman handed Demona one of the skewered fish that were cooling down beside her. "Here."

"Thank you." She was about to nibble to nibble at her fish when she remembered to probe it first for any poison or foreign substances. "May I ask who you are?"

If her hostess had noticed any uneasiness or suspicion, she didn't show it as she continued to tend the fire. "Arian, and who might you be?"

"Demi," Demona answered cautiously, her defense lessons pounding at her ears. She took a larger bite out of her fish this time. "This is really good."

Arian grinned, "There are quite a few out there who would rather run into the High Lord of Hell before ever eating anything I made. Including the idiot who taught me how."

The young Queen nodded politely.

"You're not much for conversation are you?"

The girl slowly shook her head with it slightly bowed.

"And judging by how you're dressed and your manners, you're from an aristo family aren't you?"

"Does it matter if I am?" She really didn't want to use one of the more dangerous maneuvers Lucivar had taught her.

The woman took a minute to think about it. "No, I guess it doesn't…and little Sister if I had wanted to kill you I could have already before you approached me."

Demona's eyes widened but was cut off before she could reply.

"Although you appear to have had some wilderness training, somehow I doubt that a large portion was used to teach you combat using Craft."

"I do know some."

"I didn't say you didn't. You probably know enough to pass by but not enough for long term battle. And if that was a threat in your voice, you'll need to be a little older before someone could consider you as a threat."

She didn't rise to the bait. It was one she used to snap up without thinking for years and every time she did, she felt horribly foolish. In this case, such foolishness could get her killed, according to her grandfather. If someone was to ask her Birthright she would not answer nor would she tell them. Her mother had woven an illusion web to mask any detection of her Ebon-gray Jewel however the illusion would not hold if she used the Ebon-gray.

"So, where are you from?"

"Dhemlan, SaDiablo Hall." Demona blurted out before she could help herself.

"Quite the ways from here." Arian observed, not reacting to the young girl's obvious intent to hide that she had revealed more than she should have. "It's rather late right now and even if we took the Winds, it would take us a few hours…you do know how to ride the Webs right?

"Not very well." Demona answered cautiously. She had to be careful now with her answers. It was bad enough that she had just revealed her main home but to tell this stranger, a woman she absolutely knew nothing about, anymore could mean trouble. Yet for some reason she felt at peace around Arian. Her mother had always told her that when she was in doubt the best thing to do was to trust her instincts. She knew she was a good judge of character and as it seems, she, right now at least, had no choice but to trust her own judgment.

"Oh, neither could my little sister. The minute her wings were fully-grown and ready, she took off on them without knowing the first inkling on how to ride them. Ever since then, she's been as clumsy as a pregnant cow when it came to Web riding.

"Where is she now?"

Arian studied her for a moment. "I haven't seen her for many centuries, ever since…" she shook her head, clearing her thoughts, "anyway tomorrow we'll take the Opal Wind back to your home."

Arian's home was not what anyone would ordinarily imagine it to be. For neither those of the Tigre who preferred open fields nor those of the Eryiens who craved for the skies would ever live in a cramp little cottage in the woods surrounded by foliage so dense one could only barely walk through much less fly in. The cottage was carved into the ground with the roots of the overhead oak trailing in like a beaded curtain.

Inside, there were no windows. If there had not been a door, there would have no openings in this underground chamber. The walls had been paneled with polished wood that gleamed a honey glow in the one circular room, so polished that Demona could almost see her own reflection on the woodwork. A floor door, hidden underneath woven rug, led to the cellar as Arian had demonstrated and within those walls, there were no covered walls only the natural earth and whatever lurked in it. The coolness of the lower room made it an excellent storage site as the young visitor noted several jars of preserved herbs, medicinal, poisonous, or culinary.

"You can take my bed little one." Arian gestured at the hammock that hung near the side as far away from the door as it could possibly be.

Demona couldn't understand her hostess. This home of hers was so cramped with just the two of them inside but somehow Arian had managed to squeeze bookshelves against the walls creating a semicircle of them. In front of them, there was a heavy armchair that seemed rooted in placed. Twin tapestries were placed opposite of each other on either side of the door, depicting of glorious black-scaled dragons. The frayed edges and faded colouring denoted their old age.

"I thank you Lady Arian for you hospitality but where are you going to sleep?" Demona asked politely, remember the numerous manners drummed into her existence.

"It is all right. I won't be sleeping for tonight, and I hardly ever sleep. If I wanted to sleep, however, I wouldn't have offered the bed." The older woman grinned wryly as she settled herself into the armchair, tucking her legs beside her as she picked up the book that had been carelessly lying on the miniature table that accompanied the chair on one side.

"Are you sure?"

"Do I need to answer you in different tongue or perhaps spell it out for you in common, little sister? I wouldn't have offered if I was not sure." Arian answered in a teasing lilt, not looking up from her book.

Moments later, the younger of the two could be found snuggled into a ball, cradled in the hammock, fast asleep without a care in the world. When she was sure that her guest could not be easily awoken, Arian quietly crept with the silent grace of her more feline heritage to the outside world.

So, this is the one that we seek. She doesn't look like much but then looks are deceiving. Look at myself for example.

6/Kaeleer

Lucivar stared at the map of Scelt set before him and Daemon. Red-flagged pins marked the boundaries that his son and niece had agreed on for their game. Wilhelmina had agreed to stay at her cottage in case Demona found her way back.

"I don't like this. Even Demona should have found her way back." Lucivar commented.

"According to Daemonar, she tends to bend the rules a bit." Daemon turned to the door to find Luthvian patiently waiting.

"Actually Uncle, they both agreed on basic Craft last time. It's just that Demi's range of basic Craft is somewhat more…expanded than Daemonar's."

"Your mother told me the story." Lucivar gave a quiet smile, "after I mentioned about Daemonar's appearance."

"Do you have any idea where Demi would have hid?" Lucivar froze, his instincts clawing to the surface. He knew that voice, that low silky dangerous voice all too well. Only a glance was needed to find the Sadist with thatcruel glaze frosting his gold eyes. Many people vanished when the Sadist emerged from Daemon.

Lucivar's own gold eyes quickly grabbed on to Luthvian. His daughter still had the same expression of calm thoughtfulness while keeping her eyes on Daemon. There was no fear in her eyes. If she had been a pet witch of Dorothea's court, he would have called her a fool. But his daughter was not of that court nor was she a fool. He had seen Daemonar tremble with fear when Sadi came into this state but apparently Luthvian knew of no such fear.

"Demi usually tries to hide in the most obvious places such as in plain sight, in a very distinct cave or a, well, really big tree. She never bothers to air walk or hide her tracks. Though," Luthvian drummed her fingertips against her lips, "she will air walk on her hiding spot. Like last time."

"Would she ever pass the boundaries?"

The young girl shook her head vigorously. "No. I suppose it looks like we break our own rules sometimes because we each have a different interpretation of them."

"Thank you Luthvian." Luthvian nodded back as she left the room.

The silky voice was gone. Thank the Darkness. Even though Lucivar had spent over 1,700 years along side with Daemon, there were still times he didn't know what to expect. He knew Daemon would never harm a child but when he heard that voice, it was almost impossible to believe otherwise. Perhaps it was because he could not forget what had transpired between them when Hekatah and Dorothea had kidnapped Marian and Daemonar years ago. Perhaps there was a part of him that had thoroughly believed that Daemon would harm a child. Over decade ago he had seen him 'kill' Daemonar. What could ever make him think differently around his brother's actions when it came to Luthvian?

"The way I see it, old son, the quickest escape routes are the Winds that run through this area." Lucivar continued, tapping at the map, "Since the Opal and the darker Jewels are the only ones, I'd say a kidnapper would at least have an Opal Jewel."

There was a knock at the door but before either sibling was able to reply, the door opened regardless whether permission was given.

"Between the Gray and the Opal, Demona should have been able to break away or at least deter her attackers." Karla put in, demonstrating that she must have eavesdropped on their conversation, as she entered the room along with Jaenelle, Gabrielle, Surreal, and Morghann.

"But she is still a child. Just because she has the Ebon-gray doesn't mean her energy will be enough to fuel the power she would be using." Surreal reminded them. "The range of Jewels you mentioned are all darker Jewels. With the right number of darker Jeweled Blood, she could be easily overwhelmed."

"I bet," Gabrielle hissed, "that it's someone from the uprisings."

Morghann shook her head. "I highly doubt it. Compared to the uprisings in Glacia and Little Terreille, every other Territory seems to be free of them. Right Surreal?" She addressed the Dark Court's spymaster.

"I thought you were all dividing into search parties." Daemon commented. Another knock was pounded into the door. A moment later the door opened.

"Oh they were." Khary assured them as he followed Saetan and Chaosti in. "Gabrielle and Karla were going to head to the woods with Daemonar and Luthvian to see if they could capture the essence of where Demona may gone."

Jaenelle remained silent as friends discussed with her husband and brother about what their plan of action would be. Daemon parted himself away to wrap his arms around her, hoping to bring some form comfort.

I can't see her in the webs.

What? Daemon whispered back on the thread. Is someone hiding her?

No. This is different. Not hiding but sheltering…almost smothering. I can't explain with words.

Do you know wh..

Daemon whispered back on the thread.

His concentration was distracted by yet another knock on the door to Saetan's study.

"Now what?" Lucivar snarled in frustration. How were they supposed to plan with everyone coming and going? But his features softened when he saw the door open to reveal his missing niece as if she just appeared by another's whim of conjuring.

"Mama! Papa!" She cried out as she rushed to the welcoming arms of her parents. No words were needed as Jaenelle ran a caring hand through her daughter's hair as Daemon held her tightly against him.

Jaenelle turned her attention back to the door. "Who might your friend be?"

"Oh," Demona released herself from her father's grip, suddenly remembering her manners, "this is the one who lead me back home." She reached through the doorway to pull in her escort. "This is Lady Arian."

Almost everyone except for Surreal, the Dea al Mon, Daemon, and Jaenelle gasped. Although those of mixed heritage were of no extreme rarity, the combination of Tigre and Eryien blood produced an interesting blend to see.

"Shit! It's you!" Lucivar exclaimed, his eyes as wide as saucers.

Arian flashed him a feral grin, "Well, well, if it isn't Little Yasi."

"But you…I thought…didn't you die centuries ago?!" The Warlord Prince retorted as he went up to her, enveloping her in an exuberant hug.

"Let's see, I'm talking, breathing, and being squeezed, so I must be alive. However," she squirmed a bit, "you won't be if you don't let go before I start taking payment for personal damages. Then we'll see who will be dead for centuries."

7/Hell

In all the centuries he had ruled Hell, Saetan never felt such emptiness in the Dark Realm. The cildru dyathe island was barren; no child since the Cleansing had taken over what Char had done for centuries. The thought of the young Warlord brought back memories of others lost. His son, Mephis, who had been killed in the war between Terreille and Kaeleer 50,000 years ago along with Andulvar Yaslana, who had been Saetan's best friend and rival for as long as he could remember. Prothvar Yaslana, Andulvar's grandson, who had remained around long enough to see Jaenelle reign as the Queen they dreamed her to be.

Now, they were all gone, every last one of them. Over the last ten years, Hell was slowly repopulating itself. But it would be centuries before it was filled with the magnitude of demon-dead there once was. Some things remained unchanged and would forever be. The twilight sky, the loss of vitality and colour, the deep cold.

Cautiously Saetan walked in the direction of what still was the Harpies' territory. The witches who had died by a male's hand might be fewer now than the number who passed through as the more volatile, the more cunning, demon-dead but that did not mean they would stop existing. Another memory tugged at his mind of a certain Dea al Mon Harpy. Titian was a Dea al Mon Queen and Black Widow when she was alive but broken by Kartane's spear, she never had the chance to show the realms her true potential. In death, she became the Queen of the Harpies and later on a true friend. She still lived on in memories and in her daughter, her only child, Surreal.

The thought of Kartane was not someone he wished to dwell on. Kartane SaDiablo only carried his name but thankfully not his bloodline. However, the blood of Dorothea did run through his veins. Pawns of Hekatah's larger game, of her ambition to become the High Priestess of all three realms. To think, he had once married her, and she in turn bore him two sons, Mephis and Peyton. What had he seen in her at the time? Hekatah's schemes had plagued the realms for milleniums and the aftertaste was still lingering.

While a demon, she had self-proclaimed herself as the High Priestess of Hell, the Dark Priestess. An involuntary snarl grasped his lips as he traveled through her own territory that she had staked for her means. So many dead and even more lives destroyed because of her twisted goals. In her own way Hekatah had won. She might not have won the war, but she did drag all the lives she could with her.

Her home was only as luxurious as she could afford it to be though it stood as a poor shadow of what SaDiablo Hall was. Saetan had no idea why he was even here. He might have been a Guardian, one of the living dead, but Lucivar was right about one thing. There was nothing left for him in Hell.

It had bothered him for years now but only recently had the urge to explore Hekatah's territory increased. He had no idea why or what had caused this disturbing curiosity, only that it continued growing till it nagged him from dawn to dusk and from dusk to dawn. Room after room reeked of pain-filled psychic scents, or cries for help that had never been answered, of deaths that should have never been. Till he came upon her library.

During their stormy marriage, Hekatah never expressed an interest in book learning. In fact she had found it to be a downright bore if anything else. So why such an elaborate library? Saetan was willing to bet anything that it had not been built for anyone else for the circular room bled of her exorbitant tastes. There were plenty of handwritten copies of texts he recognized from the Keep's library. Furthermore, there was an abundance of notes written by a male hand. Not his or either of their two sons. All on myths ranging from Lorn to the dragons to Witch. A small section of the library had been solely dedicated to the dragons, more information in there then available in the Keep. On the top shelves of one of the shelves closest to the window were several orbs neatly arranged.

They were not music crystals nor spelled crystals to hold images, moving or still, but a smooth orb that would fit into his hand. The words of globe or sphere didn't settle correctly but orb did. A pretty trap for those who entered uninvited? That would be like Hekatah but gently probing each crystal there was nothing that denoted of danger. Shielding himself with the Black, a small burst of Craft carefully levitated the orb into his left hand. The surface was cool to the touch and reminded him of the sleekness of the finest fur, the polished shimmer of scales like those of the small dragons who dwelt on the Fyreborn Islands, of Lorn's scales that turned into uncut Jewels on Altars. Like the orbs Hekatah used to tinker with in private when she thought he wasn't around.

That thought brought a shock to his body. The hand holding the orb convulsed in surprise, dropping it to the ground. Despite the delicate structure, the colourful yet colourless orb didn't break. Instead it bounced once and then rolled on the rich wooden floor to his feet. He floated it with basic Craft till it levitated at eye level as he examined the artifact in precise detail.

It was, as it appeared, a simple orb with no other use but as ornamentation. After that fall however, small traces of a preservation spell quietly surged on the surface. The spell had been cleverly woven into the orb itself. To pluck away the preservation spell would be to destroy the orb completely. The spell was definitely of Hekatah's doing. Deceptively silk on the surface with ribs of steel underneath.

"Why this?" He whispered to no one, "Why such power into this?"

Saetan raised his right hand and the orb gracefully nestled itself in his palm, glowing with soft, faint, light. Odd, he thought as he switched it to the other hand. The glow was snuffed out before reaching contact with his left. Shifting the relic back to his right the glow re-emerged. What was making it glow? What was it reacting to?

Then he saw why. His Black-Jeweled ring that rested on his right ring finger thrummed with power as the orb neared it. The rush of dark energy increased as his hand neared his Black-Jeweled pendant, before sending an overwhelming shock of force into his mind and his hand, numbing it till he unwillingly dropped the orb again. His mind had received another message. One word that vibrated with power that made him shudder: Eldora. The word in Old Tongue meaning golden.