a/n: dodges rotten fruit thrown at her for not posting Sorry! Lot's has been going on. Yes, i reposted this chapter. It wasn't finished to begin w, and so i finished it. It'll be posted more regularly, I promise!

Just as Voltaire had reached her room, a footman tapped her on the shoulder. She turned, and pasted a smile on her face. In spite of the fact that she had slept until noon, she was exhausted. The footman bowed his head, a rose jewel just visible on his lapel. "I'm sorry to disturb you, lady, but you are requested before the Dark Throne," the footman never looked at her as he spoke, respect as taught in the courts of Terreille before the purge so deeply ingrained. Voltaire nodded dumbly as she followed him back down the hall.

Voltaire followed him to the half-familiar Keep. She shivered as she examined the painful silvery thread of memory that arose form Jaenelle. It was the memory of Alexandra's breaking. Jaenelle associated so much pain with the memory that Voltaire wondered how she could even return to the throne at all. More than that, she wondered how anyone could say or do that to Jaenelle. To Witch.
The footman stopped at the top pf the dark stairs, and handed her a lit torch. She felt butterflies the size of elephants flutter around in her stomach, as she began the decent. It was deathly quiet as walked, her slippers making not even a whisper. The sight of the black double doors was almost a physical relief. She absent placed the torch in the holder in the wall next to the doors. Gently she pushed one of the doors open enough so that she could slip inside. The door closed noiseless behind her. As she walked forward torches along the walls lit with witch light to illuminate the room. She stopped before the dais, realizing that the Blackwood chair was empty. She began to look around for any sign of Jaenelle. Surely, Jaenelle had summoned her. She noticed how the eyes of the silver-gold dragon followed her. They were so deep black she felt like she could almost fall into them.

You are Voltaire? His metal voice was huge in her mind. It seemed like one vast consciousness was crowding into her own. It awed her. It terrified her. She took a ragged breath to steady herself, and set up the slight shields that second nature to most of the Blood.

"I am," she managed looking for a place to sit. She felt slightly lightheaded. The dragon's tail snaked around behind her. It was just the right height for her to sit on. "You called me here, not Janelle." The great head nodded as he watched her.

Yes. I have mush to tell you concerning your trip to Chaillot. I fear, that while Jaenelle was able to remove the tainted Blood, the ones broken back to basic Craft, may have begun to corrupt this new Blood. His voice was heavy with a sigh his face was not made to give voice to.

"I will be on guard," when the dragon made no move to dismiss her, she wondered aloud. "You have something else to tell me." Those great midnight eyes blinked as he looked down at her.

You are not like other witches. Voltaire laughed as he told her something she already knew. Not as you think. You are the first of the new Blood. The Blood where gender does not determine rank. You are the first female Warlord Princess. Voltaire shook her head.

"You are joking, right? Me a Warlord anything? In a dream maybe," Voltaire told him. Those great eyes just looked calmly down at her. It is your rank. Daemonar and Daemon know. They were in the room when you reached the killing edge while speaking to your friend. They felt it, and had to clamp down on their own reactions. You cannot deny what you are, any more than Jaenelle can deny the fact that she is Witch. Voltaire rankled with her disbelief, but she knew the dragon spoke the truth. Dragons were the ones that had created the Blood afterall. The dragon was clearly done with her for now, as he lifted his tail gently so she could stand. She nodded to him, and left the chamber.

Voltaire woke the next morning to someone dragging her out of bed. Her defenses kicked in and she kicked him in the groin. Still half-asleep she planted her knee in his face were he was doubling over. His groan of pain along with the blood soaking her gown brought her to alertness.
"Oh, my God! Lucivar I'm so sorry," she said kneeling down next to him. She pulled his face up so she could look at him. Blood was streaming freely from his nose. Without thinking she summoned a washcloth from the bathroom and handed it to him. He took it wordlessly. She was just about to open her mouth to apologize again when she felt the message along an ebony-gray spear.
Voltaire? Are you alright? Father says he's in your room… Daemonar's voice made her smile. The ring of honor, of course. They all would've felt Lucivar's pain, and asked him if he was ok and where he was. It was touching that Daemonar would ask after her.

I'm fine. I'm afraid I got your father good. She sent him her amusement. Lucivar was sitting on the floor next to her bed grinning like a madman. She rolled her eyes at him and looked around the room for Blackfury. It was just after dawn, meaning she had most likely gotten three or for hours of sleep. She groaned as she realized this.

"What do you think is so funny?" she asked Lucivar crawling onto her bed. The bleeding had stopped and he was wiping up the little bit he had gotten on the marble floors.

"I think that's the first time I've ever gone to wake someone for practice and had them pummel me in their sleep. Where'd you learn to do that?" he asked. She sighed as she looked at him.

"My aunt was big on self-defense. When someone tries to drag you anywhere in my world it means they're trying to kidnap you." None of the bitterness from before was there as she said this. It hurt to realize she would never see her aunt again, but she felt that she had to move on. These people were her friends and family now.

"I would love to meet this aunt of yours," he said shaking his head. He noticed the large rings around her eyes and studied her sharply. "You haven't gotten much sleep." He told her. Voltaire felt like punching him again. Why did he feel the need to state the obvious?

"Your right. I got called to see the dragon. Lorn, right? He wants me to go with Wilhelmina to Chaillot," she groaned as she realized all the work that was going to lead up to this trip. "And I have to go see Jaenelle about it. I know she wants to see me about that incident involving Daemonar and Blackfury." Lucivar nodded.

"Seeing as how you reacted to me trying to wake you up, I can dismiss you from the training today. Do you think you could teach that little move to the other Ladies?" Lucivar asked rising. Voltaire nodded, and headed over to the wardrobe.

"Sure thing," she said wondering where Blackfury had gotten to. That wolf was annoying as hell, but when he was gone she missed him. She opened their link to find herself sinking fangs into his latest kill. She closed it quickly, pleased he chose to do that when she wasn't awake. She pursed her lips as she stared into the wardrobe. What on earth was she going to wear?

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She sat in Jaenelle's library sipping tea. She had settled on a deep red tunic and black pants. She was still working on washing the dye out of her hair. Jaenelle was seated across from her, her usual long black dress causing her to seem more dignified then she was.

"To business. About Blackfury and Daemonar, I assume you've managed to get them under control? Their both a little crazy," Jaenelle grinned at the disgusted looked on Voltaire's face.

"Tell me about it. Daemonar claims he's coming with Wilhelmina and me to Chaillot. He forgets he's a member of your court. He has to ask your permission. I'm not, I can come and go as I please. I chose to go with her because I believe in her," Voltaire said shaking her head.

"It's nice to know someone believes in her. She doesn't believe in herself. She could be a good Queen, and save her people, but she's so afraid. Afraid of repeating her grandmother's mistakes. I'm surprised she listened to you," Jaenelle said. She looked depressed and older than her years. Voltaire gave her a small smile.

"She listened, because she knew I was being honest. I have no bias. I think I will enjoy going. As much as I'm enjoying my stay in your court, I think hers is where I belong. She needs someone to remind her that she is from a powerful line. A line that produced Witch," Voltaire grinned at the last words, a found a matching one on Jaenelle's face. Jaenelle waved her hand to dismiss her. "You both have my blessing. Just try not to get her killed," Jaenelle said to the retreating back of Voltaire. Voltaire shook her head and called over her shoulder, "No promises."

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