They’d gone down to the coffee shop and bakery every morning, so having breakfast in The Tavern’s main room felt strange. Then again, a lot of things had felt strange lately. When Endar and the other Eyriens came to see Rainier, she’d been ready to fight, almost needed to fight.

But there was no reason to fight, because Endar, Hallevar, and the other men had been making an effort to help Rainier, working with him, even being protective of him as he began exercising the damaged leg.

Feeling easier about Rainier after that first workout, she thought she’d gotten over whatever was riding her temper. Then Jillian showed up yesterday morning. The teacher was sick. School was canceled. Lucivar let the girl stay to be her partner with the sparring sticks, having Endar stand as their instructor.

Nothing wrong with Endar. He was a gentle man with an abundance of patience. But she saw him raise a sparring stick and step toward Jillian—which was what he was supposed to do because he’d been demonstrating a move—and she almost attacked him, almost gutted him.

She’d have to talk to Jaenelle before she did something that couldn’t be undone. It was possible there was some unexpected residue from the poisoning. Maybe the poison, and the illness that followed, had stirred up memories that plagued her dreams but disappeared by morning, leaving her feeling tired and vulnerable.

But today there were simpler problems to face.

“I think we should run The Tavern,” she said. “Merry is down with that stomach upset, and Briggs bolted upstairs at the first whiff of food.”

“You’re going to cook?” Rainier asked. “Not that you can’t, but Merry usually makes a significant amount of food for a day.”

“And we won’t. I’ll see what’s left over from yesterday. We can make sandwiches, maybe a soup. And serve drinks and coffee. Anyone who wants more can go somewhere else. You could settle yourself on that stool Briggs keeps behind the bar for the slow times. I’ll wait on the tables.”

“We should check with Lucivar.” Rainier glanced up as the door opened.

“Go away. We’re not open yet,” Surreal snapped without looking around to see who had come in.

“You’re not open yet?” Lucivar asked as he walked up to their table and looked at Rainier. “And what do you need to check with me?”

Shit shit shit. “Merry and Briggs are down with that disgusting stomach illness,” she said. “Instead of them losing a day’s business as well as feeling miserable, I thought Rainier and I could run the place for them.”

“Well, having the two of you running things would either scare away all the customers or bring in a crowd to watch the show,” Lucivar said.

Choosing to ignore him because he was right, she ate a neat bite of her breakfast.

“We could open late, after the day’s training,” Rainier said.

“No training today,” Lucivar said. “That’s what I came to tell you.”

“Is there a reason for that?” Surreal asked.

“Yes, there is.”

She glanced at Rainier. Something going on here, and Rainier knows what it is. Or at least knows some of it.

“Marian’s making a couple of soups this morning,” Lucivar said. “If you bring a pot and the supplies up to the eyrie, I think she’d be willing to make a pot for you to serve here.”

“All right.”

Rainier called in a leather case similar to the ones Daemon and Lord Marcus, his man of business, used when conveying documents.

“I reviewed them and sorted them as you asked,” Rainier said. “And confirmed what you already knew.”

“Thanks.” Lucivar vanished the leather case and gave Rainier a sharp look. “Daemon should be at the Keep by now. He and I have something to discuss. Then he’ll be coming here to talk to you.”

“Why? I haven’t done anything to annoy him.”

“I know you haven’t,” Lucivar said.

“I haven’t done anything either,” Surreal said primly.

“Don’t push your luck. You, I’m not sure of.”

She laughed, more to encourage him to leave than because she was amused.

The moment he did leave, she leaned toward Rainier. “What’s going on? He’s been flying all over the valley and hasn’t been focused on any of the workouts except yours.”

“And yours,” Rainier said. “He flies around the valley all the time, keeping tabs on the Rihlander villages and the Eyrien camps.”

She shrugged that off. “This is different. Obviously he asked you to do some paperwork for him, quietly. And now Sadi has arrived for an early-morning meeting—and Marian is making a lot of soup, which means she wants something easy that she can offer to a lot of guests.”

They studied each other. She didn’t want him to break a confidence, but she’d seen the same thing that he had during the workouts over the past couple of days: The Eyrien males around Riada seemed to be dividing between two leaders instead of understanding that there was one leader and his second-in-command.

“Let’s just say, for now, that it’s a good thing we’ll be running The Tavern for Merry and Briggs,” Rainier said.

“So we’re all going to find out today?”

“Yes.”

Well, won’t that be interesting?

Lucivar watched Daemon tap the thick stack of contracts back into a neat pile. “When it was just me and the Rihlanders, I knew what I was supposed to be. I stood for Blood law and honor. I drew the line and defended it. But this?” He blew out a breath. “I’m not sure about this.”

Daemon poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot Draca had provided. “You’re making this difficult, Prick, when it’s really quite simple. You’re the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih. You rule this territory. And now you’re going to fulfill one of your obligations to the Eyriens who live in your territory by completing the last step in the service contracts they signed with you. And Lucivar? You still stand for Blood law and honor—and you’re still drawing the line and defending it.”

“Even today?”

“Especially today. Once you make your announcement, you’ll have a good idea of who is staying, who is going, who you can trust, and who should never see your back. The ones who think you’re a good leader and want the kind of life and community you’re offering will be pissed off when you toss these papers at them. They’ll be the first to want to talk, and they won’t be polite.”

“Eyriens rarely are,” Lucivar said with a grim smile.

“That’s the first group, the equivalent of your First Circle. The second group is going to be shocked by the possibility that they’ll be cut loose and might have to serve someone who isn’t Eyrien or go back to Terreille. They’ll realize they do like it here and want to stay, and they’ll make some effort to prove it to you. There also will be the ones who aren’t ballsy enough to come to you personally but will seek advice from someone you trust.

“The women will be different,” Daemon continued. “They’ll come to your home when they’re fairly sure that Marian will be around. Easier to talk to you there. Again, the ones who want to stay will make an effort to talk to you quickly. Even the ones who don’t want to work for you but want to stay in Ebon Rih will come and talk soon.”

“If they want to live here, why not work for me?”

Daemon looked amused and exasperated. “Some of them might prefer to pay you a tithe and run their own businesses—and possibly make a better income than what you can provide. Do you resent Merry for running her own business and paying a tithe instead of working for you?”

“No. But she doesn’t pay a tithe to me. She pays it to Lady Shayne’s court.”

“The point,” Daemon said pointedly, “is that Merry and Briggs don’t serve in anyone’s court; they work for themselves, because that’s what they want to do.”

When it was put that way, he wondered how many of the Eyrien women had been waiting to be safely cut loose in order to try out their own ambitions.

“After my chat with Rainier, I’ll come back to the Keep and be available if you need any help.”

“Thanks.” Lucivar blew out a breath. “Guess I’d best get on with it.”

“Good luck, Prick.”

Leaving the Keep, Lucivar flew to the communal eyrie. He’d spent the past couple of days looking at the Eyrien camps or, in the case of the women, the settlement tucked low in the mountains near Doun. He’d looked every man in the eye as he would if he was deciding if a man was an ally or an adversary. The women were harder, because most weren’t easy around men, but he’d gotten a sense of them too. There were some men he hoped would stay—and some he would encourage to leave Ebon Rih and go all the way back to Terreille.

Rainier studied the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan and wished he had some idea what Daemon wanted to discuss.

Not much use to him, am I?

Daemon had been paying for his living expenses since the night he’d been injured. But he couldn’t expect Sadi to carry him forever. Didn’t want to be supported forever. He just didn’t know yet what he could do to earn a living.

“Lucivar says the leg is healing,” Daemon said. “That’s good.”

“I guess it took me a while to understand some things.” That pity can be as crippling as a physical wound, for one thing. And after being shown what he had survived, I understand why no one gets pity from Lucivar.

“And now that you understand those things, you’re ready to work on healing?”

“Yes.”

“What about other kinds of work?”

“I haven’t been useful lately,” he admitted.

Daemon raised one eyebrow. “Oh? Lucivar found your assistance very useful. There is more than one kind of dancing, Rainier. You learned some of those other steps while working with the coven and the High Lord. Now I’d like you to consider using those skills for me.”

“Meaning?”

“I need a secretary, someone I can trust with private matters.”

Anger flashed through Rainier. “You’re offering me pity work?”

“In that Lord Marcus asked me to take pity on him and hire a secretary, yes. You’re an Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince. That alone gives you weight when dealing with much of the Blood—enough weight to act as my representative at the SaDiablo estates or the minor Dhemlan courts in much the same way that Mephis represented my father. It would be helpful to have you staying at the Hall or in Halaway a couple of days a week to help with the paperwork there, but otherwise you could reside in Amdarh, either at the family town house or in your own apartment—although I would prefer that you work out of the study in the town house.”

“May I think about it?”

“Yes, but I’d like an answer soon. I am going to oblige Marcus and get a secretary. If not you, then someone else.”

Rainier studied Daemon, who looked as sleek and elegant as usual, but also a little uncomfortable.

“So you’re doing this because Marcus asked you?”

A hesitation that was too long for Sadi. “I owe him. He took a Sceltie puppy home for Winsol.”

“Mother Night. Couldn’t he sidestep taking the pup?”

“Not after I tied a pretty ribbon around the puppy’s neck and gave her to Marcus’s daughter to play with while he and I took care of some last-minute business.”

When Rainier finally stopped laughing, he agreed to take the job. He wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to do, but he was damn sure his days would be interesting.

Lucivar watched the Eyriens as they entered the big front room of the communal eyrie. Hallevar and Kohlvar entered first, followed by Rothvar, Zaranar, Tamnar, and Endar. He’d excused Endar’s wife from this meeting, asking her to help Jillian look after the children who had been left at Nurian’s eyrie. After all, she’d hear about this from her husband soon enough.

He picked up a sense of puzzlement in Hallevar and his companions, especially after Eyriens from the northern camps walked in, but there was no wariness in the men he worked with the most, no worry that he’d found out about some less-than-honorable activity.

Falonar came in with Nurian. He was full of hot impatience and likely pissed off because he knew no more than the others about why this meeting had been called, despite being Lucivar’s second-in-command.

Nurian hurried up to the table Lucivar had set up at the back of the room.

“Prince, am I really needed for this meeting?” she asked. “There are still a lot of people who have that stomach illness, and I promised the Riada Healers that I would help them by making more of the tonic.”

“This won’t take long,” he said—and wondered if the tonic would be made after she heard what he had to say.

The last group to arrive were the women from the settlement near Doun. They hugged the wall, watching the men from the northern camps with an uneasiness that made Lucivar wonder if there had been “visits” he should have known about or if this was just the fear that had come with them from Terreille. He also noticed the way one of them gave Kohlvar a timid smile of greeting—and the solemn, respectful way the weapons master tipped his head in acknowledgment.

When the last man had stepped into the room, Lucivar called in the leather case and took out the papers. A few papers were placed on the right-hand side of the table; the rest went on the left.

“It’s come to my attention that many of you are no longer content to live in Ebon Rih,” he said, using Craft to make sure his voice carried to everyone in the room. “And I’ve been reminded lately that I’ve neglected one duty as the Warlord Prince who rules here.”

“More than one,” someone muttered near the back of the room.

He ignored the remark, but he caught Falonar’s quickly suppressed smile of satisfaction.