Daemon stared at him. Lucivar matched the look.
“I’m fine.”
“She ripped your arm open and scared the shit out of you and everyone else in the room. Everyone was focused on taking care of her and keeping the baby safe, and no one’s had a look at how badly you’re hurt. So you’re not fine. Not yet.”
“She won’t hurt the baby,” Daemon said as he followed Lucivar to the table where a basin of steaming water sat beside basic healing supplies.
“She was never going for the baby, old son. She was going for your throat.”
Daemon stripped off his jacket and swore vigorously as Lucivar helped him remove the shirt where it had stuck to the wounds in his upper right arm.
“What did she rip me with?” he asked as he sank into a chair next to the table.
Lucivar looked at the slices in Daemon’s arm. They were deep enough that he wanted the Healer to take care of them and make sure the arm healed properly, but he could clean the wounds to give Daemon time to settle. “An open metalwork glove that had talons honed almost as sharp as my war blade. That must have been something she always kept with her, stored by Craft. I made sure she hadn’t hidden any weapons in the room, but I hadn’t expected her to use Craft so soon after birthing or have something that lethal that she could call in. And I didn’t expect her to attack you.”
“Why did she do that? I haven’t given her a reason to feel hostile toward me. Have I?”
“Surreal didn’t have an easy childhood or a soft life afterward. She saw as much blood, pain, and cruelty as we did in Terreille. Everything has a price, and the price strong witches pay for wearing dark Jewels is more painful moontimes and harder births. I’m guessing the pain and the smell of blood pushed her to someplace in her memories, mixing things up in the end. I don’t think she knew who was with her; you were just a male reaching for her baby. As sure as the sun doesn’t shine in Hell, she didn’t know who I was when I was holding her down to give you and the Healer time to get the baby away from the bed so it wouldn’t get hurt.”
“You don’t think it was just me she wanted to keep away?”
Since they were going to talk, Lucivar smeared a cleansing ointment over Daemon’s wounds. “Nah. I told you. A witch who wears Gray Jewels has to be more careful and work a lot harder to keep a baby in the womb. Surreal has been feeling shaky and protective since the first morning she threw up. During the past few hours, she gave up everything civilized in order to birth this child.”
“Her name is Jaenelle Saetien,” Daemon said.
Lucivar froze for a moment. “Good name. What does Surreal think of it?”
“It was her choice.”
Daemon was starting to sound drunk stupid. Lucivar thought it was a good sign that he was finally, and fully, relaxing. Of course, sounding drunk stupid could indicate that he’d lost more blood than was obvious, and that wouldn’t be good.
Stepping into the corridor, Lucivar summoned the Healer to deal with Daemon’s arm while he checked in with Beale, Jazen, and Holt to confirm that nothing needed Daemon’s immediate attention—or his attention, since he figured he’d be handling any problems for the next day or so. They had nothing to tell him except that Tersa, Manny, Mikal, and Beron were now in the family sitting room with Daemonar and Titian. Once everyone had a little time to settle and he was sure Surreal was steady enough to tolerate the rest of the family meeting its newest member, they would all have a chance to coo before he nudged them out to enjoy the celebration dinner.
Surreal didn’t ask the question until Jaenelle finished nursing. Cradling her baby girl, she looked at Marian. “Who did I hurt, and how bad is it?”
Marian turned her head toward the adjoining room’s door. Surreal’s stomach flipped.
“Lucivar?” she asked. “Did I hurt Lucivar?”
“No.” Marian laid a hand on her arm, just above where the baby’s head rested. “Lucivar is fine.”
Surreal stared at the woman who was a sister through marriage. “Daemon.”
Marian hesitated, then nodded. “But he’ll be fine. The Healer’s taking care of him.”
“What did I do? Marian, tell me.”
“Hush, now. Don’t upset the baby.”
They waited until the baby stopped fussing. Then Marian said, “I’ve been here with you since Daemon left, so I haven’t talked to Lucivar to get all the details. What I do know is you called in some kind of metal glove and ripped up Daemon’s arm when the Healer picked up the baby. You attacked without warning. Daemon got between you and the Healer to protect her and the baby. Then Lucivar rushed in to restrain you until you were thinking clearly enough again to allow the women to take care of you.”
“Where is it now, the metal glove?”
“Lucivar has it.”
“When he’s willing, I’d like it back. It was a Winsol gift from Rainier.”
“I’ll tell him.” Marian hesitated. “The talons weren’t poisoned, were they? I’m not sure anyone thought to check.”
No wonder Sadi had been so wary of getting near her or letting her near the baby. “No poison. Not even a possibility of residual poison.”
“That’s good.”
“Are you sure Daemon will be all right?”
“Yes. He’ll be fine. Are you feeling up to letting the rest of the family see the baby? Just for a few minutes? Mrs. Beale has a meal ready for you. Are you hungry?”
“Yes, I’m hungry, and yes, they can come in.”
A minute later, Lucivar walked in, and Surreal could hear excited voices in the other room.
“Daemon has gone to his suite to wash up and change into fresh clothes,” Lucivar said.
“Are you pissed off at me?” Surreal asked. She heard tears in her voice.
“No, I’m not pissed off at you,” Lucivar said. “Neither is Daemon. We want to do whatever you need to feel safe and easy.”
“I’ll stay and have a bite to eat with Surreal,” Marian said quickly, looking from one to the other. “Daemon could come back a little later.”
Surreal studied Lucivar’s face, his eyes. “He doesn’t want to see me?”
Lucivar met her look, made some decision, and sighed. “You caught him in the ribs as well as the arm. Bastard managed to hide that from me even while I was cleaning the arm. It wasn’t until the Healer stepped in the blood that had pooled under the chair and I pushed to break the illusion spell that we discovered the other wounds and realized how much blood he’d lost.”
“Mother Night,” Surreal whispered.
“After she closed the wounds, we got him a clean shirt and let him receive congratulations from the family before taking him to his suite. Right now, the Healer is pouring some potent healing brews down his throat, and Jazen and the Scelties are under orders to make sure he stays down for a couple of hours. Then, if he’s steady enough, he can come back and see you.”
Tears filled her eyes and spilled over. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to hurt him. I’m not sure what I was trying to do.”
“You thought you needed to protect your baby. He doesn’t fault you for that, Surreal. Neither do I. But I need to know you’re steady before I let him back in this room. He’s in no condition to defend himself right now. Not from you.”
“He doesn’t have to.”
Marian went into the small bathroom and returned with a damp cloth. “Here. Wipe your face so the children can come in and meet their new cousin.”
Surreal did as she was told. She had a feeling Tersa knew why Daemon wasn’t present, but the others were more interested in the baby and didn’t notice the absence of the father.
When Lucivar decided they’d all had sufficient chance to coo, he herded them out, reminding them that there was a celebratory feast in the dining room.
“I’ll tell Beale we’re ready for some food and be back in a minute,” Marian said.
Finally alone, Surreal looked at the baby girl sleeping in her arms and sighed. “Your birthing day turned out to be a lot more exciting than I’d intended. I figure your papa and uncle will start forgetting about that around the time we’re planning your wedding. Of course, getting your papa to agree to let a boy have that first kiss could be a problem, but I’ll work on it. I promise I will.”
As soon as the rest of the family was out of sight, Lucivar wrapped his arms around Marian.
“Is Daemon really hurt that bad?” she asked.
“Yeah, he’s hurt that bad,” Lucivar replied. “He was bleeding all that time and hid it.”
“To protect the baby.”
“And so that Surreal wouldn’t know, wouldn’t feel the weight of blame for something done when she wasn’t thinking clearly.” He sighed. “But he will be all right.”
“Did he tell you the baby’s name?”
He nodded. “And that Surreal chose it.”
“Lucivar?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you think either of them has realized yet that Jaenelle Saetien has the same birthday as Jaenelle Angelline?”
Later that evening, Surreal looked up from watching the baby sleep to find Daemon standing in the doorway.
“May I come in?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He moved slowly, stiffly, as he approached the bed and came around to the side that held the baby basket.
“Hell’s fire, Sadi, you look like shit.”
“You flatter me, as always.”
“I’m not playing,” she said sharply, then lowered her voice when the baby stirred. “Sit down before you fall down.” How much blood had he lost? And why had the fool allowed himself to keep bleeding like that?
Because he wouldn’t leave the baby. And she wouldn’t have calmed down if he’d left the room with the baby. So he’d stayed, hiding the wounds and the blood soaking into his clothes.
They were going to have a little chat about him taking care of himself so that he’d be able to take care of the child. On the other hand, she appreciated his restraint in not hurting her today.
“Daemon, sit down.”
He used Craft to move a chair next to the bed. When that didn’t give him a good view of his daughter, he sat on the edge of the bed, wincing as he shifted position. One finger touched a tiny hand.
He’s already in love with her, Surreal thought as she watched him watch Jaenelle. The baby had a fuzz of black hair, gold eyes, and light brown skin. The delicately pointed ears were the only sign that she wasn’t purely from the long-lived races.
“Are you disappointed that she’s not a Queen?” Surreal asked.
The Healer had said it might take a few days for a psychic scent to become strong enough to identify a caste, but the words had been said to ease possible disappointment. Surreal had known within minutes of holding her baby that Jaenelle Saetien wasn’t a Queen. Lucivar had known just by being in the same room with the girl, so she figured Daemon also knew.
Daemon looked at her, surprised. “Disappointed? No.” His eyes went back to the baby. “Queens are the Blood’s moral center and the heart of the land. Their will is the law, and every single person who lives in their territory is held by their whims. But for all that, their lives are set from the day they’re born, and their lives are never truly their own. We need the Queens, but I’m relieved that my daughter will be spared the weight of those duties. She can become whatever she chooses to be.”
“I’ll remind of you of that when she announces a new course of study that’s so outrageous just hearing about it makes you snort coffee out your nose.”
He let out a startled laugh. Then his breath caught from the pain.
Surreal sighed. “Daemon, we both need to get some sleep before she wakes up and wants another meal.”
He nodded, clearly unhappy.
This should have been a wonderful day for both of them, and he shouldn’t have been exhausted from pain and blood loss because of her.
She snugged the baby basket up against her. “Come on, Sadi. Stretch out here and get some sleep.”
He studied her, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“There’s not much room,” he finally said.
And if she called in a knife, his throat would be in easy reach.
“There’s enough.” She thought for a moment. “But it would be smart to put a light shield along the sides so neither of us accidentally rolls off the bed.”
He stretched out on his left side, the head of the baby basket brushing his chest, and put up the shields as she requested. It hurt her heart to see him moving so carefully because of the wounds and the pain. When the Healer came back tomorrow to check on her, she would make sure she knew what he was supposed to do to heal fully—and she would make sure he did it.
She looked at him, intending to ask if he’d taken the healing brew he was supposed to before bedtime. But Daemon was already sound asleep, his body curved protectively around the basket holding his daughter.