Jaenelle studied her for a moment. Then she smiled and said, “Welcome to the family, little Sister.”

“Come along now,” Merry said. “If you’re not ready by the time the Priestess arrives, your man will start chewing holes in my bar.”

A tug from Merry and a push from Jaenelle got her headed toward the bedroom where she would prepare for her wedding.

Lucivar stood in the street, watching as people scurried in and out of shops, shouting suggestions to each other while they prepared a wedding feast.

Saetan strolled over to join him, a glint of amusement covering vicious anger. “You were right, boyo. She does get feisty when she’s riled.”

“She wasn’t thinking.”

“Are you going to give her time to reconsider?”

“Hell’s fire, no.” Lucivar rubbed the back of his neck. “But where did she get the idea that I was going to go fight jhinkas?” Cobwebby. She’d said something about feeling cobwebby. He knew enough about the Black Widow’s Craft—sweet Darkness, he was related to enough of them—that if she’d said anything like that to him this morning, he would have rushed her to the Keep for help.

He looked into Saetan’s eyes and knew what lay beneath the anger.

“I told your mother that if she interfered again with what was between you and Marian, I would take her to the darkest corner of Hell and leave her there,” Saetan said too softly.

For a moment, he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. No idle threat. Saetan didn’t make idle threats.

“Let it go,” Lucivar said. “I don’t want blood spilled for my wedding.” But I won’t forget this, Luthvian. I will not forget.

Saetan looked away and nodded. When he looked back, he smiled. “Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to get dressed for your wedding?”

“Am I going to have to wear that fancy outfit I acquired when Jaenelle established the Dark Court?” Lucivar demanded.

“Definitely.”

He sighed. “Thought so.”

But he smiled as he raced through the sky toward home.

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FOUR

Saetan lingered by the open tavern door. The evening air was chilly this early in the spring, but it hadn’t kept the party from spilling out into the street once the tavern’s main room got too crowded. People danced in the tavern—and they danced in the street. Ale and whiskey, brandy and wine flowed along with the laughter and high spirits.

He winked at Prothvar as the Eyrien Warlord slipped into the room. The sun hadn’t set in time for Prothvar and Andulvar to make the wedding, and Mephis was still on his way here from the Hall, but the family would gather and celebrate tonight.

“You know, don’t you?” Jaenelle asked as she slipped her arm through his.

“I’ll take care of it, witch-child.”

“In that case, I’m going to dance.”