The girl and the wolf waited for his answer.

"I rule this Territory," he said quietly. "And, as I said, the Hall and its land are personal property. If the humans don't want our kindred Brothers and Sisters as neighbors, then the humans can leave."

He wasn't sure if he was trying to reach out with his mind or if Smoke was trying to reach toward him, but he caught the edge of those alien, feral thoughts. Not thoughts, really, more like emotions filtered through a different lens but still readable. Surprise, followed by swift understanding and approval. Smoke, at least, knew exactly why the offer was being made.

Unfortunately, Jaenelle, reaching for her coffee, caught some of it, too. "What bad male?" she asked, frowning.

Smoke suddenly decided the meat was interesting.

From Jaenelle's annoyed expression, Saetan deduced the wolf had turned evasive. Since it wasn't a topic he wanted her to pursue, he decided to satisfy his own curiosity, aware of the effort Andulvar, Prothvar, and Mephis were making to sit quietly and not begin a barrage of questions. The kindred had always been elusive and timid about contact with humans, even before they had closed their borders. Now there was a wolf, kindred and wild, sitting in his drawing room.

"Prince Smoke is kindred?" Saetan asked, his tone more confirmation than question.

"Of course," Jaenelle said, surprised.

"And you can communicate with him?"

"Of course."

He felt the wave of frustration coming from the others

and clenched his teeth.Remember who you're talking to. "How?"

Jaenelle looked puzzled. "Distaff to spear. The same way I communicate with you." She fluffed her hair. "You can't hear him?"

Saetan and the other men shook their heads.

Jaenelle looked at Smoke. "Can you hear them?"

Smoke looked at the human males and whuffed softly.

Jaenelle became indignant. "What do you mean I didn't train them well? I didn't train them at all!"

Smoke's expression as he turned back to the meat was smug.

Jaenelle muttered something uncomplimentary about male thought processes, then said tartly, "Does the beef at least meet with your approval?" She gave Saetan a brittle smile. "Smoke says the beef is much better than the squawky white birds." Her expression changed from annoyed to dismayed. "Squawky white birds? Chickens? You ate Mrs. Beale's chickens?"

Smoke whined apologetically.

Saetan leaned back in his chair. Oh, it was so satisfying to see her thrown off stride. "I'm sure Mrs. Beale was delighted to feed a guest—even if she wasn't aware of it," he added dryly, remembering too well his cook's reaction when she learned about the missing hens.

Jaenelle pressed her hands into her lap. "Yes. Well." She nibbled her lower lip. "Communicating with kindred isn't difficult."

"Really?" Saetan replied mildly, amused by the abrupt return to the original topic of conversation.

"You just . . ." Jaenelle paused and finally shrugged. "Shuck the human trappings and take one step to the side."

It wasn't the most enlightening set of instructions he'd ever heard, but having seen beneath her mask of human flesh, the phrase "shuck the human trappings" gave him some uncomfortable things to wonder about. Was it more comfortable, more natural for her to reach for kindred minds? Or did she see kindred and human as equal puzzles?

Alien and Other. Blood and more than Blood. Witch.

"What?" he asked, suddenly realizing they were all watching him.

"Do you want to try it?" Jaenelle asked gently.

Her haunted sapphire eyes, dark with their ancient wisdom, told him she knew exactly what troubled him. She didn't dismiss his concerns, which was sufficient acknowledgment that he had a reason to be concerned. And no reason at all.

Saetan smiled. "Yes, I'd like to try it."

Jaenelle touched the minds of the four men just outside the first inner barrier and showed them how to reach a mind that wasn't human.

It was simple, really. Rather like walking down a narrow, hedged-in lane, sidestepping through a gap in the hedge, and discovering that there was another well-worn path on the other side. Human trappings were nothing more than a narrow view of communication. He-—and Andulvar, Prothvar, and Mephis, and maybe Smoke as well—would always be aware of the hedge and would have to travel through a gap. For Jaenelle, it was just one wide avenue.

"Human." Smoke sounded pleased.

Filled with wonder, Saetan smiled. "Wolf."

Smoke's thoughts were fascinating. Happiness because Jaenelle was glad to see him. Relief that the humans accepted him. Anticipation of bringing his pack to a safe place—clouded by darker images of kindred being hunted, and the need to understand these humans in order to protect themselves. Curiosity about how humans marked their territory since he hadn't smelled any scent markers in this stone place. And a yearning to water a few trees himself.

"I think we should go for a walk," Jaenelle said, standing quickly.

The human males stepped through the gaps in the mental hedge, their thoughts once more their own.

"After your walk, there's no reason Smoke has to return to the woods tonight," Saetan said casually, ignoring the sharp look Jaenelle gave him. "If your room's too warm, he could always bed down on the balcony or in your garden."

"I will keep the bad male away from the Lady." '

Apparently Smoke was accustomed to sliding through

the mental hedge. Saetan also noticed the wolf sent the thought on a spear thread, male to male, so that Jaenelle couldn't pick it up.

"Thank you," Saetan replied. "Finished tomorrow's studies?"

Jaenelle wrinkled her nose at him and bid them all good night, Smoke eagerly trotting beside her as they headed for an outside door.

Saetan turned to the others.

Andulvar whistled softly. "Sweet Darkness, SaDiablo. Kindred."

"Kindred," Saetan agreed, smiling.

Andulvar and Mephis returned the smile.

Prothvar drew his hunting knife from its sheath and studied the blade. "I'll go with him to bring the pack home."

Images of hunters and traps pushed away the smiles.

"Yes," Saetan said too quietly, "do that."

2 / Terreille

Seething that her afternoon's intended amusement was now spoiled, Dorothea SaDiablo gave the young Warlord who was her current toy-boy a final, throat-swabbing kiss before dismissing him. Her eyes narrowed at the hasty way he fixed his clothes and left her sitting room. Well, she would take care of that little discipline problem tonight.

Rising gracefully from the ornate gold-and-cream day-bed, she swished her hips provocatively as she walked to a table and poured a glass of wine. She drained half the glass before turning to face her son—and caught him pressing a fist into his lower back, trying to ease the chronic ache. She turned away, knowing her face reflected the revulsion she felt now every time she looked at him.

"What do you want, Kartane?"

"Did you find out anything?" he asked hesitantly.

"There's nothing to find out," Dorothea replied sharply, setting the glass down before it broke in her hand. "There's nothing wrong with you." Which was a lie. Anyone who looked at him knew it was a lie.

"There must be some reason why—"

"There is nothing wrong with you."Or, more truthfully, nothing she could do about it. But there was no need to tell him that.

"There has to be something," Kartane persisted. "Some spell—"

"Where?" Dorothea said angrily, turning to face him. "Show me where. There is nothing, I tell you,nothing."

"Mother—"

Dorothea slapped him hard across the face. "Don't call me that."

Kartane stiffened and said nothing else.

Dorothea took a deep breath and ran her hands along her hips, smoothing the gown. Then she looked at him, not bothering to hide her disgust. "I'll continue to look into the matter. However, I have other appointments right now."

Kartane bowed, accepting the dismissal.

As soon as she was alone, Dorothea reached for the wine and swore when she saw how badly her hand was shaking.

Kartane's "illness" was getting worse, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do. The best Healers in Hayll couldn't find a physical reason for his body's deterioration because there wasn't one. But she'd pushed the Healers until a few months ago, when Kartane's screams had woken her and she'd learned about the dreams.

It always came back to that girl. Greer's death, Kartane's illness, Daemon's breaking the Ring of Obedience, Hekatah's obsession.

It always came back to that girl.

So she had gone to Chaillot secretly and had discovered that all the males who had been associated with a place called Briarwood were suffering in similar ways. One man screamed at least once a day that his hands were being cut off, despite being able to see them, move them. Two others babbled about a leg.

Furious, she had gone to Briarwood, which had been abandoned by then, to search for the tangled web of dreams and visions that she was sure had ensnared them all.

Her efforts had failed. The only thing she had been able to draw from Briarwood's wood and stone was ghostly,

taunting laughter. No, not quite the only thing. After she had been there an hour, fear had thickened the air—fear and a sense of expectant waiting. She could have pried a little more, pushed a little harder. If she had, she was sure she would have found a strand that would have led her into the web. She was also sure she wouldn't have found a way out again.

It always came back to that girl.

She had returned home, dismissed the Healers, and begun insisting there was nothing wrong with him whenever Kartane pushed for her help.

She would keep on insisting, not only because there was nothing she could do, but because it would serve another purpose. Once Kartane felt certain he would get no help from her, he would look elsewhere. He would look for the one person he had always run to as a child whenever he needed help.