Read Shalador's Lady for Free Online Page B

replied.
    You know, you prick, Daemon thought. And Lucivar not giving him a straight answer was an answer.
    Lucivar’s gold eyes brightened when Jaenelle stepped into the great hall.
    “Hey, boyo.” Jaenelle smiled at Daemonar. “Are you going home without reading one last story with me?”
    “No! Put me down, Papa!”
    When Lucivar didn’t respond fast enough, Daemonar rammed his feet into his father’s gut and launched himself at Jaenelle.
    Too fast, Daemon thought as the boy winged toward Jaenelle. But Daemonar backwinged an arm’s length from his beloved auntie. He dipped and wobbled, but he landed without slamming into Jaenelle.
    “Excellent backwinging.” Jaenelle held out her hand as she gave Daemon and Lucivar a warm, amused look. “Come on. We’ll sit in Uncle Daemon’s study and read a story while he and your papa have a little chat.”
    When boy and Queen disappeared into the study, Lucivar rubbed his belly. “Well, so much for my minute of being important.”
    Daemon didn’t reply. He just crossed the great hall and went into the formal receiving room.
    Thank you, Beale, he thought when he saw the tray that held a decanter of brandy and two glasses. Normally he wouldn’t consider a drink before the midday meal, but today . . .
    “You’re looking a bit rough, old son,” Lucivar said as he came into the room and closed the door.
    Daemon poured himself a hefty glass of brandy and took a generous gulp. “If you got Marian pregnant, you damn well better have a girl, because if you don’t, I will twist your cock off. I swear it.”
    When he didn’t get a smart-ass reply, he turned and looked at his brother—and the look on Lucivar’s face made his heart pound. “What’s wrong? Is Marian all right?”
    “She’s fine. She’s good. Father is at the eyrie now, pampering her.” Lucivar made a face. “When I do something, it’s fussing. When he does the same damn thing, it’s pampering.”
    “He has a way with women,” Daemon said. “Lucivar . . .”
    “Was it that hard?” Lucivar asked. “I know the boy is a handful. Hell’s fire, Bastard, I know he is.”
    “We did all right,” Daemon said sourly.
    Lucivar sighed. “Look, next time I’ll leave him with the Eyriens and—”
    “No, you will not.” Daemon’s voice chilled. “You and I were given a particular code of honor when we were very young—a code that isn’t known by many, if any, who come from Terreille. And that is the code of honor our family will live by. So when your boy needs to spend some days away from you, he comes here. Is that understood?”
    “Not all Eyriens view honor as something they can bend to suit themselves,” Lucivar said cautiously.
    Falonar. The name of Lucivar’s former second-in-command wasn’t spoken, but it hung in the air between them.
    Then the moment, and the tension, were gone.
    “Look,” Daemon said, setting the brandy aside. “I’m just pissing and moaning. I fell out of a damn tree. I’m entitled to piss and moan. And I feel . . . inadequate.” Hell’s fire, it bruised his ego to admit that.
    “You’re not Eyrien, old son,” Lucivar said. “You never will be.”
    “Yes, I know.”
    “No, I don’t think you do.” Lucivar studied him. “We knew Daemonar couldn’t stay with us anymore when I went into rut, and when Marian recognized the signs and got him down to Merry and Briggs before I . . .” He raked a hand through his black hair. “The boy wanted you. His Uncle Daemon. Who isn’t Eyrien. Who doesn’t fly or fight—at least in a way he understands yet—but who knows lots of things. He doesn’t want you to be Eyrien. He wants to be with you because he loves you.”
    Hearing those words relaxed the knot of expectations he’d inflicted on himself—and filled him with warm pleasure.
    “I’d better get the little beast home. His mother misses him.” Turning, Lucivar reached for the doorknob, then stopped and looked at Daemon. “You really fell out of a