“I’ll convey the message to Lady Surreal.”

٭Convey one other thing to my wife,٭ he said on a Red spear thread, and gave Beale instructions that, even if not understood, would be followed by everyone who worked at the Hall.

As Daemon walked to the stone landing web in front of the house, he noticed Morghann trotting in the direction of the stables.

٭Morghann,٭ he called as gently as he could.

٭I did a wrong thing,٭ the Sceltie whined. ٭There is blame.٭

٭Jaenelle Saetien did a wrong thing. You made a small mistake. We can talk about the correct thing to do when I get back.٭

She didn’t reply, just kept trotting toward the stables.

He’d been too harsh. Being a few months away from her Birthright Ceremony, Morghann was still considered a puppy, which meant she depended on what humans told her was correct behavior, and Jaenelle Saetien telling her to do a “wrong thing” had shaken the Sceltie’s confidence—at least for a little while. Morghann would forgive the girl—Scelties were forgiving of human mistakes, as he had reason to know—but she wouldn’t forget. And she might never fully trust again. He wouldn’t know how deep that break in trust went until he tried to fix it.

But right now something else needed to be fixed.

* * *

* * *

Tersa returned to the cottage next to Manny’s, where she and the Mikal boy lived. The Mikal boy had stayed with Manny to do his schoolwork and help with some of the chores he did around both cottages. No one would wonder about her for a while.

For long enough.

She climbed the attic stairs, then fumbled with the keys she kept on a chain she usually left in a drawer in her dresser. But today she had tucked the chain in a pocket, had felt she’d needed to have the keys handy. She unlocked the door, entered the attic, then locked the door behind her.

Tangled webs were the webs of dreams and visions that were used by Black Widows to see what couldn’t be seen in other ways.

Using the second key, she opened the trunk where she stored the tools of the Hourglass Coven—wooden frames and spools of spider silk of various weights, among other less benign tools.

Selecting a frame, Tersa brought it and the box of spools to her worktable. Then she sat on a stool, chose one of the spools of spider silk, and thought about the reason she needed to weave this tangled web.

Her boy was not well. He knew it, but not the cause or how to fix it. Felt the pain that was the body’s way of revealing what heart and mind tried to hide. The source of the pain. That was what she needed to find. Not just for him. Not just for him, but for . . .

Her hands stopped moving as she anchored the last strand of the web. Then she took that mental step to the side—a dangerous step for a witch whose power had been broken long ago and whose mind had shattered when she made the choice to regain some of that power. She needed to take that step to help the boy. Her boy. Daemon. Now she opened herself to the dreams and visions—and when she saw what the pain was trying to reveal, she huffed out a sigh of annoyance.

Growing pains. Her boy was trying to hold back a part of himself that had matured so recently he hadn’t figured out yet how to deal with it. He’d be more successful trying to hold back the sea at high tide. He could do it for a while, just like he could hold back his own nature for a while. But eventually he would have to yield to what he was. If he didn’t, he might damage himself in ways that couldn’t be repaired.

Tersa stared at the tangled web. She wasn’t seeing everything yet. She’d seen the simple answer, the easy answer. But there was more. Did she want to know about the more?

She followed the threads beyond the simple answer and saw the larger vision, saw what it might cost later if she gave her boy the easy answer now.

If her boy’s pain went away, the one person he would need the most wouldn’t be there. The one the winged boy would need wouldn’t be there.

Daemon’s pain was the only key. Could she let her boy suffer now in order to spare him from greater pain later?

“Everything has a price,” she whispered as she retreated from the visions.

Using a thin stick of wood, she destroyed the web, carefully wrapping the spider silk around the wood until the frame was clean. Then she used Craft to snap the web-shrouded wood from the rest of the stick and dropped the used portion into a shallow stone bowl. Another bit of Craft created a tongue of witchfire, which she dropped into the bowl.

Tersa watched wood and spider silk burn until there was nothing left, until even the witchfire was extinguished, having used up the tiny bit of power that had created it.

She returned her tools to the trunk and locked it before she picked up the stone bowl and went downstairs. Witchfire burned anything and everything in its path, so even though it looked extinguished, she would keep watch on the bowl for a while longer before burying the ash in the garden.

Once the Mikal boy was asleep, she would ride the Winds to the Keep and hope the one who could save her boy would answer her call for help.

* * *

* * *

٭Surreal, you’re needed.٭

٭Sadi? Where are you?٭ He was supposed to be picking up Jaenelle Saetien after school. Had that much time passed since he’d left the Hall on some unspecified errand in the village?

٭We’ll be at the Hall in a few minutes.٭

You’re needed. Not Your presence is requested. Not Your presence is required. Those were the phrases of Protocol that were usually used. But this? This sounded like a Warlord Prince summoning his second-in-command.

Which meant she should be heading up to the residential part of the Hall, weapons drawn and ready to meet trouble.

And yet she hesitated as she studied the Black-locked door that she’d discovered at the end of a corridor deep beneath the Hall. She didn’t know what was behind that door, but she was sure that few who walked through that door walked out again.

Better not to know. Especially now.

But these walls on either side of the door were also protected by Black shields, and those shields now served a purpose for her. She didn’t think Sadi came down here often, and she was sure these shields weren’t part of the defensive shields around the Hall. Those Sadi checked every fortnight. But these . . .

Everything had a price. Including power. Especially power. And during a witch’s moontime, she needed to channel her power into the reservoir of her Jewels to lessen the pain. Problem was, when everything was peaceful, daily life didn’t use much Gray power.

She could ask Daemon to drain her Gray Jewel. He’d done it every month during her pregnancy and several months after that to keep her and the baby safe from her own power. But she didn’t want to ask him. She didn’t want to be dependent on anyone right now. Especially him. She could take care of this on her own, as she’d done most of her life.