The Sadist had looked at him out of pain-glazed eyes, but the headaches could be a sign of something else. There had been no sign of trouble after Witch had repaired the shattered chalice a second time, no sign that something that had been healed might be breaking again.

Until now.

Sweet Darkness, please let this be something a Healer like Nurian can fix.

Lucivar listened to Nurian asking questions and Daemon answering.

“Did the headaches start after the Birthright Ceremony?” Nurian asked.

“Before,” Daemon replied. “More of an annoyance than anything. And not as persistent.”

“But a few bad ones since then?”

“Yes.”

“Bad as this one?”

“Yes. Several bad ones this past week, but this is the worst.”

Not good, Lucivar thought. Daemon had mentioned having headaches, but he hadn’t given any indication they were this bad.

“Drink this,” Nurian said. “Healing brew with a sedative to help you sleep for a couple of hours. While you’re drinking that, I’m going to rub some warm liniment into your neck and shoulders. That should help relieve some of the pain. You have a choice of this liniment . . .” She called in a bottle and held it close enough for Sadi to take a sniff.

“Smells like a Lady’s boudoir,” Daemon complained.

“Or this one.” Nurian called in another bottle and held it out.

“Hell’s fire! Who would want to smell like that?”

“Eyrien warriors,” Nurian said dryly.

“Figures.” Daemon huffed out a breath. “I’ll take the boudoir.”

“Good choice. The stink of the other one would probably keep you awake.”

Daemon’s reluctant laugh had Lucivar’s shoulders relaxing enough for him to appreciate how tense he’d been since seeing Daemon on the stairs leading up to his home.

Murmurs. Movement. The sound of someone settling into bed. Then Nurian came out of the room, shutting the door partway.

Lucivar followed her to the end of the corridor, where he could keep an eye on the guest room. Just in case.

“Well?” he asked quietly.

“There is nothing physically wrong with Prince Sadi,” Nurian said just as quietly. “There is enough tension in the shoulders, neck, and jaw to make someone’s head hurt, but there is nothing wrong. Not that I can detect. No signs of damage to the brain or bleeding or anything else. No signs of trouble with his heart or lungs or any other organ. Your brother is a vigorous, healthy man in his prime.”

“Who is suddenly suffering from debilitating headaches.”

“Yes.” Nurian looked troubled. “Whatever is causing the headaches, it isn’t physical. Yet. But I’m concerned that if something isn’t done, what’s bothering him could manifest as more than headaches.” She hesitated. “Is there a Black Widow he would trust enough to allow her to look for a cause that isn’t physical?”

Lucivar hesitated. “Maybe. But it might not be easy to find her.”

“Talk to him when he’s feeling better.” Nurian held up a jar. “I have to go back to my eyrie for a bit.”

“Is that a healing brew for him?”

She shook her head. “This is the mixture the Healer in Halaway gave him. He asked me to test it.”

“For . . . ?”

“Anything that shouldn’t be in the mixture.”

That explained why Daemon was here instead of at home. “Let me know what you find. Marian’s in the kitchen, warming up some soup.”

“I doubt he’ll stay awake long enough to eat it, but he’ll need something once he wakes up.”

Returning to the guest room, Lucivar used Craft to move the padded bench closer to the bed before sitting down and studying Daemon, who lay on his back with his hands resting on his belly.

“What did she say?” Daemon asked, the words slurred enough that Lucivar wondered just how much of a sedative Nurian had added to the healing brew.

“You have tight muscles and a bad headache.”

Daemon snorted. “Already knew that.”

“Yeah.” Lucivar hesitated. “Will you let me help you?”

The gold eyes that looked at him still held pain, but behind the pain . . . Cold. Brittle. Predatory. “How?” the Sadist asked too softly.

“I could drain some of the reservoir in the Black, give the power a place to go so that your body can rest.” Lucivar waited. His Ebon-gray was as dark and deep as that Jewel could get, but Daemon stood deep enough into the Black that there was no chance of surviving an attack by that Black strength.

“You can’t spare that much Ebon-gray,” Daemon finally said.

Lucivar gave his brother that lazy, arrogant smile. “I can spare enough.”

Daemon moved his hands, resting his arms at his sides—unspoken permission. The pendant holding the Black lay on his chest.

Watching Daemon’s eyes, Lucivar laid his right hand on his brother’s chest, his fingers resting next to the Black as the power in his Ebon-gray ring gently brushed against the power inside the Black. Brushed against it—and was absorbed by it, using up both. An easy draining. Nothing that challenged. Nothing that might provoke an aggressive response.

When he’d drained most of the Ebon-gray reservoir in the ring, Lucivar lifted his hand. “Better?”

“Some,” Daemon murmured. “Thank you.”

Lucivar stood and used Craft to put the bench back in its place under the window. “Get some sleep. I’m going to put a shield at the end of the corridor to keep my offspring from checking on you every five minutes.”

“Good idea.” With a sigh, Daemon turned on his side . . . and slept.

By the time Lucivar put the shield at the end of the corridor and made his way to the front of the eyrie, Nurian had returned—and she was pissed.

“Anything?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

Not the answer he’d expected. “Nothing?”

“Nothing. Including what should have been in a healing brew to help a man in pain.” Nurian blew out a breath. “I can understand being stupid and targeting Prince Sadi. Hell’s fire, the man is walking temptation.”

“Trying to play him is a messy way to commit suicide.”

“I’m more concerned that this Healer might be targeting other men in the village to create dependence, or to acquire a lover, or . . . I don’t know. But a Healer has to be trusted, and if she’s caught doing something like this, it smears the reputation of all of us.”