He yanked the door open. A rock from the decorative rock garden Marian and Daemonar had made last summer dropped in the space between his bare feet and six little furry front paws.

He looked at his brother, who carried his sleepy niece. ٭I hate you.٭

Daemon’s smile held a brittleness that spoke of more than one kind of pain. ٭As Karla likes to say, kiss kiss.٭

Lucivar looked at the three Scelties. He recognized Morghann, the brown and white witch who now wore a Purple Dusk Birthright Jewel, and Khary, an Opal-Jeweled Warlord who was dark gray with white legs, chest, and tail tip. The third Sceltie, a black and white Warlord with tan patches on his face, must be the puppy Daemonar had met when the boy had visited his uncle a few weeks ago.

Bright eyes looked back at him. Tails wagged. Tiny movements brought those front paws just a wee bit closer to the threshold of his home. Before they had a chance to start offering opinions about everything, he offered an opinion of his own. “If you leave the rock there, Marian will be unhappy with you.”

The rock instantly rose two fingers off the ground and scooted toward the empty space in the rock garden. It did one roll and would have settled dirt side up if Daemon hadn’t added mildly, “The bottom of the rock already has dirt on it and should go back in that way. It will matter to Lady Marian.”

Morghann gave Daemon an anxious look before focusing on her task. Using Craft, the Sceltie turned the rock right side up, then let it settle back into the dirt. But that wasn’t enough, because she continued to make small adjustments until the rock exactly matched its previous position.

“Perfect,” Daemon said quietly.

The joy that blasted out of the little bitch made Lucivar glad he didn’t have to deal with her on a daily basis. He looked at the last member of this party and smiled when Daemon set her on her feet. “Morning, witchling. Have you got something for me?”

“We brought Scelties!” Jaenelle Saetien said, now awake and as bright-eyed as the damn dogs.

“Anything else?”

“I brought Papa!”

Daemon kissed the top of her head. “I think Uncle Lucivar is looking for a hug.”

She took a step, avoided putting a foot on any Sceltie tails, and launched herself at him.

Not enough height and too much distance.

Lucivar stepped forward, caught her under the arms, and lifted her so that she could wrap her arms around his neck and give him a hug—and tried to not to wince when her leg gave him a light whack where a man didn’t want to be hit.

“Aahhhh, that’s better.” He returned her hug before he put her down.

“Is Titian awake?”

“Not yet. Why don’t you go wake her?”

Jaenelle Saetien rushed past him into the eyrie.

The Scelties looked at him.

Giving in, Lucivar stepped back. “Come in.”

Khary raced after Jaenelle. Morghann waited for Daemon’s nod before running to catch up. The third one immediately began exploring the front room.

٭You know Morghann and Khary. This one is Lord Tagg.٭ Daemon stepped into the eyrie. “Is there any coffee?”

“Not yet,” Lucivar replied. He closed the door and headed for the kitchen. So much for getting another hour of sleep. “I’m not even going to ask what time you got up in order to get here this early.”

Daemon removed his black jacket and laid it over the back of a kitchen chair. Moving around the kitchen, he took eggs, bacon, and butter out of the cold box. “Would you like an omelet?”

Lucivar measured out coffee and put the pot on the stove. “That’s good for me. The children will want scrambled eggs when they wake up.”

“I can do that.” Daemon broke eggs into a bowl. “You look tired.”

So do you, old son. “Baby Andulvar has been fussy. Took a while to get him settled last night.” He pulled out a frying pan to cook the bacon.

“How is Marian?”

Daemon asked that question every time they saw each other, as if needing the reassurance that one of them was still loved and happy.

“She’s doing fine. She regains a little more strength and energy every day, but she’s occasionally frustrated because it’s been months since that healing and she still doesn’t have the stamina she had before the . . . illness. Nurian looks in on her a couple of times a week, mostly because no one has any experience with the kind of healing spell Jaenelle Angelline gifted to Marian. Of course, having three children can sap the stamina from anyone.”

How much longer can you endure this, whatever this is? How much longer can I wait and watch you suffer? And how can I let you know there is someone who can give you answers without losing you?

Putting the pan down, Lucivar braced his hands on the counter.

“Lucivar?” Daemon moved to stand beside him. “What is it?”

“I don’t think I can tell you.”

“You can tell me anything.”

He wanted to believe that. All right, then. A hint. A clue. A rope thrown to a man trying to save himself from a deadly fall and holding on to the cliff with one broken finger because that was all he had left. “I think Daemonar sees Witch once in a while.”

“You mean he dreams about her when he visits the cabin? I did give him permission to go inside.”

“No, I think he sees her. Talks to her.”

Daemon didn’t move, barely breathed. Finally he whispered, “Are you sure?”

Lucivar shook his head. “I’m not sure of anything, but I’ve been noticing some things since the day Marian fell into that healing sleep and he disappeared for a while. Since then, when we butt heads and he goes away to sulk . . . sometimes he’ll come back and argue his point from a different angle—an angle I’m sure his boy brain would not have considered. Sometimes he comes back looking like he’d gotten the sympathy he wanted—someone taking his side against his mean old father—but also received a whack upside the head along with the sympathy. And sometimes he comes back and apologizes for being a brat—and then we talk about his behavior and my reaction. Bastard, those things aren’t coming from him. Not on his own.”

“That doesn’t mean Witch is his confidante,” Daemon said.

Something in Daemon’s voice. Something that sounded too much like desperate hope.

“No, it doesn’t. I know Chaosti keeps an eye on the boy, and some of that might be coming from him.” While he had walked among the living, Chaosti had been the Warlord Prince of the Dea al Mon. For the past few months he had divided his time between helping his own people when they made the transition to demon-dead and residing at the Keep in Kaeleer.