Tangled Webs by Anne Bishop

to be Blood.
    He didn’t know their customs, didn’t know their Protocol, didn’t know what it meant to be Blood. How could he? He hadn’t grown up in one of their precious villages, hadn’t grown up surrounded by this dance, as they called the constant ebb and flow of dominance that depended on who was in the room. Instead of being trained all through his childhood and youth, as he should have been, he had to pay for information about his heritage. His “consultants” had been quick enough to take the gold marks he offered in exchange for “research,” but he now wondered about the accuracy of their information—and wondered if they’d given him just enough to make him look foolish.
    As for his other “consultant”…Well, he couldn’t trust much of anything that came from that mind.
    At the bookshop, they had laughed at his portrayal of the Blood, had laughed at him. But they had done much worse here at the hotel. Here, they pitied him.
    Thank the Dark he hadn’t used his real name when he checked in. After that humiliation in the bookshop, he didn’t want anyone to know he was in this thrice-cursed city. He almost changed his mind about revealing who he was when the clerks at the desk did acknowledge him as Blood. Then he looked into their eyes and listened to their carefully phrased words…and realized they thought he was a broken male, someone who had been stripped of so much of his power, he was barely one of them anymore.
    Didn’t stop them from taking the gold marks. No, his lack of power didn’t stop any of them from taking a hefty fee for the pittance they were willing to share.
    Like this room. If he’d gone to a landen establishment in a nearby city, he could have had a better room for half the price. But he’d wanted to stay at a hotel that catered to the Blood. For what? The room he’d been given wasn’t any different from rooms he’d had in landen cities—was, in fact, stripped of almost everything that required Craft. On purpose. Because they didn’t believe he was capable of being like them.
    And he wasn’t capable. Not yet anyway.
    They thought they were so special, so powerful, so superior.
    Daemon Sadi, for example. He’d personally sent Prince Sadi a copy of his new book. The bastard hadn’t even had the courtesy to write a sentence acknowledging the gift. And certainly hadn’t sent the desired dinner invitation.
    And then there was Lady Surreal. He’d heard of her. Who hadn’t heard of her? Nothing but a whore, but she could stand in a shop and publicly laugh at an educated man for no other reason than because she wore a Jewel.
    There was more than one kind of power. The Blood made the rules and ruled the Realm, but they weren’t all-powerful, weren’t invincible. A clever man could defeat them and prove he was worthy of notice, of respect.
    Pitting one kind of skill against another, a clever man could defeat them. Even the most powerful among them.
    Of course, it might not be prudent to admit being the author of such a scheme, but he’d know, for himself, that he could stand among them.
    And Lady Jaenelle Angelline herself had provided him with a way of covering his tracks. He’d been a little upset when he’d thought she had stolen his idea and spoiled the setting for his next novel, but now that only meant that people could confirm he’d begun the new Landry Langston story before the tragic events took place.
    Yes, there was more than one kind of power, and he had the means of weaving a wonderful plot.
    He would give the Blood a story the SaDiablo family would never forget.
    At least, the ones who were still alive.

SIX
     
     
    “N o, witch-child. I will not say bwaa ha ha. ”
    “But it’s for—”
    “No!” Saetan slammed the books down on the blackwood table in the Keep’s library. “If you choose to insult what we are, that is your decision. But I will not participate.”
    Jaenelle stared at him, stunned. “It’s just a little fun.”
    “Fun!” He