by Anne Bishop
As Saetan clung to him, sobbing harshly, Andulvar forced himself to look at the jumbled pieces that had been a baby.
You fools. The Darkness only knows what will come of what you've done.
The sobbing finally stopped. Saetan stepped back, called in a handkerchief, wiped his face, and delicately blew his nose. His gold eyes were dulled by pain and grief.
Andulvar took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Why don't you go up to your room to rest? I'll take care of—"
"No." Saetan shook his head, vanished the handkerchief. "He's my son. I'll take care of him." After closing the lid on the box, he picked it up. "Would you send a message to the Zuulaman Ambassador and tell him to meet me here in three hours?"
"What are you going to do?"
Saetan swallowed hard. "Sign the damn agreements and get my wife back."
The world was full of soft shapes, gray shapes, meaningless shapes. He moved through it in silence as he walked out of the Hall and went to the tree. He often came to sit beneath it and read when he wanted some time alone. He often sat in its shade while keeping an eye on Mephis and Peyton when they played around the pond.
He sank to his knees, put the box down, and opened it.
No pain now. No feelings at all. Nothing but a terrible clarity. The mist had absorbed his grief, his rage. They were no longer inside him. Now, he was inside of them.
The baby was crying. Somewhere in the mist that turned the world into gray and ghostly shapes, the baby was crying.
He stripped off his shirt, laid it on the grass. Gently took the pieces out of the box and arranged them on the cloth.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I tried to do what was right for the people I rule. Tried to keep the promises I made. I didn't know the price would be so high." Tears filled his eyes. "You'll never know your brothers, you'll never sail a toy ship on the Ph-phantom Sea, but you won't be alone. You won't be forgotten. When I come here with them, I'll be here for you, too. That I promise you. For as long as I live, you will not be forgotten."
Carefully wrapping the shirt around the pieces, he used Craft to sink the bundle deep into the earth. When he was done, there was no mark on the ground to indicate the spot, no sign of a grave. It was as if his little son had never existed.
Except the baby kept crying.
He rose to his feet, vanished the box, and walked back to the Hall, empty of everything but a terrible clarity…and a growing storm that was hidden in the mist.
8
Andulvar stood back from the desk where Saetan sat. There was nothing on the desk except the trade agreements, a quill, and a small bowl made of black marble.
The Zuulaman Ambassador stood in front of the desk, clearly unhappy about being in a room with Warlord Princes who wore the Ebon-gray and the Black.
Andulvar didn't give a damn if the Ambassador was happy or not. Saetan had asked him to stay for this meeting, so he would stay. Besides, the glazed, sleepy look in Saetan's eyes worried him.
"You won," Saetan said quietly. He pushed up his left shirt sleeve and nicked his wrist with a long, black-tinted nail. Blood spilled into the marble bowl.
"What…" The Ambassador gave Andulvar a startled glance before focusing on Saetan. "What are you doing?"
"Your Queens killed my son," Saetan said as he used Craft to heal the nick. "They butchered a baby barely out of the womb. These agreements were bought with blood, so they will be signed in blood."
In silence, Andulvar watched Saetan pick up the quill, dip it into the blood, and sign the agreements. When he set the quill down, the Ambassador stepped forward and reached for the parchments.
One black-tinted nail came down, pinning the sheets of parchment to the desk.
"The agreements have been signed," Saetan said too softly. "You're a witness to that fact. So is Prince Yaslana. When I receive a message from Lady Hekatah's father, and from the Lady herself, that she has been safely returned to her family's house in Draega, and is unharmed, I will bring these agreements to you. You're staying at the inn in Halaway, yes?"
"Yes," the Ambassador said, "but I don't think the Queens will agree…" He looked into Saetan's eyes… and shivered. "I will inform them that the agreements are signed. I'm sure you'll hear from Lady Hekatah very soon."
Saetan just smiled a gentle, terrible smile.
When the Ambassador left, Andulvar sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "By nightfall, half the Queens in Dhemlan will hear about these agreements."
"It doesn't matter." Saetan's voice sounded queer and hollow, as if it were coming from far away. Then he roused, but the glazed, sleepy look was still in his eyes. "I'd like you to take Mephis and Peyton to Askavi. I need to know they're safe while I deal with Zuulaman."
Andulvar nodded, then studied the man who had been his closest friend for several centuries. "Will you be all right?"
"I'll take care of things. I'll take care of everything."
As Andulvar went up to the family wing to collect the boys, he didn't know which worried him more…the psychic storm he'd felt growing when he'd arrived that morning… or the fact that he couldn't sense any trace of it now.
9
Grief ripped into him, its jagged edges slicing his heart. He lost his precarious balance and tumbled through a landscape filled with knives and little arms that rose up from crevices in the stones like brown-skinned flowers. As he clung to a stone to keep from sliding further into the mist, the petals of one flower opened, became a tiny hand… with a missing finger.
A howl of rage and pain shook the landscape. Then silence.
Getting to his feet, he looked around. No landmarks he recognized, and he'd set no markers as guides to take him back to the border of that place called sanity.
He wasn't sure he wanted to find that place. It was quiet here, almost peaceful here, despite the flowers. But…
Mephis. Peyton.
He looked around again, saw two beacons shining above him. His markers. His anchors. Two reasons to go back.
But not yet. Here there was terrible clarity. Here there was quiet … except for the sound of a baby crying.
Saetan read the two messages again, not sure what he was searching for but certain he hadn't found it.
The message from Hekatah's father was a scrawled assurance that she'd arrived in Draega, distressed but unharmed, and would remain there until everything was settled with Zuulaman's Queens.
A similar message from Hekatah, with additional reminders that he was responsible for her safety, that her continued safety, and the safety of their two sons, depended on his fulfilling the agreements he'd made with Zuulaman.
As he read her message one last time, he knew what was missing. There was nothing about the baby. If she knew what had been done, there was no sign of grief. If she didn't know, there was no concern that she'd been allowed to leave without the child. Not one word about the loss of their newborn son. Not. One. Word.
He dropped the messages back on the silver tray his butler had placed on his desk. Called in a long, soft black jacket, slipped it on, adjusted his shirt cuffs and collar. Then he picked up the agreements and left the Hall.
While the Ambassador carefully looked over the agreements, no doubt to confirm that nothing had been altered after they'd been signed, Saetan looked around the room the man had called home for the past few weeks. Two pieces of Zuulaman pottery were arranged on a table, along with a wooden flute and a book of the island's folk tales. He knew that's what the book contained because the Ambassador had given him a copy the first time the man had called to discuss the trade agreements. And on the wall was a framed, primitive sketch of a seashore.
"This takes care of it," the Ambassador said. "I believe this takes care of everything."
Not quite. The thought bloomed. Found the storm hidden in the mist. Echoed through that terrible clarity.
"If there's anything I can do to assist you in collecting the first shipment of goods …" The Ambassador frowned. "Prince SaDiablo?"
No word of regret. No mention of the child whose blood had bought those sacks of grain, those casks of wine, whose death had sentenced the Dhemlan people to buying pottery and sketches they didn't want.
Rage flowed through him, a cold, sweet poison.
Saetan looked at the Ambassador and smiled. "There is one thing you can do."
"I'm not available to anyone," Saetan said as he brushed past his butler.
"What if the Dhemlan Queens…"
"Not to anyone."
Down, down, down until he came to the corridor deep beneath the Hall that led to his private study. Only Andulvar knew about this study, with the small bedroom and bathroom attached to it. A private place for the times when his Craft demanded such privacy.
He pressed a spot in the study wall. A piece swung back, revealing another short corridor. After stepping inside, he closed the hidden door, then created a ball of witchlight to provide illumination as he walked down the corridor and entered the workroom. Setting the witchlight in a bowl on the large wooden table, he stripped out of his jacket and tossed it aside.
The baby kept crying.
He opened Black-locked cupboards. Took out the tools no other man owned and placed them on the table. When everything was ready, he carefully unrolled a spindle of spider silk and attached the thread to the wooden frame he'd placed in the center of the table.
The baby kept crying.
"Hush, little one," Saetan crooned. "Hush. Papa will take care of things. Papa will take care of everything."
10
"What do you mean he's not available?" Andulvar growled.
"We haven't seen him since he returned from seeing the Ambassador yesterday," the butler replied.
"But he's here?"
"We think so."
Andulvar shifted his weight, opened his wings slightly.
The butler swallowed nervously. "We thought he'd gone to the cellars to select a bottle of wine or some brandy, but when he didn't return, we looked for him."
And didn't find him. Which means I know where he's gone.
"When he reappears, tell him I want to speak with him."
"At once, Prince Yaslana."
Andulvar walked out of the Hall, cursing himself. He should have taken the boys to Askavi and come back here. Hell's fire, he should have taken them to Ebon Askavi and asked Draca and Geoffrey to look after them for a few days. They'd be safe at the Keep. Nothing could touch them at the Keep.
He should have come back here. Saetan wasn't stable. Anyone looking at the man could tell he was too close to sliding into the Twisted Kingdom.
But only a fool would go down to that private study without some idea of what he might find there.
So I'll give him the day to lick his wounds in private. Then I'll be a fool.
He spread his wings and prepared to launch himself skyward and catch the Winds to go back to Askavi. Then he hesitated, looked at the drive that became the road into Halaway. He couldn't reach Saetan right now, but there was one other person who could tell him if anything else had happened yesterday.
He clenched his teeth as the Warlord who owned the inn hurried along the corridor ahead of him.
"Haven't seen him since dinner yesterday," the Warlord said. "Sneers at every dish that's put before him, but he tucks into his food well enough. Here it is. This is his room." He rapped on the door, waited a moment, then called in a ring of keys, selected a key, and opened the door.
Andulvar went in first, all his senses alert to some sound, some motion, a psychic presence that would indicate someone was in the room.
"Bastard," the Warlord said.
Bristling, Andulvar turned slowly, his hand itching to call in his Eyrien war blade. But the Warlord wasn't looking at him.
"He cleared out," the man said. "The bastard just cleared out without paying his bill."
Andulvar studied the room, noted the books on the bedside table, the clothes still hanging in the open wardrobe. "Are you sure?"
"Course I'm sure!"
"His things are still here."
"Not the things he brought from Zuulaman." The Warlord picked up the books, then set them back down before going to the wardrobe and riffling through the clothes. "He bought these clothes here in Dhemlan. Those books, too. My brother was in the bookshop the same day and saw the Ambassador buy them. But all the things he brought with him from Zuulaman are gone. Those bits of pottery and a book. There was a sketch on the wall, too. And the clothes."
A chill went down Andulvar's spine. There was no reason for the Ambassador to remain in Halaway now that the agreements were signed. No reason at all. And yet…
"Guess he didn't think the things that came from Dhemlan were worth enough to take back with him," the Warlord said with a trace of bitterness.
Andulvar left without saying another word to the innkeeper and flew back to the Hall. As he landed and started to walk toward the front door, three Warlord Princes dropped from the Winds and appeared on the landing web that was circled by the drive. Opal, Sapphire, Red. Even together, they couldn't challenge Ebon-gray and hope to survive, but it would be a vicious fight. He shifted, deliberately placing himself between them and the Hall's front door.
"We need to see Prince SaDiablo," the Red-Jeweled Warlord Prince said.
"He's not available," Andulvar replied.
The Sapphire swore quietly.
"We need to see him," the Red insisted. "We're here on our Queens' behalves to report some odd thefts that occurred last night."
"What kind of thefts?" Andulvar asked, feeling icy claws wrap around his spine.
"Reports came in from several Provinces in Dhemlan as well as Amdarh," the Sapphire said. "Items were stolen sometime during the night."
"What kind of items?"
The Red's smile had a bite but no humor. "If it came from Zuulaman, it's gone. There's no sign that anyone broke in to those homes and nothing else was taken."
"It's not just people's homes," the Sapphire said. "Merchants reported that anything they'd acquired from Zuulaman to sell is gone. Books, pictures, pottery. Doesn't matter."
"The Queens are wondering if some kind of spell had been woven into the items so that they'd vanish after a certain amount of time," the Red added. "They're wondering if we're going to end up buying the same books and bits of crockery over and over again."
Which confirmed that the Ambassador had made sure at least some of Dhemlan's Queens were aware of the trade agreements before he disappeared.
They waited now, watching him.
An ember of dread kindled in his belly, but he didn't let them see it. "I'll tell him."
He watched them walk back to the landing web. Waited until they'd caught the Winds to go back to their Queens. He looked up at the sky, judged the daylight. Still enough time before twilight, even though he'd be heading east.
He strode to the landing web, caught the Ebon-gray Wind, and headed for Zuulaman.
11
The baby stopped crying.
Saetan took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. His body ached right down to the bone. As he raised his right hand to brush back his hair, he noticed the ring. The Black Jewel looked dull. When had he drained it? And why? He brushed fingers over the Black Jewel that hung from a gold chain around his neck. That one, too, was drained. Only a few drops of power remained, just enough to keep the Jewel from shattering. He must have drained it. He was the only one who could drain it. But… why?
His vision kept going in and out of focus. One moment he could see clearly, the next the room looked muzzy and gray.
Food. Water. Sleep. He needed all of those things.
Slipping off the stool, he moved stiffly through corridors, swore quietly as aching legs climbed stairs. Dimly he realized his body was moving through the Hall up to his suite. Dimly he heard his voice, hoarse and strained, give orders to have food, water, and wine brought to his room. Dimly he was aware of stripping out of his clothes and stepping into the shower…a new variation of the Eyrie
n outdoor water tanks warriors used to clean themselves after a battle…and letting hot water pound against his skin while he braced himself against a wall.
Still lost in the mental twilight, he was also aware that he had climbed twisted roads within his own mind and now stood on one side of a familiar border. Still on the misted side of that border, where it was quiet. He wasn't ready to cross that line back to sanity. Not yet.
Food. Water. He consumed both, then realized he had no memory of getting out of the shower or putting on the long, warm robe that now wrapped his body. Didn't matter.
He held on long enough to climb into bed, even though the sun was still shining. He held on long enough to put a Red shield around the bed. Not as much protection as a Black shield, but it would do.
Then he surrendered to the sleep he needed before he could step across the border and leave the Twisted Kingdom.
12
Hell's fire! He should have reached the islands by now, should have sensed one of the landing beacons at the very least.
Dropping from the Ebon-gray Wind, Andulvar spread his wings and glided over the ocean. After a minute, he flew higher, swearing silently. Even if he'd misjudged and taken the wrong threads when he'd switched from radial to tether lines and back again, he couldn't be that far off. He knew where the islands were.
He went higher, then flew in a wide circle, searching. Searching. Six large islands and twice that many smaller ones. He should be able to see something.
He spiraled toward the water, calling himself a fool even while he did it. What did he think he'd see closer to the ocean that he wouldn't see higher up?
But he did see something. A bit of green floating on the swells. He glided toward it. Dipped down to snatch it.
The ember of dread that had settled in his belly kindled. His heart pounded as he exploded upward, away from the water, away from… What?
He circled back. Breathing hard and sweating, he hovered above the green.
