Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be mer-
ciful. The whole prospect filled him with delight and dread. Delight because he might be able to help her paint a different emotional canvas that would, he hoped balance the wounds the rape had caused. Dread because, no matter how knowledgeable he was about any subject, Jaenelle always viewed things from an angle totally outside his experience.
Menzar's thoughts, Menzar's imaginings flooded his mind again.
Saetan closed his eyes, fought to stop the images.
"He hurt you."
His body reacted to the midnight, sepulchral voice, to the instant chill in the room. "I was the one performing the execution, Lady. He's the one who is very, very dead."
The room got colder. The silence was more than silence.
"Did he suffer?" she asked too softly.
Mist. Darkness streaked with lightning. The edge of the abyss was very close and the ground was swiftly crumbling beneath his feet.
"Yes, he suffered."
She considered his answer. "Not enough," she finally said, getting to her feet.
Numbed, Saetan stared at the hand stretched toward him. Not enough? What had her Chaillot relatives done to her that she had no regrets about killing? Even he regretted taking a life.
"Come with me, Saetan." She watched him with her ancient, haunted eyes, waiting for him to turn away from her.
Never. He grasped her hand, letting her pull him to his feet. He would never turn away from her.
But he couldn't deny the shiver down his spine as he followed her to the music room that was on the same floor as their suites. He couldn't deny the instinctive wariness when he saw that the only light in the room came from two freestanding candelabras on either side of the piano. Candles, not candlelights. Light that danced with every current of air, making the room look alien, sensual, and forbidding. The candles lit the piano keys and the music stand. The rest of the room belonged to the night.
Jaenelle called in a brown-paper package, opened it, and leafed through the music. "I found a lot of this tucked into back bins without any kind of preservation spell on them to protect them." She shook her head, annoyed, then handed him a sheet of music. "Can you play this?"
Saetan sat on the piano bench and opened the music. The paper was yellowed and fragile, the notation faded. Straining to see it in the flickering candlelight, he silently went through the piece, his fingers barely touching the keys. "I think I can get through it well enough."
Jaenelle stood behind one candelabra, becoming part of the shadows.
He played the introduction and stopped. Strange music. Unfamiliar and yet. ... He began again.
Her voice rose, a molten sound. It soared, dove, spiraled around the notes he was playing and his soul soared, dove, spiraled with her voice. A Song of Sorrow, Death, and Healing. In the Old Tongue. A song of grieving . . . for both victims of an execution. Strange music. Soul-searing, heart-tearing, ancient, ancient music.
Witch song. No, more than that. The songs of Witch.
He didn't know when he stopped playing, when his shaking hands could no longer find the keys, when the tears blinded him. He was caught in that voice as it lanced the memory of the execution and left a clean-bleeding wound— and then healed that.
Mephis, you were right.
"Saetan?"
Saetan blinked away the tears and took a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry, witch-child. I ... I wasn't prepared."
Jaenelle opened her arms.
He stumbled around the piano, aching for her clean, loving embrace. Menzar was a fresh scar on his soul, one that would be with him forever, like so many others, but he no longer feared to hold her, no longer doubted the kind of love he felt for her.
He stroked her hair for a long time before gathering his courage to ask, "How did you know about this music?"
She pressed her face deeper into his shoulder. Finally she whispered, "It's part of what I am."
He felt the beginning of an inward retreat, a protective distancing between himself and her.
No, my Queen. You say "It's part of what I am" with conviction, but your retreat screams your doubt of acceptance. That I will not permit.
He gently rapped her nose. "Do you know what else you are?"
"What?"
"A very tired little witch."
She started to laugh and had to stifle a yawn. "Since daylight is so draining for Mephis, we did most of our wandering after sunset, but I didn't want to waste the daytime sleeping, so . . ." She yawned again.
"You did get some sleep, didn't you?"
"Mephis made me take naps," she grumbled. "He said it was the only way he'd get any rest. I didn't think demons needed to rest."
It was better not to answer that.
She was half-asleep by the time he guided her to her room. As he removed her shoes and socks, she assured him she was still awake enough to get ready for bed by herself and he didn't need to fuss. She was sound asleep before he reached her bedroom door.
He, on the other hand, was wide-awake and restless.
Letting himself out one of the Hall's back doors, Saetan wandered across the carefully trimmed lawn, down a short flight of wide stone steps, and followed the paths into the wilder gardens. Leaves whispered in the light breeze. A rabbit hopped across the path a body length in front of him, watchful but not terribly concerned.
"You should be more wary, fluffball," Saetan said softly. "You or some other member of your family has been eating Mrs. Beale's young beans. If you cross her path, you're going to end up the main dish one of these nights."
The rabbit swiveled its ears before disappearing under a fire bush.
Saetan brushed his fingers against the orange-red leaves. The fire bush was full of swollen buds almost ready to bloom. Soon it would be covered with yellow flowers, like flames rising above hot embers.
He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. There was still a desk full of paperwork waiting for him.
Comfortably protected from the cool summer night, his hands warm in the sweater's deep pockets, Saetan strolled back to the Hall. Just as he was climbing the stone steps below the lawn, he stopped, listened.
Beyond the wild gardens was the north woods.
He shook his head and resumed walking. "Damn dog."
chapter five
1 / Kaeleer
Luthvian studied her reflection. The new dress hugged her trim figure but still didn't look deliberately provocative. Maybe letting her hair flow down her back looked too youthful. Maybe she should have done something about that white streak that made her look older.
Well, she was youthful, a little over 2,200 years old. And that white streak had been there since she was a small child, a reminder of her father's fists. Besides, Saetan would know if she tried to conceal it, and she certainly wasn't dressing up for him. She just wanted that daughter of his to recognize the caliber of witch who had agreed to train her.
With a last nervous glance at her dress, Luthvian went downstairs.
He was punctual, as usual.
Roxie pulled the door open at the first knock.
Luthvian wasn't sure if Roxie's alacrity was curiosity about the daughter or her desire to prove to the other girls that she had the skill to flirt with a dark-Jeweled Warlord Prince. Either way, it saved Luthvian from opening the door herself.
The daughter was a very satisfying surprise. She hadn't realized Saetan had adopted his little darling, but there wasn't a drop of Hayllian blood in the girl—and there was certainly none of his. Immature and lacking in social skills, Luthvian decided as she watched the brief greetings at the door. So what had possessed Saetan to give the girl his protection and care?
Then the girl turned toward Luthvian and smiled shyly, but the smile didn't reach those sapphire eyes. And there was no shyness in those eyes. They were filled with wariness and suppressed anger.
"Lady Luthvian," Saetan said as he approached her, "this is my daughter, Jaenelle Angelline."
Luthvian didn't like this assumption of equality, but she'd straighten that out privately, away from Saetan's protective presence. For now she returned the greeting and turned to Saetan. "Make yourself comfortable, High Lord." She tipped her chin toward the parlor.
"Perhaps you'd like a cup of tea, High Lord?" Roxie said, brushing against Saetan as she passed.
This wasn't the time or place to correct the ninny's ideas about Guardians, especially this Guardian, but it did surprise her when Saetan thanked Roxie for the offer and retreated into the parlor.
"You know," Roxie said, eyeing Jaenelle and smiling too brightly, "no one would ever believe you're the High Lord's daughter."
"Get the tea, Roxie," Luthvian snapped.
The girl flounced down the hall to the kitchen.
Jaenelle stared at the empty hallway. "Look beneath the skin," she whispered in a midnight voice.
Luthvian shivered. Even then she might have dismissed that sudden change in Jaenelle's voice as girlish theatrics if Saetan hadn't appeared at the parlor door, silently questioning and very tense.
Jaenelle smiled at him and shrugged.
Luthvian led her new pupil to her own workroom since Saetan had insisted the lessons be private. Maybe later, if the girl could catch up, she could do some of the lessons with the rest of the students.
"I understand we're to start with the very basics," Luthvian said, firmly closing the door.
"Yes," Jaenelle replied ruefully, fluffing her shoulder-
length hair. She wrinkled her nose and smiled. "Papa has managed to teach me a few things, but I still have trouble with basic Craft."
Was the girl simpleminded or just totally lacking hi ability?
Luthvian glanced at Jaenelle's neck, trying to detect a recent healing or a faint shadow of a bruise. If the girl was just fresh fodder, why bother training her at all? No, that made no sense, not if he was going to instruct Jaenelle in the Hourglass's Craft. Something was missing, something she didn't understand yet.
"Let's start with moving an object." Luthvian placed a red wooden ball on her empty worktable. "Point your finger at the ball."
Jaenelle groaned but obeyed.
Luthvian ignored the groan. Apparently Jaenelle was as much of a ninny as the rest of her students. "Imagine a stiff, thin thread coming out of your fingertip and attaching itself to the ball." Luthvian waited a moment. "Now imagine your strength running through the thread until it just touches the ball. Now imagine reeling in the thread so that the ball moves toward you."
The ball didn't move. The worktable, however, did. And the built-in cupboards that filled the workroom's back wall tried to.
"Stop!" Luthvian shouted.
Jaenelle stopped. She sighed.
Luthvian stared. If it had just been the worktable, she might have dismissed it as an attempt to show off. But the cupboards?
Luthvian called in four wooden blocks and four more wooden balls. Placing them on the worktable, she said, "Why don't you work by yourself for a minute. Concentrate on lightly making the connection between yourself and the object you're trying to move. I need to look in on the other students, then I'll be back."
Jaenelle obediently turned her attention to the blocks and balls.
Luthvian left the workroom in a hurry, her hands and teeth clenched. There was only one person she wanted to look in on, and he'd damn well better have some answers.
She felt the chill in the front hallway before she heard the giggle.
"Roxie!" she snapped as she caught the doorway to stop her forward momentum. "You have spells to finish."
Roxie waved her hand airily. "Oh, I've just got one or two left."
"Then do them."
Roxie pouted and looked at Saetan for support.
There was no expression on his face. Worse, there was no expression in his eyes. Hell's fire! He was ready to rip out that lash-batting ninny's throat and she didn't even realize it!
Luthvian dragged Roxie out of the parlor and down the hall, finally shoving her toward the student workroom.
Roxie stamped her foot. "You can't treat me like this! My father's an important Warlord in Doun and my mother's—
Luthvian squeezed Roxie's arm, and hissed, "Listen, you little fool. You're playing with someone you can't even begin to understand."
"He likes me."
"He wants to kill you."
Roxie looked stunned for a moment. Then a calculating look came into her eyes. "You're jealous."
It took all of her self-control not to slap the ninny hard enough to make her spin. "Go to the workroom and stay there." She waited until Roxie slammed the workroom door before returning to the parlor.
Pacing restlessly, Saetan was swearing under his breath as he raked his fingers through his hair. His anger didn't surprise her, but the effort he was making to keep it from being felt beyond this room did.
"I'm surprised you didn't give Roxie a real taste of your temper," Luthvian said, staying close to the door. "Why didn't you?"
"I have my reasons," he snarled.
"Reasons, High Lord? Or just one?"
Saetan snapped to a halt and looked past her. "Is the lesson over already?" he asked uneasily.
"She's practicing by herself." Luthvian hated talking to him when he was angry, so she decided to be blunt. "Why are you bothering to teach her the Hourglass's ways when she's still untrained?"
"I never said she was untrained," Saetan replied, starting to pace again. "I said she needed help with basic Craft."
"Until a witch has the basics, she can't do much else."
"Don't bet on it."
Saetan kept pacing, but it wasn't out of anger. Luthvian watched him and decided she didn't like seeing the High Lord nervous. She didn't like it at all. "What haven't you told me?"
"Everything. I wanted you to meet her first."
"She's got a lot of raw power for someone who doesn't wear Jewels."
"She wears Jewels. Believe me, Luthvian, Jaenelle wears Jewels."
"Then what—"
A loud whoop sent them hurrying to her workroom.
Saetan pushed the door open and froze. Luthvian started to push past him but ended up clinging to his arm for support.
The table was slowly revolving clockwise and also rotating as if it were on a spit. There were now a dozen wooden boxes, some flush to the table's top, others floating above it, and all of them were spinning slowly. Seven brightly colored wooden balls were performing an intricate dance around the boxes. And every single object was maintaining its position to that revolving, rotating table.
With a lot of effort, Luthvian thought she might be able to control something that intricate, but it should have taken years to acquire that kind of skill. You just didn't start with one ball you couldn't move and end up with this in a matter of minutes.
Saetan let out a groaning laugh.
"I think I'm getting the hang of this thread-to-object stuff," Jaenelle said as she glanced over her shoulder and
grinned at them. Then she yelped as everything began to wobble and fall.
Luthvian extended her hand at the same moment Saetan extended his. She froze the smaller objects in place. He caught the table.
"Damn and blast!" Jaenelle plopped on air like a puppet with cut strings and glowered at the table, boxes, and balls.
Laughing, Saetan righted the table. "Never mind, witch-child. If you could do it perfectly on the first try, you wouldn't have much fun practicing, would you?"
"That's true," Jaenelle said with bouncing enthusiasm.
Luthvian vanished the boxes and balls, trying not to laugh at Saetan's immediate dismay. What did he think the girl would do? Try to manipulate an entire roomful of furniture?
Apparently so, because they were involved in a friendly argument about which room Jaenelle could use for practice.
"Definitely not the reception rooms," Saetan said. He sounded like a man who
was desperately trying to believe the bog beneath his feet was firm ground. "There are empty rooms in the Hall and there's plenty of old furniture in the attics. Start with that. Please?"
Saetan saying please?
Jaenelle gave him a look of exasperated amusement. "All right. But only so you won't get into trouble with Beale and Helene."
Saetan let out a heartfelt sigh.
Jaenelle laughed and turned to Luthvian. "Thank you, Luthvian."
"You're welcome," Luthvian said weakly. Were all the lessons going to be like this? She wasn't sure how she felt about that. "We'll have your next lesson in two days," she added as they left the workroom.
Jaenelle wandered down the hall and studied the paintings. Was she really interested in the art or did she simply understand the adult need for private conversation after dealing with her?
"Can you survive it?" Saetan asked quietly.
Luthvian leaned toward him. "Is it always like this?"
"Oh, no," Saetan said dryly. "She was on her best behavior today. It's usually much worse."
Luthvian stifled a laugh. It was fun seeing him thrown off stride. He seemed so accessible, so ...
The laughter died. He wasn't accessible. He was the High Lord, the Prince of the Darkness. And he had no heart.
Roxie came out of the student workroom. Luthvian wasn't sure what the girl had done to her dress, but there was a lot more cleavage showing than there'd been a short while ago.
Roxie looked at Saetan and licked her upper lip.
Although he was trying to hide it, Luthvian felt his revulsion and the beginning of hot anger. A moment later, those feelings were swept away by a bone-chilling cold that couldn't possibly come from a male.
Not even him.
"Leave him alone," Jaenelle said, her eyes fixed on Roxie.
There was something too feral, too predatory about the way Jaenelle approached Roxie. And that cold was rising from depths Luthvian didn't even want to imagine.
"We have to go," Saetan said quickly, grabbing Jaenelle's arm as she began to glide past him.
Jaenelle bared her teeth and snarled at him. It wasn't a sound that could possibly come from a human throat.
Saetan froze.
Luthvian watched them, too frightened to move or speak. She had no idea what was passing between them, but she kept hoping he was strong enough to contain Jaenelle's anger—and knew with dreadful certainty that he wasn't. He wore the Black Jewels, and he didn't outrank his daughter. May the Darkness be merciful!
Bishop, Anne - Dark Jewels 02 - Heir to the Shadows (v1.0) Page 15
