He took a sip and then another. It tasted of moonlight, summer heat, and cool water. "This is wonderful, witch-child. You should have a glass yourself."
"I've had two." She tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it. She fluffed her hair and bit her lower lip. "Saetan, I don't like what happened today. I don't like what. . . almost happened today."
He drained the glass, set it on the bedside table, and reached for her hand. "I'm glad. Killing should never be easy, witch-child. It should leave a scar on your soul. Sometimes it's necessary. Sometimes there's no choice if we're trying to defend what we cherish. But if there's an alternative, take it."
"They'd come here to condemn you, to hurt you. They had no right."
"I've been insulted by fools before. I survived."
Even in the dim light he saw her eyes change.
"Just because he was using words instead of a knife, you can't dismiss it, Saetan. He hurt you."
"Of course he hurt me," Saetan snapped. "Being accused of—" He closed his eyes and squeezed her hand. "I don't tolerate fools, Jaenelle, but I also don't kill them for being fools. I simply keep them out of my life." He sat up and took her other hand. "I am your sword and your shield, Lady. You don't have to kill."
Witch studied him with her ancient, haunted sapphire eyes. "You'll take the scars on your soul so that mine remains unmarked?"
"Everything has a price," he said gently. "Those kinds of scars are part of being a Warlord Prince. You're at a crossroads, witch-child. You can use your power to heal or to harm. It's your choice."
"One or the other?"
He kissed her hand. "Not always. As I said, sometimes destruction is necessary. But I think you're more suited to healing. It's the road I'd choose for you."
Jaenelle fluffed her hair. "Well, I do like making healing brews."
"I noticed," he said dryly.
She laughed, but the amusement quickly faded. "What will the Dark Council do?"
He leaned back on his pillows. "There's nothing they can do. I won't let them take you away from your family and friends."
She kissed his cheek. The last thing she said before she left his bedroom was, "And I won't let them put more scars on your soul."
2 / Kaeleer
He had expected it, even prepared for it. It still hurt.
Jaenelle stood silently in the petitioner's circle, her fingers demurely laced in front of her, her eyes fixed on the seal carved into the front of the blackwood bench where
the Tribunal sat. She wore a dress she had borrowed from one of her friends, and her hair was pulled back in a tight, neat braid.
Knowing the Council watched his every move, Saetan stared at nothing, waiting for the Tribunal to begin their vicious little game.
Because he had anticipated the Council's decision, he'd allowed no one but Andulvar to come with them. Andulvar could take care of himself. He would take care of Jaenelle. The moment the Tribunal announced the Council's verdict, the moment Jaenelle protested and turned to him for help . . .
Everything has a price.
Over 50,000 years ago, he'd been instrumental in creating the Dark Council. Now he'd destroy it. One word from her, and it would be done.
The First Tribune began to speak.
Saetan didn't listen. He scanned the faces of the Council. Some of the witches looked more troubled than angry. But most of their eyes glittered like feral, slithery things gathered for the kill. He knew some of them. Others were new, replacements for the fools who had challenged him once before in this room. As he watched them watching him, his regret at his decision to destroy them trickled away. They had no right to take his daughter away from him.
"—and so it's the careful opinion of this Council that appointing a new guardian would be in your best interest."
Tensed, Saetan waited for Jaenelle to turn to him. He'd gone deep into the Black before they'd reached the Council chambers. There were dark Jewels here that might hold out long enough to try to attack, but the Black unleashed would shatter every mind caught in the explosion of psychic energy. Andulvar was strong enough to ride out the psychic storm. Jaenelle would be held safe, protected in the eye of the storm.
Saetan took a deep breath.
Jaenelle looked at the First Tribune. "Very well," she said quietly, clearly. "When the sun next rises, you may appoint a new guardian—unless you reconsider your decision before then."
Saetan stared at her. No. No! She was the daughter of his soul, his Queen. She couldn't, wouldn't walk away from him.
She did.
She didn't look at him when she turned and walked down the center of the chamber to the doors at the far end. When she reached the doors, she sidestepped away from Andulvar's outstretched hand.
The doors closed.
Voices murmured. Colors swirled. Bodies moved past him.
He couldn't move. He'd thought he was too old for illusions, too heart-bruised to hope, too hardened to dream. He'd been wrong. Now he swallowed the bitterness of hope, choked on the ashes of dreams.
She didn't want him.
He wanted to die, wanted.* desperately, that final death before pain and grief overwhelmed him.
"Let's get out of here, SaDiablo."
Andulvar led him away from the smug faces and the glittering eyes.
Tonight, before the sun rose again, he would find a way to die.
He'd forgotten the children would be waiting for him.
"Where's Jaenelle?" Karla asked, trying to look past him and Andulvar as they entered the family drawing room.
He wanted to slink away to his suite, where he could lick his wounds in private and decide how to accomplish the end.
He would lose them, too. They'd have no reason to visit, no reason to talk with him once Jaenelle was gone.
Tears pricked his eyes. Grief squeezed his throat.
"Uncle Saetan?" Gabrielle asked, searching his face.
Saetan cringed.
"What happened?" Morghann demanded. "Where's Jaenelle?"
Andulvar finally answered. "The Dark Council is going to choose another guardian. Jaenelle's not coming back."
"what?" they yelled in unison.
Their voices pummeled him, questioning, demanding. He was going to lose all of these children who had crept into his heart over the past few weeks, whom he'd foolishly allowed himself to love.
Karla raised her hand. The room was instantly silent. Gabrielle moved forward until the two girls stood shoulder to shoulder.
"The Council appointed another guardian," Karla said, spacing out the words as she narrowed her eyes.
"Yes," Saetan whispered. His legs were going to buckle. He had to get away from them before his legs buckled.
"They must be mad," Gabrielle said. "What did Jaenelle say?"
Saetan forced himself to focus on Karla and Gabrielle. It would be the last time he would ever see them. But he couldn't answer them, couldn't get the damning words out.
Andulvar guided Saetan to a couch and pushed him down. "She said they could appoint a new guardian in the morning."
"Were those her exact words?" Gabrielle asked sharply.
"What difference does it make?" Andulvar snarled. "She made the decision to walk away from—"
"Damn your wings, you son of a whoring bitch," Karla screamed at him. "What did she say?"
"Stop it!" Saetan shouted. He couldn't stand having them argue, having the last hour with them tainted by anger. "She said—" His voice cracked. He clamped his hands between his knees, but it didn't stop them from shaking. "She said when the sun next rose they could appoint another guardian unless they reconsidered their decision by then."
The mood in the room changed to a little uneasiness blended with strong approval and calm acceptance. Puzzled, Saetan watched them.
Karla plopped down on the couch beside him and wrapped her arms around one of his. "In that case, we'll all stay right here and wait with you."
"Thank you, but I'd rather be alone." Saetan tried "to ri
se, but Chaosti's stare unnerved him so badly he couldn't find his legs.
"No, you wouldn't," Gabrielle said, squeezing past Andulvar so that she could settle on the other side of him.
"I want to be alone right now," Saetan said, trying, but failing, to get that soft thunder into his voice.
Chaosti, Khary, and Aaron formed a wall in front of him, flanked by the other young males. Morghann and the rest of the coven circled the couch, trapping him.
"We're not going to let you do something stupid, Uncle Saetan," Karla said gently. Her wicked smile bloomed. "At least wait until the sun next rises. You're not going to want to miss it."
Saetan stared at her. She knew what he intended to do. Defeated, he closed his eyes. Today, tomorrow, what difference did it make? But not while they were still here. He wouldn't do that to them.
Satisfied, Karla and Gabrielle snuggled close to him while the other girls drifted toward the other couches.
Khary rubbed his hands together. "Why don't I see if Mrs. Beale is willing to brew up some tea?"
"Sandwiches would be good, too," Aaron said enthusiastically. "And some spiced tarts, if we didn't finish them. I'll go with you."
*SaDiablo?* Andulvar said on an Ebon-gray spear thread.
Saetan kept his eyes closed. *I won't do anything stupid.*
Andulvar hesitated. *I'll tell Mephis and Prothvar.*
No reason to answer. No answer to give. Because of him, Jaenelle would be lost to all of them. Would her new guardian welcome the wolves and the unicorns? Would he welcome the Dea al Mon and Tigre, the centaurs and satyrs? Or would she be forced to sneak an hour with them now and then, as she had done as a child?
As the hours passed and the children dozed in chairs or on the floor around him, he let it all go. He'd savor this time with them, savor the weight and warmth of Karla's and Gabrielle's heads nestled on his shoulders. Time enough to deal with the pain . . . after the sun rose.
"Wake up, SaDiablo."
Saetan sensed Andulvar's urgency but didn't want to re-
spond, didn't want to tear the veil of sleep where he'd found a little comfort.
"Damn it, Saetan," Andulvar hissed, "wake up."
Reluctantly, Saetan opened his eyes. At first he felt grateful that Andulvar stood in front of him, blocking his view of the windows and the traitorous morning. Then he realized the candlelights were lit, and necessary, and there was a flicker of fear in the Eyrien's eyes.
Andulvar stepped aside.
Saetan rubbed his eyes. Sometime during the night Karla and Gabrielle had slumped from his shoulders and were now using his thighs for pillows. He couldn't feel his legs.
He finally looked at the windows.
It was dark.
Why was Andulvar shoving him awake in the middle of the night?
Saetan glanced at the clock on the mantle and froze. Eight o'clock.
"Mrs. Beale wants to know if she should serve breakfast," Andulvar said, his voice strained.
The boys began to stir.
"Breakfast?" Khary said, stifling a yawn as he ran his fingers through his curly brown hair. "Breakfast sounds grand."
"But," Saetan stammered. The clock was wrong. It had to be wrong. "But it's still dark."
Chaosti, the Child of the Wood, the Dea al Mon Warlord Prince, gave him a fierce, satisfied smile. "Yes, it is."
A duet of giggles followed Chaosti's words as Karla and Gabrielle pushed themselves upright.
Saetan's heart pounded. The room spun slowly. He'd thought the Council's eyes had held a feral glitter, but that had been tame compared to these children who smiled at him, waiting.
"Black as midnight," Gabrielle said with sweet venom.
"Caught on the edge of midnight," Karla added. She rested her forearm on his shoulder and leaned toward him. "How long do you think it's going to take the Council' to reconsider their decision, High Lord? A day? Maybe two?" She shrugged and rose. "Let's find breakfast."
With Andulvar in the lead, the children drifted out of the family drawing room, chatting and unconcerned.
Watching them, Saetan remembered something Titian had told him years before. They know what she is. He saw Khardeen, Aaron, and Chaosti exchange a look before Khary and Aaron followed the others. Chaosti stayed by the window, waiting.
Another triangle of power, Saetan thought as he approached the window. Almost as strong and just as deadly. May the Darkness help whoever stood in their way. "You knew," he said quietly as he stared out the window at the moonless, starless, unbroken night. "You knew."
"Of course," Chaosti said, smiling. "Didn't you?"
"No."
Chaosti's smile faded. "Then we owe you an apology, High Lord. We thought you were worried about what was going to happen. We didn't realize you didn't understand."
"How did you know?"
"She warned them when she set the terms. 'When the sun next rises.' " Chaosti shrugged. "Obviously the sun wasn't going to rise."
Saetan closed his eyes. He was the Black-Jeweled High Lord of Hell, the Prince of the Darkness. He wasn't sure that was a sufficient match for these children. "You're not afraid of her, are you?"
Chaosti looked startled. "Afraid of Jaenelle? Why should I be? She's my friend, my Sister, and my cousin. And she's the Queen." He tipped his head. "Are you?"
"Sometimes. Sometimes I'm very afraid of what she might do."
"Being afraid of what she might do isn't the same as being afraid of Jaenelle." Chaosti hesitated, then added, "She loves you, High Lord. You are her father, by her choice. Did you really think she'd let you go unless that's what you wanted?"
Saetan waited until Chaosti joined the others before answering.
Yes. May the Darkness help him, yes. He'd let his feelings tangle up his intellect. He'd been prepared to destroy the Council in order to keep her. He should have remem-
bered what she'd said about not letting the Council put more scars on his soul.
She had stopped the Council, and she had stopped him.
It shamed him that he hadn't understood what Karla, Gabrielle, Chaosti, and the others had known as soon as they heard the phrasing she'd used. Loving her as he did, living with her while she stretched daily toward the Queen she'd become, he should have known.
Feeling better, he headed for the breakfast room.
There was just one thing that still troubled him, still produced a nagging twinge between his shoulder blades.
How in the name of Hell had Jaenelle done it?
3 / Hell
Hekatah stared out the window at the sere landscape. Like the other Realms, Hell followed the seasons, but even in summer, it was still a cold, forever-twilight land.
It had gone wrong again. Somehow, it had gone wrong.
She'd counted on the Council's being able to separate Saetan and Jaenelle. She hadn't foreseen the girl resisting in such a spectacular, frightening way.
The girl. So much power waiting to be tapped. There had to be a way to reach her, had to be some kind of bait with which to entice her.
As the thought took shape, Hekatah began to smile.
Love. A young man's ardor pitted against a father's affection. For all her power, the girl was a softhearted idiot. Torn between her own desires and another's needs—needs she could safely accommodate since she'd already been opened—she'd comply. Wouldn't she? If the male was skilled and attractive? After a while, with the help of an addictive aphrodisiac, she'd need the mounting far more than she'd need a father. Rejection would be all the discipline required if she balked at something her beloved wanted. All that dark, lovely power offered to a cock and balls who would, of course, be controlled by Hekatah. -
Hekatah nibbled on her thumbnail.
This game required patience. If she was frightened of
sexual overtures and repelled all advances. . . . No need to worry about that. Saetan would never tolerate it, would never permit her to become frigid. He strongly believed in sexual pleasure—as strongly as he believed in fid
elity. The latter had been a nuisance. The former guaranteed his little darling would be ripe for the picking in a year or two.
Smiling, Hekatah turned away from the window.
At least that gutter son of a whore was good for something.
4 / Kaeleer
Saetan handed Lord Magstrom a glass of brandy before settling into the chair behind his blackwood desk. It was barely afternoon, but after three "days" of unyielding night, he doubted many men were going to quibble about when they tossed back the first glass.
Saetan steepled his fingers. At least the fools in the Council had the sense to send Lord Magstrom. He wouldn't have granted an audience to anyone else. But he didn't like the Warlord's haggard appearance, and he hoped the elderly man would fully recover from the strain of the past three days. He'd spent most of his long life living between sunset and sunrise, and even he found this unnatural darkness a strain on his nerves. "You wanted to see me, Lord Magstrom?"
Lord Magstrom's hand shook as he sipped the brandy. "The Council is very upset. They don't like being held hostage this way, but they've asked me to put a proposal before you."
"I'm not the one you have to negotiate with, Warlord. Jaenelle set the terms, not me."
Lord Magstrom looked shocked. "We assumed—"
"You assumed wrong. Even I don't have the power to do this."
Lord Magstrom closed his eyes. His breathing was too rapid, too shallow. "Do you know where she is?"
"I think she's at Ebon Askavi."
"Why would she go there?"
"It's her home."
"Mother Night," Magstrom whispered. "Mother Night." He drained the glass of brandy. "Do you think we'll be able to see her?"
"I don't know." No point telling Magstrom that he'd already tried to see Jaenelle and, for the first time in his life, had been politely but firmly refused entrance to the Keep.
"Would she talk to us?"
"I don't know."
"Would—Would you talk to her?"
Saetan stared at Magstrom, momentarily shocked before fiery cold rage washed through him. "Why should I?" he said too softly.
"For the sake of the Realm."
Bishop, Anne - Dark Jewels 02 - Heir to the Shadows (v1.0) Page 24
