The Queen's Price, page 30
Daemon swirled his brandy and said nothing, since he heard outrage in Helene’s voice when she said that last bit. It didn’t matter if a person was dusting the furniture or preparing a meal for visiting Queens; shoddy work was not tolerated, let alone rewarded.
“There are seven I think would benefit from working at the Hall,” Helene continued. “Different positions, including a young witch who likes working with horses and is acquainted with Lord Shaye.”
“Can we accommodate seven more people?” he asked. When there had been three residents at the Hall, with Lucivar and his family occasional visitors, the staff had tripped over one another as they tried to find things to do in order to earn their pay—and were put in a rotation so that they would have some opportunity to serve a member of the family. With the youngsters and instructors now in residence, there was more for the staff to do. Still, the Hall needed only so many people taking care of it and the people who lived there.
“We can, yes. A couple of these people are amenable to living in a city, so Beale and I thought they might get their seasoning at the town house in Amdarh, if Lady Surreal is agreeable to having them there. But they can start at the Hall, and we’ll go from there.”
“How long . . . ?”
“They’ll be here after breakfast, packed and ready to go.”
Daemon blinked. Then he wondered why he should be at all surprised. “They’ve all reached their majority?”
Helene hesitated. “Not all of them.”
Daemon swore silently. More vulnerable youngsters, male and female.
“At least they’re all human.”
They both understood that, as consolation, the words were significant.
Feeling the approach of Red power, Daemon set the brandy aside and rose. “If you’re comfortable with the arrangements, we’ll leave after breakfast tomorrow.”
Helene also rose. “Unless you need more time?”
“No.” The word came out quick and sharp. He took a breath and tried to soften it. “No, there’s no need to stay.”
“Prince.” Helene left the room as Kieran walked in.
“Brandy?” Daemon asked.
“Yes, thanks.” The Warlord of Maghre took a seat.
After pouring a brandy for Kieran, Daemon resumed his seat and picked up his own snifter. “How did it go?”
“Your girl seems to think she’s entitled to this information and attempted to play grand lady of the manor,” Kieran replied. “A lot of girls try on that attitude like they’re trying on an outfit to see how it fits. Some are born to wear it, whether they’re aristo or not. And most realize they aren’t suited to the work that goes with the title.”
“That was Saetien’s opening gambit with Butler?”
“It was.”
“Hell’s fire.”
“Aye, it went as well as you think.” Kieran stared at the brandy. “But your girl also tried to use you as a club to force him to yield.”
Daemon felt his temper chill. “Did she?”
“You may be the Queen’s weapon, but you are not a club for Saetien SaDiablo. Butler will handle it his own way, but you should know, here and now, that if she tries that with anyone else, she will deal with me—and I will not be kind.”
“I understand.” It was one thing to use him and what he was as a shield if she felt threatened; after all, it was a man’s duty and privilege to protect his child. But it was quite another thing to use a man to force someone into complying with a demand when the initial answer was no.
“I wanted that to be clear between us before you left.” Kieran drank the brandy and set the snifter aside.
“Kieran?” Daemon asked softly. “Do you think there’s any point to this . . . quest?”
“I guess we’ll all find out.” Kieran sighed. “Go home, Daemon. Your being here won’t help your girl.”
He saw Kieran to the door and watched the Warlord of Maghre walk away.
THIRTY-FIVE
Maghre
Jaenelle Angelline
Queen of Ebon Askavi, which made her the most important Queen in Kaeleer.
“And didn’t she know it,” Saetien muttered as she made out the list Butler required before he’d talk to her about Wilhelmina Benedict.
Wore Black Jewels, which is how she became the Queen of Ebon Askavi, then wore a Jewel called Twilight’s Dawn.
Was the ruling Queen when Kaeleer fought a war with Terreille. Kaeleer won.
Saetien paused. Had her father and Uncle Lucivar fought in that war? Was that one of those subjects that came under the “when you’re old enough” rule? If they had fought in the war, they would have been the most important Warlord Princes in the fight, because they were the strongest.
Did Daemonar know about how their fathers fought in that war? Not that she could ask him until he stopped being angry with her about that stupid house party.
Sighing, she went back to making the list.
Originally lived in Chaillot, a Territory in the Realm of Terreille.
Had yellow hair and blue eyes.
She should say “blond” but saying the Queen had yellow hair sounded . . . dismissive, diminishing.
Was that being childish? Maybe. But so was this stupid requirement to make a list of things she knew about someone who wasn’t the person she wanted information about.
Spent a lot of time in a place called Briarwood when she was a child.
Saetien shuddered, remembering her journey through the Briarwood that Witch had created in order to determine the price each girl in the coven of malice had to pay for the lives she had ruined.
Remembering the blond-haired, blue-eyed girl who had been tied to a bed and the blood that had been spilled in that small room. So much blood.
Was Daemon Sadi’s first wife. She was also his Queen.
Was still his Queen. Witch snapped her fingers, and Daemon Sadi obeyed.
She was called Witch, the living myth, dreams made flesh.
Saetien reviewed her list. What else did she need to know about someone she would rather forget existed? Nothing on her list that Prince Butler wouldn’t know, but maybe she did know something about Witch that he didn’t.
Not all the dreamers were human, so her Self is a weird mix of human and animal. She looks unnatural.
Looked monstrous.
“And she’s cruel,” Saetien whispered. Best not to put that in, even if it was true.
Setting that sheet of paper aside, she focused on the information she had about the person she wanted to know about.
Wilhelmina Benedict
Originally lived in Chaillot, an island in the Realm of Terreille.
Came to Kaeleer during the last service fair.
Lived at SaDiablo Hall for a while, then moved to the Isle of Scelt.
Was Jaenelle Angelline’s sister.
So little. And nothing helpful.
Saetien capped her pen and put the papers to one side of the small rectangular table that doubled as a dining table and desk. She called in the journal Jillian had given her the morning she left the sanctuary. Not a cheap thing for scribbling little-girl thoughts—although, to be fair, she didn’t think she’d ever been given a cheap thing that would send a message that little-girl thoughts weren’t worth much.
She opened the journal’s leather cover. It would be a good place to record any notes and any facts she managed to squeeze out of people. She hadn’t expected people to refuse to tell her what they knew about Wilhelmina Benedict, but nobody seemed to know much of anything. Eileen knew something, but Wilhelmina wasn’t a subject the woman would discuss. Why was that? And why was there always a hint of shame when Saetien brought up the name? Maybe not shame. Sadness?
No answers there, and she couldn’t talk to Butler until sunset. What was she supposed to do until then?
*Walkies, Saeti? Walkies?*
She looked at Shelby as the urgent tone registered. Scooping up the puppy, she hurried through the house and got him outside before his control of his bladder failed both of them.
Once the puppy did his business, Saetien cast a look at the house. She didn’t know where Eileen was, even if it was easy to guess that the woman probably would be in the morning room reviewing household accounts and writing letters and doing whatever else she did. But since she didn’t know, not specifically, she decided she didn’t have to tell anyone that she had left, especially since she and Shelby were just walking over to the stables.
Maybe she could go riding, maybe even ride to the village, or over to the house that her father leased here, or even over to the Sceltie school. If she was riding, it wouldn’t take that long to get to any of those places.
The stables were barely in sight of the house and much larger than the stables at the Hall. Which made sense, since her father didn’t breed or train regular horses—and kindred horses made their own decisions when it came to breeding. Just like humans.
Did they make mating mistakes like humans did?
She heard a male voice and thought it was that of Lord Ryder, who was Lord Kieran’s brother, but he hadn’t said much at dinner last night, so she wasn’t sure. The tone was encouraging. Training a horse, a rider, or both?
Lord Kildare, Kieran’s father, walked out of the stables. His hard expression and the stern look in his eyes stopped her. Then he looked past her and said mildly, “Well, at least one of you remembers the rules.”
Saetien looked over her shoulder at the two Scelties trotting toward them.
*Did you tell the Scelties we were going to the stables?* she asked Shelby.
*Yes!* the puppy replied. *It’s a rule.* Wagging his tail, he went to greet the Sceltie witch and Warlord.
“I wasn’t leaving your place,” Saetien protested.
“You don’t hold much to courtesy or simple kindness, do you, girl?” Kildare asked. His words stung, but before she could say anything in her defense, he added, “You get three chances to mess about. You’re down to two now. After the third, you’re on your way home.”
“You can’t decide that.”
“That was my lady wife’s condition for having you here, and Kieran and Prince Sadi agreed. Best you remember it.” He paused. “Did you come down to the stables for a reason, or were you looking to find out where the lines are drawn?”
They were treating her like a child. Well, she’d show them she wasn’t a child. “I would like to go riding, if you have a horse available.”
Considering the size of the stables, how could he not have a horse available? Which made the remark close to being bitchy.
“You know how to ride?” Kildare asked.
“Yes, I do.” Politely spoken, although she wasn’t sure if her expression sent a very different message.
Kildare nodded. “All right. I’ll see who’s willing. You can ride in the paddock over there.” He pointed.
“I was thinking—”
“You ride in the paddock, where I can keep an eye on you, or not at all.”
Lord Kildare’s way of drawing a line reminded her more of Uncle Lucivar than of her father. Oh, her father drew lines, too, but he never sounded so . . . physical . . . about it.
“Fine,” she said.
“There are a couple of low jumps, if you both have a mind to try them.” Kildare walked back into the stables.
Saetien waited and watched Shelby and the Sceltie Warlord play tug with a rag one of them had found somewhere. More accurate to say the adult Sceltie was holding one end of the rag and Shelby was happily doing all the tugging and growling.
She resented that he’d told the Scelties where they were going, especially since they weren’t actually going anywhere. Then it hit her, and hit hard, that though she might be his special friend and he would learn about human things from her, the Scelties who lived here were the adults, the rule makers, that he would obey.
Kildare walked out of the stables with a chestnut mare. A Rose-Jeweled witch. “This is Lady Foxx. She was going to take herself out for a gallop, but she’s willing to ride in the paddock with you since you’re new here and need to stay close to home.” The look in his eyes dared Saetien to contradict him.
If she did, would that be another mark against her?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Foxx,” Saetien said. “I appreciate you giving up your gallop.”
*We will gallop with Kieran or Ryder on another day,* Foxx replied.
“Caitie and Stormchaser are walking around in that paddock,” Kildare said. “Leave them be.”
She nodded and didn’t ask questions, since she wanted a chance to ride. After she’d mounted and Kildare had checked the length of the stirrups, she looked at Shelby. “You stay here, okay?”
*Saeti?* Puzzlement, maybe hurt, at being left behind.
“I won’t be far away.”
*We will stay here and visit the horses,* the Sceltie Warlord said.
“That’s good.”
“The pup will be fine,” Kildare said quietly. “And it’s good for him to meet the horses—and for them to meet him. Go on, now. No point frittering away the day.”
As she and Foxx walked toward the paddock, Saetien wondered how different riding a regular horse was from riding with one of the kindred. She’d never ridden a regular horse.
She could pose the question at the midday meal. It would be something she could talk about with her hosts.
As they reached the paddock, the gate opened before Saetien could decide if she should dismount to open it or try to use Craft. Foxx must have opened it, and that was a relief. Saetien still wasn’t always successful in using Craft now that her power was strictly Purple Dusk instead of the range of power she’d once had in her Twilight’s Dawn Jewel.
Reminded of what she had lost, Saetien tightened her grip on the reins that were attached to a halter, causing Foxx to snort. No bits when riding kindred, but that didn’t mean the horse didn’t pick up a rider’s mood by the tension in the human’s body.
Best not to think about why she no longer wore Twilight’s Dawn.
A horse grazed at the far end of the paddock. Probably a mare, since there was a foal gamboling nearby, his antics making the girl who was with them laugh and clap her hands. The mare was a solid black. The foal was also black, but had a white mark in the shape of a bolt of lightning running down his face.
Saetien pressed her legs against Foxx’s sides to indicate she wanted to go faster than a walk.
Foxx laid her ears back in warning—and Saetien didn’t doubt for a moment that the mare would toss her if this turned into a battle of wills.
“Can’t we go faster?” she asked.
*Caitie and Stormchaser need to see us,* Foxx replied.
They weren’t sight shielded. But girl and foal weren’t paying attention to them. The other mare lifted her head, considered them, then went back to grazing.
Foxx continued her easy approach until the foal noticed them. He squealed a warning as he placed himself in front of the girl, ready to do battle.
Saetien sighed as his psychic scent hit her. A Warlord Prince.
The girl’s psychic scent hit her too. It carried a fear so sharp, Saetien felt its jagged edge.
Foxx continued to approach until she reached some understood distance that allowed the foal to stand his ground but didn’t goad him into an attack that might end with him injuring himself.
“Hello,” Saetien said. “I’m Saetien, but my friends call me Saeti. Are you Caitie?”
Something very wrong with this girl. More than fear.
Caitie put a hand to her chest. “Caitie.” She smiled. “Saeti. Foxx.” Her other hand rested on the foal’s back. “Storm.” She looked at the black mare. “Mother.”
Having made his point, Stormchaser returned to his dam to nurse. Caitie wandered the paddock, never going far from the two horses.
Foxx turned away from them and lifted into a canter. She and Saetien circled the paddock a few times before Foxx said, *Jump?*
“Yes!”
Small jumps, nothing challenging, but fun all the same. They took the jumps from both directions before Foxx slowed to a walk. Saetien looked over her shoulder. The mare and foal, along with Caitie, were also walking. Well, the mare and Caitie were walking while the foal dashed, hopped, and circled the two females.
Saetien looked away before Caitie noticed her observing them. If Caitie noticed such things. More than fear made the girl’s psychic scent odd.
*Caitie is lame,* Foxx said. *Lame leg, lame . . . brain. Hurt bad when she was a foal.*
When they walked past the open paddock gate, Saetien said, “Should we close the gate?”
*No. It is time for Caitie to rest.*
Saetien dismounted at the stable door, then walked in with Foxx. Ryder was there, grooming a bay Warlord while coaching a young witch who was standing on the other side of the horse. Spotting Saetien and Foxx, he stepped away and said, “I’ll show you where to put Foxx’s tack.”
She put the tack away and gave Foxx a quick grooming before the mare headed back out to gallop and graze and spend time with the other horses. The Warlord followed her out, and the young witch quickly said her goodbyes, leaving Saetien with Ryder—and Shelby, who came running from somewhere to greet her.
Before she could ask Ryder about the girl, Caitie walked into the stables with Stormchaser.
