Dreams Made Flesh

1

Saetan set aside the latest letter from the Zuulaman ambassador, leaned back in the chair behind his blackwood desk, and rubbed his eyes. A half dozen meetings with the man and nothing had changed. The same complaints filled this letter as had filled the last three. He understood the concerns, even sympathized with them up to a point. But he wouldn't order Dhemlan merchants to buy coral and pearls exclusively from Zuulaman traders at a higher price than other Territories offered to sell sea gems of the same quality. He'd already checked on the complaints that Dhemlan ships were encroaching on the fishing grounds that belonged to the Zuulaman Islands. Hayllian ships were certainly plying the same waters and competing for catches, but the Queens who ruled the fishing towns in Dhemlan were quick to penalize any boat that fished beyond the Territory's established waters…just as they were quick to send the Warlord Princes who served them out to confiscate the catch of any boat that encroached on Dhemlan's fishing grounds.

Of course, he hadn't heard so much as a whisper of complaint about Hayll. Not yet, anyway. Sooner or later, the Zuulaman Queens would become less enamored with Hayll's Hundred Families…the aristo families that heavily influenced the Hayllian courts if they didn't rule them outright. He might be Hayllian by birth, might have lived his early years in the slums of Draega, Hayll's capital, but, thank the Darkness, he'd shed himself of that self-centered race centuries ago. For the most part. He had no interest in the Hundred Families, except to keep a watchful eye on their intrigues to be sure the people he ruled came to no harm because of them.

But that still left him with the problem of dealing with Zuulaman. He was certainly willing to sell them surplus grains, meat, and produce for a reasonable price that wouldn't beggar Zuulaman's people, but he wasn't willing to cut prices to the point that his own people suffered, especially when the islands still had enough arable land to feed their population, despite the fact that they made little effort to care for the land. Which was part of the problem. They overfished their waters, overplanted their farmland, pushed the islands' resources to the breaking point. Then the Zuulaman Queens complained that they couldn't sell their surplus, which rightly should have gone to feed their own people…or they complained that they had no surplus, and the pottery and other art forms that were distinct to their people didn't sell at the prices they wanted. Which wasn't surprising. No one but aristos with surplus income, or debts enough to ruin their families, could afford the asking price for most of what Zuulaman tried to sell.

Still, as the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, it was his responsibility to deal with the Queens who ruled the other Territories in Terreille, so he would meet with the Zuulaman ambassador once more and hope that, this time, there would be some glimmer of understanding in the man's eyes when he explained why the trade agreements the Zuulaman Queens wanted were not acceptable.

As he reached for the letter to review its contents again, the door of his study opened, and his wife, Hekatah, hurried into the room as quickly as a woman three weeks away from childbirth could move.

"Saetan," Hekatah said as she lowered herself into the chair in front of his desk. "I just had the most distressing news from home."

This is home. But he bit back the words since it was as useless to think them as it would be to say them. Hekatah was a Red-Jeweled Priestess from one of Hayll's Hundred Families, and she looked at the Territory of Dhemlan in much the same way that she looked at her family's country estates…as something quaint and inferior… and valued only for what she could take from it.

"Is someone ill?" he asked politely, although he knew the reason for her distress.

"No, but Mother says you refused to give my father and brothers a loan. I'm sure she misunderstood something, because that accusation is utterly…"

"True."

She stared at him. "It can't be."

Her gold eyes filled with tears, and her mouth moved into that sexy, sulky pout that had pulled at his loins when he'd first met her and now always scraped against his temper.

"I'm sorry, Hekatah, but I won't give your family another loan." He'd informed her father of that fact a month ago. Since the bastard had delayed telling Hekatah, why couldn't he have waited a few more weeks until she had safely delivered the baby?

Her lips quivered. One tear rolled down her cheek. "But… why?"

"Because they didn't honor the agreement they made with me when I gave them a loan last year." When her only response was a blank look, he swore silently and struggled to be patient. "Last year, in order to save your family from financial and social ruin, I gave them almost two million gold marks to cover all of your father's and brothers' gambling debts. I paid close to a million gold marks to cover all the debts that were owed to all the merchants who would no longer allow anyone in your family to buy so much as a spool of thread or a handful of vegetables on account. And I also provided another million gold marks with the understanding that those funds would be put back into the estates so that the properties could be restored and once more provide an income. I made it clear that I required receipts to prove materials were being purchased for that purpose and that your father and brothers would receive no further financial help from me if they didn't fulfill their side of the bargain. I never received a receipt of any kind, and from what I can tell, absolutely nothing was done to benefit the estates and make them productive again. Since they squandered what they already received, that is the end of it."

"Maybe they did do something foolish with the money," Hekatah conceded with real, or feigned, reluctance before adding quickly, "But I'm sure they didn't believe you really meant it about not giving them another loan."

I'm a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince, the strongest male in the history of the Blood. I'm the only male Black Widow in the history of the Blood. And I'm the High Lord of Hell. Despite the fact that I still walk among the living, I rule the Realm of the Blood's dead. How could your family not believe I meant what I said?

"It doesn't matter if they believed me or not," he said. "The decision stands."

She slapped the chair's arm. "You're being unreasonable. The Dhemlan people didn't complain the last time you raised the tithes to cover the loans. They won't dare whine this time, either."

Speechless, he stared at her and wondered if there was any point in explaining how deeply she'd just insulted him. Finally, he regained his balance sufficiently to reply. "I didn't raise the tithes, Hekatah. That was a personal loan, from me to your family."

Now she stared at him. "Our money? You used our money?"

"Of course. Why should the Dhemlan people have to pay for your family's financial imprudence?"

"So you took almost four million gold marks away from us? "

He shrugged. "I could afford it… once." And the timing for that last loan had pissed him off enough that he'd played their manipulative game with so much finesse Hekatah's family had never realized he was playing. "You could always give them a portion of your quarterly income."

"As if that pittance would do much good," Hekatah replied, her eyes filled with resentment.

"Thirty thousand gold marks a quarter is hardly a pittance," Saetan said with cutting gentleness. "Especially when you don't have to maintain a household" …he saw the jolt of nerves, quickly suppressed, which confirmed what he'd suspected… "and the only thing those funds have to cover are your personal expenses." He paused. "Or, if you prefer, I can release the principal I put in trust for you as a wedding gift, from which you receive that quarterly income, and you can give your family as much of it as you choose."

She said nothing. He hadn't expected her to.

She pushed herself out of the chair and stood before him, one hand resting on the large belly where his child moved inside her. It might have softened him enough to yield a little if he'd truly believed that gesture was a protective one rather than a reminder that she had power over something he wanted.

"I'm going to Hayll to offer my mother, and the rest of my family, whatever comfort I can," she said.

He choked back a protest, knowing she would use any concern he showed as a weapon against him. "Do you think that's wise?" he asked mildly. "You shouldn't be traveling so close to your time."

"I'm going to Hayll."

The challenge filled the space between them.

"I would appreciate it if you would send a message back to let me know you arrived safely," Saetan said.

Her shoulders slumped, her only acknowledgment that she had lost this battle of wills. Then she walked out of his study.

He waited there, his hands, tightly clasped, resting on the desk, while his mind, at times too facile for his own comfort, turned over nuggets of information and presented him with some unpalatable conclusions.

Last year, Hekatah's father had come to him for help in solving a "minor financial difficulty" shortly before Peyton's Birthright Ceremony, when the power a Blood child was born with was tested and confirmed, and the child received the Jewel that would be a visual warning of the depth of power that lived within that flesh as well as a reservoir for the power that wasn't used. It was also the time when paternity was formally acknowledged or denied. A man could sire a child, raise that child, love that child, but he had no rights to that child until the mother granted him paternal rights in a public ceremony that usually followed the Birthright Ceremony. It didn't matter if the child looked like the man in miniature, didn't matter if the woman had taken no lovers so there could be no question of who was the sire. If paternity was denied at that public ceremony, the man had no rights to the child. He could be cut out of the child's life in every possible way, becoming nothing more than the seed.

A public ceremony…and a decision that was never overturned. In many ways, a man who wanted children was held hostage by his heart until that ceremony. After that, the child was his, no matter what happened between him and the mother.

He should have wondered why Hekatah had wanted to get pregnant so soon after they'd married, should have wondered why she hadn't wanted a year or two just for the two of them to enjoy each other. But her true personality had already begun to crack the facade that had attracted him to her in the first place, so she couldn't afford to delay a pregnancy if she was going to keep the prize of a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince whose wealth rivaled any of Hayll's Hundred Families and who ruled a Territory without having to answer to any Queen. At least, not a flesh-and-blood Queen that she could see or understand. She hadn't recognized his deep commitment to Witch, to the living myth, dreams made flesh. He had served Cassandra, the last Witch to walk the Realms. He had made a promise to serve the next one, no matter how long he had to wait for her to appear. She was the Queen he served, and he ruled both Dhemlan Territories, the one in the Terreille and the one in Kaeleer, on her behalf.

Hekatah hadn't recognized his commitment, and he hadn't recognized that she'd seen him as a way to fulfill her ambitions to become the most powerful Priestess in Terreille…or, possibly, all the Realms.

How convenient that she'd become pregnant with Peyton a few months before Mephis's Birthright Ceremony. How well-timed was her father's embarrassed admittance a year ago, when it was time for Peyton's Birthright Ceremony, that the family debts had become a difficulty. The bastard had mentioned too many times how distressed Hekatah was about the family's social status being tarnished by whining merchants who had so far forgotten their place that they'd gone to the Queen of Draega to complain about a "few" overdue bills.

He'd made sympathetic murmurs, but he'd understood the threat: If he didn't make some effort to reestablish her family financially, Hekatah might say something in haste when it came time to acknowledge Peyton as his son and grant him paternal rights to his child.

Hekatah's father and brothers were anxious to have their gambling debts paid off since those were to other aristos and the invitations to social engagements had declined as those debts had piled up. Instead, Saetan had paid up the accounts with all the merchants and presented her father with the receipts…and had insisted that he was simply too caught up in the celebration of Peyton's Birthright Ceremony to deal with "minor" gambling debts. He'd assured her father that those would be taken care of after the ceremonies.

While they realized he might refuse to pay the gambling debts if Hekatah said something in haste at the ceremony, it never occurred to anyone in her family that his timing in paying off the debts that concerned them the most was as manipulative as their timing in asking for financial help.

So his paternity of his younger son was granted, the debts were paid off… and he gave himself a few weeks to consider if, with his sons safely under his control, he wanted to remain married to a woman who expected absolute fidelity from her Warlord Prince husband while she indulged her taste for variety by having affairs with men from the minor branches of Hayll's aristo families.

He'd almost accepted that his hopes for this marriage had been wishful thinking and the self-delusion of a lonely man who, while receiving plenty of bedroom invitations, had been craving love.

Then Hekatah had told him she was pregnant again. And, once again, a child's life held his heart hostage. He didn't blame her for the pregnancy. He wanted another child, had willingly stopped doing anything to prevent conception, and had let her decide when she was ready.

But the timing had just been a little too convenient to make him feel easy, just as this request for another loan coming so close to when Hekatah would be brought to childbed was a little too convenient.

He sighed. Hekatah would punish him for not agreeing to provide the loan by staying with her family instead of being with him right now, and Zuulaman…

He pushed away from the desk. Screw all of it. What was the point of being the most powerful male in Terreille and shouldering the responsibility for a land and its people if he couldn't indulge himself once in a while?

Leaving the study and moving through the massive structure he'd built as a symbol of his power as well as a family home, he bounded up the stairs and headed for the family wing. He opened a door and his sons, Mephis and Peyton, the two joys of his marriage, rushed forward to greet him.

"Papa!" Peyton said."Look what we helped Daemon Carpenter make for us!"

"You helped him, did you?" Saetan said as he took a wooden ship from his younger son and gave it the careful inspection that was expected… and wondered if he should offer Daemon Carpenter hazard pay for whatever "help" had been given.

"Well," Mephis said, "we didn't actually help him make the ships, but we did make the sails."

Which explained the badly stitched canvas. But that was the difference between the two boys. Peyton tended to be fiery, dramatic, always leading with his heart, while Mephis thought things through as well as he could before acting, was a little less demonstrative, and more bitingly exact about details.

"That's helping," Peyton protested, scowling at his older brother. "Are you going to read us a story?" he asked, turning back to his father.

Saetan blew softly on the sail, using Craft to expand a puff of air into enough to fill the canvas. "No, I don't think so," he replied, handing the ship back to Peyton in order to inspect the one Mephis now held up for his approval.

Peyton's lower lip pushed out in a pout, but before he could start wheedling, Mephis gave him a hard elbow jab in the ribs.

"No," Saetan said slowly, "as commander of the fleet…"

"How come you get to be commander?" Peyton demanded. "Ow!" That because Mephis's elbow caught him in the ribs again.

"Because I'm bigger," Saetan replied. "As I was saying, as commander of the fleet, I think my stalwart captains should test their new ships on the Phantom Sea."

"Where?" Peyton asked.

"He means the pond," Mephis said out of the corner of his mouth. "Now, hush."

"Dangerous place, the Phantom Sea," Saetan said, his deep voice dropping into a croon while he continued to inspect Mephis's ship.

"Are there whirlpools, Commander?" Mephis asked.

Peyton frowned at his brother, still young enough that he had to work to catch up.

"Yes, Captain Mephis," Saetan crooned. "There are the Wailing Whirlpools and the Murky Mists. Challenges for even the most courageous sailors."

"Are there sea dragons, too?" Peyton asked, his eyes wide.

"What would the Phantom Sea be without sea dragons?" Saetan murmured.

"How'd we get sea dragons in the pond?" Peyton whispered to Mephis.

"Papa's going to make them for us," Mephis whispered back.

"Oooh." Peyton looked up at Saetan, his gold eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"If we're ready, gentlemen," Saetan said, handing the ship back to Mephis.

"And I suppose you're going to end up muddy to the knees and smelling like pond water," a female voice said.

Saetan turned to face the woman now standing in the doorway. He had no complaints about Lady Broghann, the Purple Dusk-Jeweled witch who was the boys' governess and teacher, but he was feeling a little too raw to accept a challenge from anyone, especially a woman.

Then he saw the humor in her eyes that balanced the stern tone of voice.

"I expect some mud will be inevitable," Saetan said solemnly.

"Yay!" Peyton said, only to be elbowed again by Mephis.

Puppy is going to be black-and-blue before he figures out when to keep quiet, Saetan thought.

"Now," Lady Broghann said. "Don't go drinking so much grog that you run aground."

"What's grog?" Peyton asked, starting to bounce with impatience.

"You would know if you had paid attention to the lesson about sailing," she replied.

While Peyton's face scrunched up in thought, Saetan turned away and coughed to clear the laughter from his throat.

Finally able to look suitably grim, he turned back to his captains. "Shall we go?" Then he noticed the boys' appearance. The trousers were worn to the point of looking shabby, and there was a long tear on the left sleeve of Peyton's shirt…neatly mended but still apparent. "Why are you wearing those clothes?"

"This is the attire of adventurous sailors," Lady Broghann said.

Curious, Saetan studied her. "According to… ?"

"My mother. I have three younger brothers."

And her younger brothers had a clever older sister.

"An unquestionable authority," Saetan said with a small bow.

"What's grog taste like?" Peyton asked, having circled back to something more interesting than clothes.

"It tastes like milk," Saetan replied.

"Sailors drink milk?"

"Short ones do."

While Peyton was working out why Mephis was snickering, Commander Saetan led captains Mephis and Peyton to the Phantom Sea, where they tested their ships against Murky Mists, Wailing Whirlpools… and sea dragons.

2

Hekatah stood at the window of her mother's private receiving room, rubbing her belly to soothe the whelp inside her while she stared at the back garden.

How much did Saetan know? Was the comment about not having to maintain a household simply a comment, or did he know about the little house she kept in Draega for the pretty toy-boys? It wasn't that she didn't enjoy sex with Saetan. He was an exquisite lover. How could a man who had been Witch's Consort for years not be exquisite in bed? But he wasn't as much fun. She couldn't play with him the way she could the toy-boys. So why shouldn't she enjoy a romp with a male she could dominate? Besides, it wasn't like she was doing anything wrong. Fidelity and sexual exclusivity were required of the male in a marriage, not the female. Males served, after all.

But Warlord Princes were a law unto themselves, and a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince might not think the status of a wedding ring was sufficient reason to overlook his wife's lovers.

Her mother, Martella, entered the room, unhappiness and embarrassment rolling off her in waves.

"We had to go to a different butcher, so the Darkness only knows what the cook will set before us for the evening meal. And the bastard demanded payment before he'd hand over the meat!" Martella's mouth thinned to a petulant line. "I had to return the pearl brooch I'd bought last week in order to pay for the meat." She sighed as she joined Hekatah at the window. "Your… husband … is being difficult about assisting the family, isn't he?"

"He says he won't make another loan because the extra million gold marks he gave Father wasn't used for the estates as they'd agreed."

"How could it be?" Martella cried. "Your brothers wanted that new carriage and team of horses, and then there was that payment that the Queen demanded we make because that witch was broken when Caetor got a little too enthusiastic about enjoying himself."

"Didn't she tell him she was virgin?" Hekatah asked.

"Well, of course she did. But she wasn't anyone important. Nothing would have come of it if her family hadn't gone to the Queen and made a formal accusation. And they said it was rape, insisting the girl hadn't agreed to have sex. The Queen gave your father and Caetor a choice: They could pay all the Healer's expenses and make a settlement as compensation for breaking the girl and stripping her of her Jeweled power, or Caetor could stand before a tribunal of Queens to determine if the accusation of rape was justified. The only reason she offered a choice was because the girl is a nobody and Caetor is from one of Hayll's Hundred Families." Bitterness filled Martella's voice. "The question wouldn't have come up at all if we still had the wealth we deserve. But I suppose we can't expect your husband to understand aristo concerns."

Hekatah felt the verbal slice. Her family's opinion of her marriage was divided. "Saetan" was a common name among the lower social classes. Hell's fire! Even one of the footmen who worked at the family's house here in Draega was named Saetan. And "SaDiablo" wasn't even a twig on a branch of any of the Hundred Families. She'd searched when she'd considered him as a mate. Her mother and aunts had searched. He seemed to have come out of nowhere when he built SaDiablo Hall in Dhemlan and made the bargain with the Dhemlan Queens in both Terreille and Kaeleer to protect their people and lands in exchange for being the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan… the ruler of both Dhemlan Territories. Socially unacceptable, he was still a Black-Jeweled Hayllian Warlord Prince who had wealth and power…two things she coveted. So she'd studied him until she was certain how to approach her quarry. She'd worked hard to dazzle him, to intrigue him, to convince him that the Jewels he wore and the power he wielded were insignificant compared to her feelings for the man.

But the wedding ring hadn't brought her what she'd thought to get from the bargain. Despite what she'd said, she'd wanted to bend the strength of those Black Jewels to her will, had wanted him to wield all that dark power on her behalf. Instead, she'd gotten the man. A man who followed the Blood's code of honor, even though he was powerful enough to do anything he wanted and no one could oppose him. Of course, no one really knew what he could do with the Black Jewels. Telling people he was the High Lord of Hell was a nice fillip for a reputation of temper that had never actually been seen. Not that she believed it for a moment. After all, she knew the man.

No, Saetan wasn't aristo. Would never be aristo. Would never appreciate the wants and needs of any of the Hundred Families.

"There's still Zuulaman," Martella said. "The commission we'll receive from the new trade agreements with Dhemlan will help restore our status among the Hundred Families."

Hekatah rubbed her belly. She hadn't told her mother and aunts yet that Saetan was being stubborn about the new trade agreements. But Hayll was entitled to whatever Dhemlan could offer. After all, if Saetan hadn't made the bargain with the Dhemlan Queens, that Territory would have become the property of the Hundred Families.

Since he had interfered, they would have to get what was owed them another way.

She smiled at her mother. "I think it's time to give my husband more incentive to take the trade agreements with Zuulaman seriously."

3

Saetan dropped the papers on his desk and stared at the Ambassador. "Is this your Queen's idea of a joke?"

"It is the trade agreement between Zuulaman and Dhemlan," the Ambassador replied calmly.

"This is shit, and you know it," Saetan snarled. "Zuulaman expects the Dhemlan Queens to hand over the surplus from all the harvests as well as a percentage of the livestock, pay a tithe on every product made by the Dhemlan people, and add a 'market' fee for anything that comes from other Territories that is not bought through a Zuulaman merchant. Have you all lost your minds? The Dhemlan Queens will never agree to this."

"They will if you insist upon it. You rule here. You are the law here. If you sign the agreement, they have to comply or suffer the consequences."

He felt himself sliding down into the abyss, sliding down to where his inner web rested at the depth of power signified by the Black Jewels… the cold, glorious Black. At the same time, he knew he was rising to the killing edge, that state of mind that revealed a Warlord Prince for what he truly was…a born killer, a natural predator. The effort to keep his temper leashed made his body quiver.

"I made an agreement with the Queens of this Territory to protect their people and their land with everything that I am. Now you expect me to use that power as the whip that will force them to turn their people into chattel for Zuulaman's pleasure." Saetan shook his head. "There is nothing Zuulaman can offer that is worth this. You may tell your Queen, and the Queens who answer to her, that there will be no trade agreement with Dhemlan."

The Ambassador bowed his head. "I will leave you to consider the matter."

"There's nothing more to consider."

The Ambassador turned and walked to the study door. Then he paused. "I should mention that your wife is now a guest of the Zuulaman Queens…and will remain so until an agreement has been reached. The message I received also indicated that there was a miscalculation by the Dhemlan Healer as to Lady Hekatah's time. She may give birth any day now, if the birthing hasn't already begun."

"Do you know who I am?" Saetan asked too softly.

The Ambassador smiled. "You are an honorable man."

"Do you know who… and what… I am?" he asked again.

The Ambassador's smile faltered. "Hopefully, you are a man who realizes a small inconvenience to the Dhemlan people is worth less than the well-being of your wife and child."

Saetan waited until the Zuulaman Ambassador had left the Hall before he sank into his chair behind the blackwood desk.

Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. What had possessed Hekatah to leave Hayll and go to Zuulaman? Why would she choose to travel so near her time? She'd been aware of the difficulties he'd been having with the Queens who ruled those islands. Had she gone thinking she'd be an honored guest, that the Queens would try to sway her in the hopes that she, in turn, could sway him to agree to something that would be of no benefit to the people he ruled? Now she was a hostage…and their unborn child with her.

So tempting to declare war on the Zuulaman Queens. He wouldn't need to gather the Dhemlan Warlord Princes to do it. He wouldn't need anyone or anything but himself to annihilate the Zuulaman courts. But Hekatah was so vulnerable right now, unable to use her own power until after the birthing. They would kill her the moment they felt his presence anywhere near their islands.

He had to find another way. There had to be another way.

They had issued the challenge, drawn the line. Did any of them realize that, by doing so, they had invited him to step onto a killing field? Did any of them realize what would happen if he did?

Andulvar Yaslana prowled the sitting room in Saetan's suite, too edgy and angry to remain still…and a little uneasy about the way Saetan did remain quietly at the window, watching Mephis and Peyton play in the enclosed garden bounded by the walls of the family wing. Anger needed sound and motion, unless it ripened to the point where it had a killing edge and needed to be quenched on a killing field. That was his kind of anger. Eyrien anger. But Saetan's stillness had a different quality to it. Always had, even before he'd made the Offering to the Darkness and came away from it wearing Black Jewels.

"What are you going to do?"Andulvar asked.

"Wait to see what Zuulaman wants," Saetan replied quietly.

"They made it clear enough," Andulvar growled as he picked up the trade agreements and dropped them back down on the table.

Turning away from the window, Saetan walked over to the table and stared at the agreements. "Either they really didn't think this through, or they intended something else all along and these agreements are just smoke."

"They're holding your wife hostage,"Andulvar pointed out. And as far as he was concerned, Zuulaman could keep Hekatah. Saetan was better off without the bitch.

"My wife is a Red-Jeweled Priestess from one of Hayll's Hundred Families," Saetan said. "If they lay a hand on her, they'll not only have me to deal with but Hayll as well. Zuulaman is enamored with Hayll, so they won't do anything that will make the Hayllian Queens turn on them."

"There's still those agreements."

Saetan reached out and pushed the papers with one finger. "Which aren't worth a damn thing. Say I sign them on the condition that the agreements are handed over to Zuulaman at the same time that the baby and Hekatah are returned to me."

"Then Zuulaman gets what it wants."

"For a few hours. As soon as we were home, I'd send a message to the Dhemlan Queens that I was stepping down as the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, giving up my claim to this Territory."

The words hit Andulvar like a fist in the belly. "You'd give up Dhemlan?"

"Everything has a price. These agreements are only for Dhemlan Terreille. I'd still have the Dhemlan Territory in Kaeleer."

"But… this is what you wanted." An odd look crept into Saetan's eyes, gone before Andulvar could put a name to it.

"Ruling this Territory was a price equal to the protection I offered," Saetan said softly. "It was a price worthy of what I am. But I don't need it."

Andulvar rubbed the back of his neck. Damn politics. The Eyrien way was simpler…a blade and a battlefield, not these sly games played with words.

"Since the Dhemlan Queens didn't agree to this, the moment I step down, there are no trade agreements. Zuulaman gains nothing."

"They won't expect this."

"They should. If they've paid any attention to how I've ruled this Territory since the Queens here made their bargain with me, they should. Which means they never expected me to sign the agreements, but the greed and audacity of asking for so much will make their real goal seem more reasonable."

Saetan smiled a gentle, brutal smile.

Andulvar suppressed a shudder.

"So I'm waiting for them to name the ransom that will buy back my wife and child," Saetan said.

"Will you pay it?"

That odd look crept into Saetan's eyes again. "Yes, I'll pay it. And it will be the last thing Zuulaman ever gets from me that isn't paid for in blood."

4

Hekatah watched the children on the beach, laughing and shouting as they played some incomprehensible game. Whelps from a pissant race that thought it was Hayll's equal, that it could ever be Hayll's equal. But Zuulaman had its uses. Through them, several of Hayll's Hundred Families, including her own, would have their wealth replenished as soon as…

The bastard hadn't signed the agreements yet. And he should have. He should have. As soon as he'd been told she was being held, he should have abandoned the pretense of caring about the welfare of the Dhemlan people and signed the agreements. After all, she was his wife. She'd given him children.

A door opened, and the wailing that had been muffled by stout wood stabbed at her.

"The baby is crying," her aunt said as she entered the room.

As if it was necessary to tell her that when she could hear him clearly enough. "He'll stop."

"He's hungry."

Hekatah turned to look at the woman. It had been sensible to bring another family member with her, but she regretted letting her mother talk her into bringing this one. Divorced because she was barren and her husband had wanted to sire children the Families would acknowledge socially, this aunt still craved having a child of her own and was always eager to help any woman in the family take care of a baby.

Weak fool. Children were a bargaining chip, tools to achieve a goal. But once you granted the sire paternal rights, you had to wait centuries before the child was old enough to be really useful again. Of course, the existence of Mephis and Peyton had held her marriage together, had continued to supply her with some kind of income because as long as she remained married to Saetan he would make financial provisions for her.

But not enough. She'd expected to be the High Priestess of Dhemlan, with all the honor and rewards that came with being the leader of the Priestess caste. She should have been. If Saetan had balls for anything but the bed, he would have insisted that she be granted the title and the authority because she was his wife.

She wasn't anything in Dhemlan but his wife and a Red-Jeweled Priestess from Hayll, given the courtesy due her Jewels and caste but not accepted enough to hold some position of authority.

That would change. She'd make sure of it.

"The baby is hungry," her aunt said again.

Who cared if the brat starved or not?

Saetan would. He'd rather play with the boys than attend an important social function with her. Oh, he was always willing to escort her to functions, always presented her with the invitations that came from the Dhemlan courts and let her choose which ones she wanted to attend. But he preferred the boys' company to hers most of the time.

The bastard should have signed the agreements by now, but he valued his honor more than his wife.

He would have to be punished for that.

"Hekatah? Aren't you going to do something about the baby?"

She stared at her aunt, but in her mind she pictured the man she had married.

The solution was so simple. The agreements would be signed in no time.

All she had to do was break Saetan's heart.

5

The Hall still trembled from the explosive slamming of the door. Still echoed with the sibilant whisper of Black shields locking into place around the massive structure. Usually, there was no sound made when a shield was formed or triggered. He'd added that sibilance as a bit of flash and glitter, as a way to remind anyone who challenged him that he wasn't quite like them. Oh, he was Blood, yes, but not quite like them. Not since he'd made the Offering to the Darkness and walked away wearing Jewels no man had ever worn in the history of the Blood. Or maybe he'd never been quite like the rest of them, and that's why he wore the Black.

His hand wasn't steady as he held up the small, ornately carved box. He couldn't stop the tremors going through his body, a reaction to the shock. But his feelings were numbed by exquisitely brutal pain. He felt nothing except awareness that the pain had shoved him to the edge of a precipice. He knew the landscape beyond it. No trained Black Widow feared the misted, twisting roads so close to that edge. They learned how to stray over that border, walk those roads…and come back. But he held on to the precipice and, by doing so, held on to the self-control that leashed everything he was.

"Did they tell you what was in the box before they sent you here, Ambassador?" Saetan asked. His voice, soft thunder, rolled through his study and over the man trying hard not to show fear.

"No," the Ambassador said, licking dry lips. "I was told to bring it to you immediately. That was all."

"Do you know what is in this box?"

The Ambassador shook his head. "I thought, judging from the size, it was a trinket of some kind, something your wife had worn to confirm she was a guest of the Zuulaman Queens. A ring, perhaps, or a pendant. Maybe a…"

"Finger," Saetan said too softly. "A baby's finger."

The Ambassador stared at him, looking sick. "No."

"Yes." Saetan smiled…and watched the Ambassador shudder. "So I'm going to tell you the new agreement between Dhemlan and Zuulaman. My wife and child will be returned to me at once. If there is no further harm done to either of them, I will forget Zuulaman exists."

As the words sank in, the Ambassador shook off his fear. "What kind of agreement is that?"

"A generous one," Saetan replied. "However, if anything more is done to either of them, it will be considered a declaration of war."

The Ambassador gaped for a moment. "You think Dhemlan will go to war…"

"Dhemlan will not go to war with Zuulaman." He paused. "I will."

"But…"

"You don't understand what I am. No one would do this who understood what I am."

The Ambassador closed his eyes. Once he'd regained his composure, he looked at Saetan and shook his head. "The Queens will accept nothing less than the trade agreements. Your wife and child will remain on our islands until the agreements are signed."

"You're making a mistake."

"I serve, Prince SaDiablo. I can only give you the words that were given to me."

"Then give my words back to them, Ambassador. And hope they appreciate what is at stake."

As the Ambassador bowed and left the study, Saetan drew the shields back into the stones of the Hall and released the Black lock on the front door. He set the small box down on the blackwood desk and stared at his baby's finger. Blood sings to Blood. One touch was all he'd needed to confirm that tiny finger was flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood.

The numbness that kept the pain at bay thinned, threatened to shatter. He held on to it, as he held on to the edge of sanity, ignoring the lure of the twisting, misted roads. It would be so easy to slip over the boundary into the madness the Blood called the Twisted Kingdom, especially when it beckoned to him, promising there would be no pain. Especially when he knew he wasn't able to step away from that edge right now and stand more firmly in the sane world.

With desperate care, he closed the lid on the box, poured himself a large brandy, and settled down to wait.

6

"It won't be enough," Hekatah said to the Zuulaman Queens who had assembled in the sitting room she'd been given. "It will upset him, shake him, but it won't be enough to make him yield and give us what we want."

"There hasn't been enough time for a message to come back from the Ambassador who's staying in that village near SaDiablo Hall," one of the Queens pointed out. "We can wait and see what…"

She shook her head. "We have to strike fast, have to strike hard before he has too much time to think. We have to…" Punish him for valuing his precious code of honor more than his wife. "…provide more incentive."

"What do you suggest we do?" another Queen asked.

Hekatah smiled. "Send the other box."

7

Andulvar strode through the great hall to the door of Saetan's study. The whole damn place had a hushed quality of people having taken shelter in the hopes of surviving a violent storm.

And there was a storm coming. He could feel it building below the depth of his Ebon-gray Jewels. Hell's fire! He'd been able to sense the edge of it from his eyrie in Askavi.

Which is why he'd caught the Ebon-gray Wind and ridden to the Hall, arriving at the first breath of dawn. Something was pushing Saetan to the breaking point, and he didn't want to find out what might happen when a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince's control shattered.

Flinging open the study door, he walked into the room.

Saetan stood behind the blackwood desk, tears running down his face as he stared at an open box that sat in the center of the desk.

"They kept his head," Saetan whispered.

Andulvar moved forward. "What are you…"

He was a warrior, bred and trained. An Eyrien Warlord Prince who had never hesitated to step onto a killing field. But he took one look at what was inside that box and stumbled back two steps. "Mother Night."

Saetan's hand shook as he reached into the box and gently brushed a finger over a little leg. "What kind of people are they? What kind of people would do this to a baby?"

"Saetan…"Andulvar swallowed hard to keep his stomach down, then approached the desk.

"I didn't think they were capable of this. Even after they sent one of his fingers, I didn't think they were capable of this."

They what?

"I'm sorry," Saetan whispered, brushing a finger over another piece. "I didn't know they had no honor. I'm sorry. So sorry."

When Saetan looked up, Andulvar saw a strong man about to break… and wondered if Saetan was even aware of the rage growing beneath that grief.

"Andulvar…" Saetan's voice hitched. "Look what they did to my baby. Look…"

Andulvar grabbed him, pulled him into arms that held on with the strength of a friend's love as Saetan shattered on the jagged stones of grief. "Hold on to me, Brother. Hold on."

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 Eyrien 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.

Just a piece of a palm tree. Nothing to fear.

But he couldn't make himself get closer to it. Couldn't think about touching it.

He stared at it, floating on swells. He stared at the ocean. The big, empty ocean.

"Saetan," he whispered. "Saetan, what have you done?"

13

"What do you mean he's gone?" Hekatah said, wincing a little as she surged to her feet. "There are still settlements to discuss, arrangements to be made for our share of the profit from the first Dhemlan shipment."

"I know that," her mother snapped. "But I'm telling you the Zuulaman Ambassador is gone. The servants at the town house he keeps here don't know when he left or when he'll be back. But he took all his Zuulaman bric-a-brac with him." Her mouth thinned to a hostile line. "Are you sure your husband signed the trade agreements?"

"Yes, I'm sure." Hekatah's hands curled into fists. The Zuulaman Queens wouldn't dare try to cheat her and her family out of what was owed them. They wouldn't dare. "Send someone to Zuulaman. Find out what the Queens know about the Ambassador's sudden departure."

14

"There's something I have to show you," Geoffrey said, turning toward one of the archways that led to the stacks of books that were kept separate from the rest of the Keep's huge library.

Andulvar growled. "I don't have time for…"

"Make time."

He studied the man. Geoffrey had been the Keep's historian and librarian since long before Andulvar had been born. He was a Guardian, one of the living dead. He was also the last of his race…a race he never mentioned by name, never talked about. There was nothing that could touch a man like Geoffrey when he was inside the Keep. Nothing a man like him should fear inside the walls of Ebon Askavi.

But it was fear Andulvar heard underneath the temper in Geoffrey's voice. So he followed the Guardian through the archway and between the shelves of books until Geoffrey finally stopped walking and pointed.

"What do you see?"

Andulvar shrugged. "Empty shelves."

"Yes," Geoffrey said. "Empty shelves. Yesterday, those shelves held examples of Zuulaman's literature. Stories, poems, novels. Those shelves also held examples of pottery, held copies of songs as well as a flute and drum. They're gone now."

"I need to talk to someone from Zuulaman," Andulvar said, deciding against telling Geoffrey about the other stolen items that had come from Zuulaman…at least until his own business at the Keep was concluded. "Can you check the Registers and…"

"There aren't any Registers."

Andulvar swore. "There have to be. These people are Blood. Some of them have to be in the Registers. Even if they didn't officially register as they should, you would have made some notation about the Blood who wear darker Jewels."

"Yesterday, there were Registers for Zuulaman," Geoffrey said. "Now they're gone. As if they had never existed."

Beads of sweat broke out on Andulvar's forehead. "I'd like to talk to Draca."

Geoffrey nodded. "She's waiting for you."

Retracing his steps, Andulvar returned to the room that held a large blackwood table where scholars and other Blood could sit and read the books Geoffrey didn't permit to leave this part of the library.

The Keep's Seneschal was ancient… and didn't look quite human. She'd unnerved him the first time he'd met her when he came to the Keep as one of Cassandra's First Circle Escorts. She still unnerved him.

"I need to talk to one of the Zuulaman Blood," Andulvar said.

"They are gone," Draca replied.

"From Terreille, yes. But there must be some who are demon-dead. You could arrange this."

"They are gone," she repeated. "The Dark Realm wass purged of Zuulaman Blood."

Andulvar grabbed one of the chairs that surrounded the table to keep himself upright. "You purged Hell?"

"No."

"Then… ?"

"The Prince of the Darknesss. The High Lord of Hell." Draca stared at him. "Grief wass the hammer they ussed to break hiss control. Rage wass the forge in which he sshaped hiss power into a weapon."

"So there's no one left."

"There's no one left," Geoffrey agreed. He looked at Draca. "If Saetan did what we think he did, there isn't a shard of pottery, a scrap of cloth, or a line from a poem, story, or song left that came from the Zuulaman people. There isn't any trace of them in any of the Realms."

Including the islands they came from, Andulvar thought, feeling sick.

"It's as if they never existed," Geoffrey said.

Draca took a step toward Andulvar. "Ssaetan iss the ssame man today ass he wass a year ago, the ssame ass he hass been ssince he made the Offering to the Darknesss and wass gifted with the Black Jewelss. He iss the ssame man who hass been your friend for many yearss."

"But now I know what he's capable of doing if he's pushed too hard or too far," Andulvar said, shuddering.

"Yess," Draca replied gently. "Now you know."

15

The next morning, Andulvar walked into the informal receiving room at the same moment Saetan began descending the stairway that led to the family wing. They stopped at the same time and studied each other.

Andulvar felt a chill twist up his spine as he looked into Saetan's glazed, gold eyes.

"The boys?" Saetan asked.

"They're fine. I'll bring them back later today. I came now to see how you're doing." To see if you're sane.

"I…" Frowning, Saetan descended the rest of the stairs. He wasn't moving with his usual grace, and the hand that clutched the banister trembled. "Have I been ill?"

The glazed look gave way to puzzlement.

"How do you feel?" Andulvar asked, not quite sure how to answer the question.

"Hollowed out," Saetan replied, rubbing his forehead. "Like I've had a fever. Thoughts keep swimming through my head, but I can't put them together in a way that makes sense. Andulvar…"

He didn't see a Warlord Prince capable of destroying an entire race of people. He saw the man who had been his friend for centuries. He saw a man who was exhausted, a man so heartsick it was a kind of illness.

He held out his hand, certain that if Saetan accepted that hand, he would get his friend back. Saetan would regain his emotional balance, and the leash he used to protect the rest of the Blood from the full violence of what he was would be restored.

Then Hekatah burst into the room. The hand reaching for his fell away. The gold eyes glazed again, and in their depths swam something Andulvar had never seen before.

This is why the demon-dead call him the High Lord, Andulvar thought in despair. This is why they fear him enough that he can rule the Dark Realm even though he's still among the living. It's too late. There's no going back. For any of us.

"What have you done?" Hekatah screamed as she rushed toward Saetan.

Andulvar grabbed her arm, hauling her back out of reach. Not because he cared about her, but because he was afraid of what would happen if Saetan responded now.

"Darling Hekatah," Saetan crooned.

"What did you do?" she screamed again.

"I took care of things," he replied too softly. "I took care of everything." He turned and walked up the stairs. When he was halfway up, he stopped and looked back at her. "If you want other lovers, you don't want me as a husband. I've tolerated that game for the last time, Priestess. If it happens again, we'll be divorced before you have time to leave your lover's bed. As for him…" He smiled a brutal, gentle smile. "I'll take him to Hell. Your name will be the last thing he screams while the Hounds tear him apart."

Hekatah stared up at him. Then she made a dismissive gesture. "What did you do to Zuulaman?"

"Zuulaman? That's a word without meaning."

"It's a place, as you very well know."

Saetan shook his head. "It doesn't exist." He walked up the stairs and disappeared down the corridor toward his suite.

Since Saetan was no longer available, Hekatah rounded on Andulvar. "What did he do?" she demanded. "Did he put some kind of shield around the islands so no one can find them?"

"They're gone, Hekatah," Andulvar said quietly.

"We sent messengers to find out why the Ambassador left so suddenly but they couldn't find…"

"The islands are gone." Hell's fire! How many times would he have to say it before the bitch finally heard him?

Hekatah frowned at him. "What do you mean they're gone?"

"The islands don't exist anymore. The Zuulaman people don't exist anymore. Everything that ever came from them doesn't exist anymore."

She shook her head slowly. "Not possible. You can't destroy everything about a people that fast."

"You can't. I can't. But the Prince of the Darkness? The High Lord of Hell? He can. Oh, yes, Hekatah. He can."

She kept shaking her head. "You don't believe that story about him ruling the Dark Realm. A living man can't rule the demon-dead, can't control them."

Andulvar released her arm and stepped back. "You believe what you choose. But when they butchered his son and sent the pieces to him, Zuulaman broke the chain he'd forged to keep the rest of us safe from what he is. I know what he is. So I know he's the High Lord of Hell."

Fear slowly filled her eyes. She staggered back a step. "I can't stay here. He's angry with me."

"He's still riding the killing edge," Andulvar said. "There's no room in him yet for something as small as anger. Not when the rage only needs a spark to rekindle and look for another killing field."

She shrank away from him.

"Why don't you go back to Hayll and spend a few more days with your family? Right now, there's nothing you can do to help him."

As she glanced up the stairs, her face turned a sickly gray. "Yes. I need…I don't feel well."

He watched her stumble out of the room. Then he went to the window and pulled back the curtains enough to watch her run to the Coach that was still waiting for her.

Stupid aristo bitch. He wondered if Saetan had sensed the Coach and realized Hekatah hadn't intended to stay. He wondered if Saetan cared. At least she was gone for a few more days and wouldn't stir things up.

I can't help you, SaDiablo, Andulvar thought as he let the curtain fall back into place. She shattered the moment when I might have made a difference. But I can give you two reasons to step away from the killing edge… and come all the way back from the Twisted Kingdom.

16

As he stared at the charred, broken remains of a tangled web, Saetan felt Andulvar's wary presence as the Eyrien entered the short corridor that led to this hidden workroom.

"The boys?" he asked when Andulvar stepped into the room.

"Upstairs in their playroom."

"The baby kept crying," Saetan said softly, keeping his eyes focused on the web. "Screams of pain. Shrieks of terror. He kept crying. When I made the pain go away, the terror go away… When the reason for those things ceased to exist, he stopped crying." He closed his eyes. He still felt hollowed out, knew he was still too close to the border of the Twisted Kingdom. But he had to ask. "They don't exist, do they? Zuulaman doesn't exist anymore."

"No," Andulvar said. "They don't exist anymore. Everything they were is gone."

He felt the weight of what he had done settle on his shoulders and knew he would feel that burden for the rest of his life. He was a strong man. He would carry that weight. But nothing would be the same because of it. He would never be the same because of it.

He turned and looked at Andulvar, noting how the Eyrien tensed and had to fight to keep from taking a step back.

"Are you afraid of me, Andulvar?"

A long pause. "Yes. I'm afraid of you." Another pause. "I'm still your friend. We've been friends too long for it to be otherwise. But what happened to Zuulaman has changed things. I need… some time."

"I understand." Saetan forced his lips to curve into a smile. "Prince Yaslana."

Andulvar didn't try to return the smile. "High Lord."

Saetan listened to Andulvar's retreating footsteps before he turned back to study the web.

Yes, they'd been friends too long to break completely. Centuries ago, they'd first met in a court, two Red-Jeweled Warlord Princes who came from cultures that had nothing in common. Despite that, or because of it, they had become friends. It wasn't the first time they'd parted on uneasy terms. It wouldn't be the last. But this time, it was different.

Are you afraid of me, Andulvar?

Yes. I'm afraid of you.

"So am I, my friend," Saetan whispered. "So am I."

Two hours later, after cleaning the workroom, locking away the tools of the Black Widows' Craft, and scrubbing himself while he silently wept, he opened the door to the playroom.

"Papa!"

Mephis and Peyton rushed toward him, then skidded to a stop. His heart broke when they hesitated to come near him.

Then Mephis said, "You should sit down."

Since his legs were shaking, that sounded like a good idea. Moving carefully, he made his way to the large stuffed chair near the hearth. As soon as he was settled, Peyton climbed into his lap. Mephis, always more cautious, leaned against the side of the chair, then brushed a hand against his shoulder.

"Were you sick?" Mephis asked.

"I… wasn't well," he replied.

"Was that why Uncle Andulvar took us to stay with him?" Peyton asked.

Wondering how long it would be before he and Andulvar sat at a table together to talk and argue as they'd done for so many years, he swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "Yes, that's why."

"Are you better now?" Mephis asked.

He reached up and curled his fingers around his son's hand. "Yes, I'm better now."

Mephis's hand tightened to hold on to his, surprising him.

They had been the beacons he'd followed to find his way out of the Twisted Kingdom. He hadn't wanted to leave. There had been peace there after the baby stopped crying. There had been an absence of pain he knew he wouldn't find in the sane world. But he'd made the journey back because he needed to be with them, needed to be here for them.

His little Warlord Princes. The day would come when they realized who… and what… their father was. And things would change between them. But until that day came, they were his boys, his sons, his joy. He would protect them, no matter the price.

"Papa?" Peyton said. "Would you read us a story?"

He pressed his lips to Peyton's forehead, savoring the contact, just as he savored the feel of Mephis's hand in his. "Yes, my darlings. I'll read you a story."