The Queen's Price

THIRTY-FOUR

As her father drove the Coach to the Isle of Scelt, Saetien tried not to fidget, tried even harder—and with less success—not to feel a sharp regret that because Helene was traveling with them she hadn’t been invited to sit in the driver’s compartment and she had to make do with sitting in the passenger area. She didn’t know why the Hall’s housekeeper was going with them to Scelt, and Helene’s precise and chilly nod of greeting made it clear questions, or any conversation, wouldn’t be welcome.

Fine. Just fine. She didn’t need to converse with the staff—a thought that made her unhappy because there was a time when she could have chatted about all kinds of things with Helene. Just another thing that had changed because of that awful house party and the unwitting part she’d played in almost getting Zoey and Titian killed.

Saetien wanted to ask her father about this family she’d be living with. She wanted to know who had the answers about Wilhelmina Benedict that she needed in order to untangle her life. But even if she had been sitting in the driver’s compartment with him, her father wouldn’t have engaged in weighty discussion when he was driving a Coach that was running on the Black Winds. Shelby, who was excited about returning to Scelt, couldn’t tell her much beyond that Scelt had good smells and lots of other Scelties. Well, he’d been a just-weaned puppy when he’d come to Dhemlan, so human activities that didn’t involve Scelties had held no interest for him. Still didn’t hold much interest unless he could herd or help a human.

Saetien closed her eyes. She wanted to be done with this part of her life. Wanted to close the door on it and turn the key in the lock—and then throw away the key so there was no turning back.

Trouble was, she didn’t know what, if anything, might be ahead.

Daemon guided the Coach along the Black Winds, grateful for the speed that would shorten the journey.

A part of him wished Helene had chosen another time to go to Scelt, although he understood the practicality of coming with him to personally interview the youngsters who wanted to work in service and were interested in receiving some seasoning and polish at the Hall. He would have liked to spend these last few hours with Saetien before she walked away, maybe forever. Before he let her walk away, maybe forever.

A part of him wished Helene had chosen another time because those interviews would delay his return to SaDiablo Hall, and he didn’t want to be within reach when Saetien had her first collision with Butler. And there was going to be a collision because Saetien and the Green-Jeweled Prince stood on opposite sides of a line called Jaenelle Angelline.

He’d keep to the house in Maghre and to the Sceltie school. Eileen would understand if he turned down an invitation to dinner—assuming she issued one. More likely, she wanted him gone as soon as possible so that Saetien couldn’t run to him if she didn’t like the rules—and also so the girl couldn’t give up and return to the sanctuary before she’d even tried to find the answers she claimed she needed to find.

Leaving Saetien to stand on her own without his protection grated against every instinct he had as a Warlord Prince and a father. But what he’d told Kieran was true. He knew too much, had seen too many witches destroyed. Had failed to protect strong young witches in his own Territory. Now, for her sake, he was walking away from his daughter, leaving her well-being in someone else’s hands.

In Kieran’s hands—and in Butler’s.

“Lady Eileen, this is Lady Saetien SaDiablo. Saetien, Lady Eileen is the head of this household, and her rules are the rules.”

“I thought Lord Kieran was in charge of things,” Saetien said. The look in this woman’s blue eyes made her uneasy, and being uneasy made her say things in ways adults found annoying.

Eileen had a trim figure, but the gray streaks in her brown hair and the strong lines fanning out from her eyes said “motherly” and “old.” Saetien didn’t want mothering, and she didn’t need a mother.

“Kieran is the Warlord of Maghre and runs the village. This side of the house is the family home, and it’s under my hand,” Eileen replied. “As you are now. If you’re thinking you can disregard my rules the moment your father walks out the door, think again, young lass. My house, my rules, my way. If you can’t agree to that, there’s no point in you unpacking your bags.”

Saetien turned to her father. “I can stay somewhere else.”

“No,” Daemon said. “If you want to stay in Scelt, you will be staying here. Or I can take you back to the sanctuary in Dhemlan. Your choice.”

How was she supposed to find the answers she needed if she was hemmed in by rules?

Then three adult Scelties joined them, looked at her—and growled.

Who were they to growl at her?

Shelby’s distressed whining pierced her annoyance as he sat beside her and leaned against her leg. He was failing his special friend by letting her be a bad human.

She wasn’t being bad, and Shelby wasn’t letting her do anything. He was still a puppy. They had no right to judge him!

But the Scelties who lived in this house protected the humans in the household, and Shelby would be miserable if he was ostracized because of her behavior. She suddenly wondered if his distress was partly due to some of those Scelties being related to him. If his family turned him away because of her . . .

She took a deep breath and made an effort to keep her voice civil. “I’ll stay.”

“Then I’ll show you to your room,” Eileen said. She looked at Daemon. “I’m sure you have business to attend to.”

Saetien blinked. Did this woman just dismiss her father? Her father?

Daemon hesitated, then dipped his head in a slight bow. He turned to Saetien. “I hope you find the answers you seek.”

“First I have to find the person who might have the answers,” she replied.

He let out a pained huff of laughter. “Oh, he isn’t difficult to find, but getting answers will be a different kind of challenge.”

Daemon walked out of the room and out of the house before Saetien gathered her wits. Her father knew who she needed to see and didn’t tell her?

She turned to Eileen. “Do you know who has the answers?”

Eileen gave her a long look. “Since you’re asking about Wilhelmina Benedict, there’s only one person who has more than surface knowledge. Kieran can take you to the cottage this evening before supper. Come along and I’ll show you to your room.”

“Why can’t I see this person now?” Since Eileen walked briskly through the house, with the Scelties now moving into herding position, Saetien hurried to follow.

Eileen opened a door and walked into a large, airy bedroom. Obviously a guest room, since its decor didn’t lean toward feminine or masculine. “There’s a bathroom just behind that door. It’s small but adequate. We do have a couple of maids and a cook. Kieran has a butler because his side of the house is an official residence. However, I expect you to keep your room tidy and not give the maids extra work. Any clothes that aren’t placed in the hamper won’t get washed unless you do them yourself. Any questions?”

“Why can’t I see this person now?”

“His day begins when the sun goes down. Given who your father is, I’d think you would understand what it means when a person is only available between sunset and sunrise.”

For a moment Saetien couldn’t breathe. “He’s . . . ?”

“Demon-dead. Yes.” Eileen gave her an odd smile. “Who else would know about things and people long past?”

Did she want to talk to someone who was demon-dead? “You said other people have surface knowledge.”

Eileen sighed. “I can tell you what anyone else can tell you. Wilhelmina Benedict lived in Maghre for a while. Then she moved to Tuathal, the capital of Scelt. She married, had children, and lived on this island for the rest of her life. If you need more than that, you’ll have to talk to Prince Butler. He knows more about Wilhelmina Benedict than anyone else can know.”

“Did he love her?”

“There was no love or liking between them. But Butler always made a point of keeping an eye on an enemy.”

“Was she dangerous?”

Eileen shrugged. “You’d have to ask him. Now, I’ll let you and Shelby get settled in.” She walked out of the room and closed the door.

Saetien went over to the window and looked out.

Undercurrents. Secrets. And for some reason . . . shame? Eileen knew more about Wilhelmina Benedict than she’d said, but she’d revealed all she intended to reveal.

Was it telling that Eileen didn’t mention that Wilhelmina Benedict was Jaenelle Angelline’s sister?

How did one dress when meeting the demon-dead? Did it matter? The person was dead. Sort of dead. Had her father or Uncle Lucivar told her about the demon-dead? Or, when they told stories about her, had they talked about people who had died the physical death but not the final death?

“Maghre is a small village but a good one, mostly,” Kieran said as they walked along the lane leading to the cottage. “We had some trouble with a man a while back who tried to force himself on a girl. He no longer lives in the village and is no longer a threat, but you’ll oblige me and my mother by letting someone know where you’re going. Shelby isn’t old enough to be much help if you run into trouble.”

“I know how to protect myself,” Saetien muttered.

“Good. You’ll still let someone know. If my sister Brenda could give her mother that courtesy, then so can you.”

“Do you?” Since males were supposed to serve—well, serve Queens, anyway—why were the females the ones who couldn’t have any privacy?

“I did when I was your age,” Kieran replied. “So did my brother.”

The restrictions chafed, despite being no different from the rules she’d had to follow at the Hall, at Uncle Lucivar’s eyrie, and even at the sanctuary. “I’m older than I look.”

“You have years over everyone else here—that much is true. But you’re nowhere near as mature as you seem to think.”

That stung. And who was he to judge her?

“A word of advice,” Kieran said as a man opened the door of the cottage, stepped out, and walked toward the gate in the white picket fence that surrounded the cottage gardens. “Butler doesn’t tolerate bitches. He never did. You should brush off your manners before you reach that gate, or he’ll shut you out before you begin.”

The light was fading, so it wasn’t easy to see the man who waited for them. The man who studied them. Studied her. Fair skin but not pasty pale. Gray hair cut short in a style that probably was a fashion decades ago—or never. Hard to tell until she reached the gate, but his eyes looked gray with flecks of green. And he wore a Green Jewel.

“Prince Butler, may I present Lady Saetien SaDiablo? Lady, this is Prince Butler. He manages the literary works of Lady Fiona. She wrote the Tracker and Shadow stories.”

Saetien looked past the man and studied the cottage with interest. The stories were ancient, but she loved the tales about Tracker and Shadow. If she asked—politely—would Butler show her the room where Lady Fiona wrote the stories?

“Lady Saetien,” Butler said.

She looked into his eyes, heard his voice, and thought, There you are.

What in the name of Hell did that mean?

Something about this man called to something inside her—and it scared her.

“I want to know about Wilhelmina Benedict.” A moment ago, she’d been thinking about seeing inside Lady Fiona’s cottage. Now the words—the demand—just fell out of her mouth. Because something about Butler scared her, and it had nothing to do with his being demon-dead.

Kieran made a sound like a swallowed protest. Butler just stared at her.

“You are the supplicant,” Butler finally said. “You’re the one seeking answers. You make no demands of me.”

“You have to answer my questions.” He would spend time with her if he answered her questions.

“No, I do not.”

“Saetien.” Kieran made her name into a warning.

Ignoring Kieran, she focused on Butler and aimed her best weapon—and knew a moment too late that her best weapon would turn on her. “Do you know who my father is?”

The air around them turned bitter cold. Butler said, “I am demon-dead, child. I know who your father is and what he is far better than you do. I also know that when he asked me for this favor on your behalf, he agreed that I would do this my way, on my terms. If you think to use him as a club against me, then he’s well rid of you as a daughter.”

She stepped back, stunned by the verbal attack despite recognizing that she had provoked it. Her lower lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears.

“What?” Butler snarled. “You want to be the only one who can fling harsh words at people? Your father may forgive such disrespect because he loves you. But I don’t know you, I don’t love you, and I will not tolerate disrespect for anyone who matters to me. And that includes Daemon Sadi and Jaenelle Angelline.”

Her thoughts spun and collided.

“You want to know about Wilhelmina Benedict? First tell me what you know about Jaenelle Angelline.”

“I don’t want to know about her,” Saetien shouted. “I just want to know about Wilhelmina Benedict.”

“Fine. Wilhelmina Benedict was born in Chaillot, an island in the Realm of Terreille. She came to Kaeleer during the last service fair. She lived at SaDiablo Hall for a little while before coming to Scelt. She lived here the rest of her life. Now you know all that anyone needs to know about Wilhelmina Benedict. In order to know more, you have to know about Jaenelle Angelline.” Butler walked back to the door of his cottage. “Write down what you know about both of them. Bring it with you tomorrow. Then I’ll decide if I’m going to answer your first question.”

He walked into the cottage and closed the door.

“That went well,” Kieran said dryly. “If those are your best manners, may the Darkness have mercy on you if you try to deal with him again.”

“Isn’t there someone else I can talk to?” Someone who doesn’t pull at me to be . . . something?

Kieran didn’t say anything until they were well down the lane. “If there had been anyone else, your father never would have asked Butler for this favor.”

Butler leaned against the cottage’s door and thought, There you are.

Something about this girl called to something inside him, produced a feeling full of sharp edges as well as joy. He’d never felt anything like this on an assignment. Never.

Had Saetan felt this way the first time he’d met Jaenelle Angelline? Had he realized in some way that his life would never be the same?

There you are.

What in the name of Hell did that mean?

“Half of the individuals I spoke to aren’t interested in learning to serve in an aristo house, let alone a dark house,” Helene said. “They see it as an adventure away from home, with free room and board and a requirement to do a token amount of work.”

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.