The Queen's Price

THIRTY-FIVE

Jaenelle Angelline Queen of Ebon Askavi, which made her the most important Queen in Kaeleer.

“And didn’t she know it,” Saetien muttered as she made out the list Butler required before he’d talk to her about Wilhelmina Benedict.

Wore Black Jewels, which is how she became the Queen of Ebon Askavi, then wore a Jewel called Twilight’s Dawn.

Was the ruling Queen when Kaeleer fought a war with Terreille. Kaeleer won.

Saetien paused. Had her father and Uncle Lucivar fought in that war? Was that one of those subjects that came under the “when you’re old enough” rule? If they had fought in the war, they would have been the most important Warlord Princes in the fight, because they were the strongest.

Did Daemonar know about how their fathers fought in that war? Not that she could ask him until he stopped being angry with her about that stupid house party.

Sighing, she went back to making the list.

Originally lived in Chaillot, a Territory in the Realm of Terreille.

Had yellow hair and blue eyes.

She should say “blond” but saying the Queen had yellow hair sounded . . . dismissive, diminishing.

Was that being childish? Maybe. But so was this stupid requirement to make a list of things she knew about someone who wasn’t the person she wanted information about.

Spent a lot of time in a place called Briarwood when she was a child.

Saetien shuddered, remembering her journey through the Briarwood that Witch had created in order to determine the price each girl in the coven of malice had to pay for the lives she had ruined.

Remembering the blond-haired, blue-eyed girl who had been tied to a bed and the blood that had been spilled in that small room. So much blood.

Was Daemon Sadi’s first wife. She was also his Queen.

Was still his Queen. Witch snapped her fingers, and Daemon Sadi obeyed.

She was called Witch, the living myth, dreams made flesh.

Saetien reviewed her list. What else did she need to know about someone she would rather forget existed? Nothing on her list that Prince Butler wouldn’t know, but maybe she did know something about Witch that he didn’t.

Not all the dreamers were human, so her Self is a weird mix of human and animal. She looks unnatural.

Looked monstrous.

“And she’s cruel,” Saetien whispered. Best not to put that in, even if it was true.

Setting that sheet of paper aside, she focused on the information she had about the person she wanted to know about.

Wilhelmina Benedict

Originally lived in Chaillot, an island in the Realm of Terreille.

Came to Kaeleer during the last service fair.

Lived at SaDiablo Hall for a while, then moved to the Isle of Scelt.

Was Jaenelle Angelline’s sister.

So little. And nothing helpful.

Saetien capped her pen and put the papers to one side of the small rectangular table that doubled as a dining table and desk. She called in the journal Jillian had given her the morning she left the sanctuary. Not a cheap thing for scribbling little-girl thoughts—although, to be fair, she didn’t think she’d ever been given a cheap thing that would send a message that little-girl thoughts weren’t worth much.

She opened the journal’s leather cover. It would be a good place to record any notes and any facts she managed to squeeze out of people. She hadn’t expected people to refuse to tell her what they knew about Wilhelmina Benedict, but nobody seemed to know much of anything. Eileen knew something, but Wilhelmina wasn’t a subject the woman would discuss. Why was that? And why was there always a hint of shame when Saetien brought up the name? Maybe not shame. Sadness?

No answers there, and she couldn’t talk to Butler until sunset. What was she supposed to do until then?

*Walkies, Saeti? Walkies?*

She looked at Shelby as the urgent tone registered. Scooping up the puppy, she hurried through the house and got him outside before his control of his bladder failed both of them.

Once the puppy did his business, Saetien cast a look at the house. She didn’t know where Eileen was, even if it was easy to guess that the woman probably would be in the morning room reviewing household accounts and writing letters and doing whatever else she did. But since she didn’t know, not specifically, she decided she didn’t have to tell anyone that she had left, especially since she and Shelby were just walking over to the stables.

Maybe she could go riding, maybe even ride to the village, or over to the house that her father leased here, or even over to the Sceltie school. If she was riding, it wouldn’t take that long to get to any of those places.

The stables were barely in sight of the house and much larger than the stables at the Hall. Which made sense, since her father didn’t breed or train regular horses—and kindred horses made their own decisions when it came to breeding. Just like humans.

Did they make mating mistakes like humans did?

She heard a male voice and thought it was that of Lord Ryder, who was Lord Kieran’s brother, but he hadn’t said much at dinner last night, so she wasn’t sure. The tone was encouraging. Training a horse, a rider, or both?

Lord Kildare, Kieran’s father, walked out of the stables. His hard expression and the stern look in his eyes stopped her. Then he looked past her and said mildly, “Well, at least one of you remembers the rules.”

Saetien looked over her shoulder at the two Scelties trotting toward them.

*Did you tell the Scelties we were going to the stables?* she asked Shelby.

*Yes!* the puppy replied. *It’s a rule.* Wagging his tail, he went to greet the Sceltie witch and Warlord.

“I wasn’t leaving your place,” Saetien protested.

“You don’t hold much to courtesy or simple kindness, do you, girl?” Kildare asked. His words stung, but before she could say anything in her defense, he added, “You get three chances to mess about. You’re down to two now. After the third, you’re on your way home.”

“You can’t decide that.”

“That was my lady wife’s condition for having you here, and Kieran and Prince Sadi agreed. Best you remember it.” He paused. “Did you come down to the stables for a reason, or were you looking to find out where the lines are drawn?”

They were treating her like a child. Well, she’d show them she wasn’t a child. “I would like to go riding, if you have a horse available.”

Considering the size of the stables, how could he not have a horse available? Which made the remark close to being bitchy.

“You know how to ride?” Kildare asked.

“Yes, I do.” Politely spoken, although she wasn’t sure if her expression sent a very different message.

Kildare nodded. “All right. I’ll see who’s willing. You can ride in the paddock over there.” He pointed.

“I was thinking—”

“You ride in the paddock, where I can keep an eye on you, or not at all.”

Lord Kildare’s way of drawing a line reminded her more of Uncle Lucivar than of her father. Oh, her father drew lines, too, but he never sounded so . . . physical . . . about it.

“Fine,” she said.

“There are a couple of low jumps, if you both have a mind to try them.” Kildare walked back into the stables.

Saetien waited and watched Shelby and the Sceltie Warlord play tug with a rag one of them had found somewhere. More accurate to say the adult Sceltie was holding one end of the rag and Shelby was happily doing all the tugging and growling.

She resented that he’d told the Scelties where they were going, especially since they weren’t actually going anywhere. Then it hit her, and hit hard, that though she might be his special friend and he would learn about human things from her, the Scelties who lived here were the adults, the rule makers, that he would obey.

Kildare walked out of the stables with a chestnut mare. A Rose-Jeweled witch. “This is Lady Foxx. She was going to take herself out for a gallop, but she’s willing to ride in the paddock with you since you’re new here and need to stay close to home.” The look in his eyes dared Saetien to contradict him.

If she did, would that be another mark against her?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Foxx,” Saetien said. “I appreciate you giving up your gallop.”

*We will gallop with Kieran or Ryder on another day,* Foxx replied.

“Caitie and Stormchaser are walking around in that paddock,” Kildare said. “Leave them be.”

She nodded and didn’t ask questions, since she wanted a chance to ride. After she’d mounted and Kildare had checked the length of the stirrups, she looked at Shelby. “You stay here, okay?”

*Saeti?* Puzzlement, maybe hurt, at being left behind.

“I won’t be far away.”

*We will stay here and visit the horses,* the Sceltie Warlord said.

“That’s good.”

“The pup will be fine,” Kildare said quietly. “And it’s good for him to meet the horses—and for them to meet him. Go on, now. No point frittering away the day.”

As she and Foxx walked toward the paddock, Saetien wondered how different riding a regular horse was from riding with one of the kindred. She’d never ridden a regular horse.

She could pose the question at the midday meal. It would be something she could talk about with her hosts.

As they reached the paddock, the gate opened before Saetien could decide if she should dismount to open it or try to use Craft. Foxx must have opened it, and that was a relief. Saetien still wasn’t always successful in using Craft now that her power was strictly Purple Dusk instead of the range of power she’d once had in her Twilight’s Dawn Jewel.

Reminded of what she had lost, Saetien tightened her grip on the reins that were attached to a halter, causing Foxx to snort. No bits when riding kindred, but that didn’t mean the horse didn’t pick up a rider’s mood by the tension in the human’s body.

Best not to think about why she no longer wore Twilight’s Dawn.

A horse grazed at the far end of the paddock. Probably a mare, since there was a foal gamboling nearby, his antics making the girl who was with them laugh and clap her hands. The mare was a solid black. The foal was also black, but had a white mark in the shape of a bolt of lightning running down his face.

Saetien pressed her legs against Foxx’s sides to indicate she wanted to go faster than a walk.

Foxx laid her ears back in warning—and Saetien didn’t doubt for a moment that the mare would toss her if this turned into a battle of wills.

“Can’t we go faster?” she asked.

*Caitie and Stormchaser need to see us,* Foxx replied.

They weren’t sight shielded. But girl and foal weren’t paying attention to them. The other mare lifted her head, considered them, then went back to grazing.

Foxx continued her easy approach until the foal noticed them. He squealed a warning as he placed himself in front of the girl, ready to do battle.

Saetien sighed as his psychic scent hit her. A Warlord Prince.

The girl’s psychic scent hit her too. It carried a fear so sharp, Saetien felt its jagged edge.

Foxx continued to approach until she reached some understood distance that allowed the foal to stand his ground but didn’t goad him into an attack that might end with him injuring himself.

“Hello,” Saetien said. “I’m Saetien, but my friends call me Saeti. Are you Caitie?”

Something very wrong with this girl. More than fear.

Caitie put a hand to her chest. “Caitie.” She smiled. “Saeti. Foxx.” Her other hand rested on the foal’s back. “Storm.” She looked at the black mare. “Mother.”

Having made his point, Stormchaser returned to his dam to nurse. Caitie wandered the paddock, never going far from the two horses.

Foxx turned away from them and lifted into a canter. She and Saetien circled the paddock a few times before Foxx said, *Jump?*

“Yes!”

Small jumps, nothing challenging, but fun all the same. They took the jumps from both directions before Foxx slowed to a walk. Saetien looked over her shoulder. The mare and foal, along with Caitie, were also walking. Well, the mare and Caitie were walking while the foal dashed, hopped, and circled the two females.

Saetien looked away before Caitie noticed her observing them. If Caitie noticed such things. More than fear made the girl’s psychic scent odd.

*Caitie is lame,* Foxx said. *Lame leg, lame . . . brain. Hurt bad when she was a foal.*

When they walked past the open paddock gate, Saetien said, “Should we close the gate?”

*No. It is time for Caitie to rest.*

Saetien dismounted at the stable door, then walked in with Foxx. Ryder was there, grooming a bay Warlord while coaching a young witch who was standing on the other side of the horse. Spotting Saetien and Foxx, he stepped away and said, “I’ll show you where to put Foxx’s tack.”

She put the tack away and gave Foxx a quick grooming before the mare headed back out to gallop and graze and spend time with the other horses. The Warlord followed her out, and the young witch quickly said her goodbyes, leaving Saetien with Ryder—and Shelby, who came running from somewhere to greet her.

Before she could ask Ryder about the girl, Caitie walked into the stables with Stormchaser.

The puppy looked at the foal and said, *My Saeti!*

The foal looked at the puppy and said, *My Caitie!*

“Now that we all know where we stand, Caitie girl, you should take a bit of a rest before heading for school,” Ryder said.

Girl and foal walked into one of the box stalls.

Ryder closed the lower half of the door, then tipped his head to indicate that Saetien should leave the stables with him.

“She was a bright girl before some visiting aristo prick raced through the village in a pony cart he didn’t have the skill to drive, not with a regular horse in the traces. If it had been a kindred horse . . .” Ryder shook his head. “The aristo lost control and the pony cart tipped over on Caitie. Snapped her leg in several places and cracked her skull, damaging her brain. The best Healers in Scelt were summoned and did their best for her, but they couldn’t give her back all that she’d lost. Or maybe her mind and Self found other roads to walk while her body healed.” He seemed about to say something else, then decided against it.

She could guess what he didn’t say—there had been a Healer who lived long ago who could have repaired the damage to Caitie’s brain, but no one had known that some part of her still existed. Besides, could a Self without flesh really do a healing?

Or had someone who was no longer flesh shown the girl the other roads she could walk?

“What happened to the aristo?” she asked, hurrying to keep up with Ryder as he headed for the house.

“Some said he was drunk when it happened and didn’t shield properly to protect himself when he was thrown from the cart, and that’s why his neck broke and killed him. Others said the way his neck broke didn’t fit being thrown from the pony cart—and some swore that aristo was alive for a minute after he landed.”

Saetien swallowed hard. “You think someone killed him?”

“Well now, some said that aristo had aimed for a group of girls standing on the side of the road, and some saw Caitie, who had just acquired her Birthright Yellow Jewel the week before, use Craft to shove her friends out of harm’s way, which is why she was the only one who was caught when the cart tipped.” Ryder stopped and looked at her. “It was dusk, you see. After sundown.”

“Maybe the aristo didn’t see the girls in the fading light?”

“Maybe the person who snapped that neck had a lot of experience with killing,” Ryder said quietly. “And maybe he didn’t bother the High Lord when it came to calling in the rest of the debt after that aristo made the transition to demon-dead.”

Saetien couldn’t seem to draw in a breath.

Butler. Ryder was talking about Butler.

“People who make the mistake of thinking he’s tame because he’s old don’t often have the chance to make a second mistake.”

“Thank you for telling me.” She looked back at the stables. “Caitie stays there?”

Ryder smiled. “After the third time her parents found Stormchaser tucked into bed with her without any idea of how he managed to get into the house and up the stairs to her room, we turned a box stall into a bit of a room for her so the two of them can spend time together. For Stormchaser it was love at first sight, and there’s no keeping them apart, so this suits everyone. Besides, it’s easier to muck out a stall than a bedroom.”

“Oh.”

“Aye.”

Bits of information suddenly came together. “Kieran said a man had caused trouble in the village. Did he try to harm Caitie?”

“He did. But Prince Liath took one of his balls, stopping him from doing her harm. As for the rest of him . . . He disappeared without a trace, and Kieran says it’s best to let it be.”

“Who killed him? Butler? Or my father?” Saetien asked.

Ryder gave her a long look. “Leave it be, Saetien. No one in Maghre wants the answer to that question.”

She went to her room to wash up and braid her hair before joining Kieran’s family for the midday meal.

As Kieran turned away from his brother and those blue eyes fixed on her, predator to prey, it occurred to her that there was a third possibility regarding what happened to the man who had tried to harm Caitie—and that was the reason Kieran had told Maghre’s residents not to ask questions and to leave it be.

Kieran stopped the pony cart within sight of Butler’s cottage. “We’ll wait for you here.”

“This might take a while,” Saetien said, “and you shouldn’t have to miss supper with your family.”

“We’ll all be back in time for supper.”

She didn’t waste time arguing with him. She walked up to the cottage, and reached the gate at the same time Butler opened the door and walked down the flagstone path. He didn’t invite her to come inside. Didn’t even open the gate and invite her to stand in his front yard that was bordered by deep flower beds.

He used Craft to create a ball of witchlight that illuminated the area around them. “You have the list?”

Saetien called in the two sheets of paper and thrust them over the gate.

Butler took them, read them. Finally, he said, “Half of what you’ve written down is inaccurate.”

“I know everything I need to know about her.”

The look in Butler’s eyes made her want to step away from the gate. He’d warned her about being disrespectful, but it was so hard when you resented someone so much.

“You want to know nothing about Jaenelle Angelline, so I will tell you nothing about her or anything connected to her,” he said, handing the papers back. “Wilhelmina Benedict.”

Yes!

“She was twenty-seven when she came to Kaeleer during the last service fair. She signed a contract with Lucivar Yaslana, which allowed her to stay in the Shadow Realm. Signing a contract to serve in a Queen’s court or signing a contract with someone like Yaslana, who ruled his own territory on behalf of his Queen, was the only way someone from Terreille could stay in Kaeleer. She had very fair skin, raven hair, and eyes that were a smoky blue rather than a clear blue. She was considered beautiful, although there were times when she looked emaciated. The Purple Dusk was her Birthright, and she wore Sapphire after she made the Offering to the Darkness.”

“Why did she come to Kaeleer?” Saetien asked.

Butler said nothing.

“Why did she move to Scelt?”

He said nothing.

“Maybe I should ask Uncle Lucivar about her instead of troubling you.”

Butler smiled. It wasn’t a kind or an amused smile. “After she left SaDiablo Hall, Lucivar saw her just once. He came to Scelt and informed Wilhelmina that in order to fulfill her contract with him, her sole duty was never to set foot in Dhemlan or Askavi again. If she did, he would rip her to pieces and then escort what was left of her to Hell.”

Saetien took a step back. “Why did he say that? What did she do?”

He said nothing.

“Who were her parents? Did she ever see them again after she left Chaillot?”

Silence. Finally, “You ask questions but have already declared that you don’t want the answers.”

“Of course I want the answers! That’s why I’m here!”

“You said you know everything you need to know about her. All the answers to your questions are connected to her. Therefore, you do not want the answers.”

“Isn’t there anything else you can tell me about Wilhelmina Benedict?”

He stared at something in the distance. Something only he could see. “My opinion? Everything has a price. She made choices that eventually made her hollow of heart. But they were her choices.”

He started to walk back to the cottage.

“Anything else? Anything?”

He stopped. After a moment, he turned to look at her as the witchlight faded. “Saetan never forgave her for some of those choices.”

“You had a chat with Prince Butler today,” Eileen said as she added mounds of whipped potatoes to plates that held thick slices of beef.

“I’m not sure he knows anything useful,” Saetien grumbled as she added a spoonful of peas to her plate. “He told me what she looked like and what Jewels she wore. That’s nice, but it doesn’t tell me who she was. Oh, and Uncle Lucivar threatened to kill her if she returned to Dhemlan or Askavi, and the previous High Lord never forgave her for something she’d done. But Butler didn’t know what she’d done!”

Everyone focused on filling their plates, and silence was a stern presence in the room.

“He does know?” She stared at her plate and fumed.

“Did you set any requirements or conditions that might hobble his answers?” Kieran finally asked. “Because you’re right; he does know.”

“I just want to know about Wilhelmina Benedict.”

“I’m guessing that’s Butler’s point. Jaenelle and Wilhelmina were sisters. There’s no way to know about the one without knowing about the other. No way to understand about the one without having some understanding about the other.”

They ate in silence. After the maid cleared the table and brought in coffee, tea, and the sweet, Kildare said, “What are the important things you need to know when you cross paths with one of the Blood? You need to know what Jewels the person wears, their caste, and their bloodlines—their family connections. Someone might try to take advantage of a witch who wears Tiger Eye because there’s nothing she can do to you, but if she has a cousin who is an Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince, he’s the one you’ll be meeting on a killing field for whatever pain you caused her, and make no mistake about that. So maybe that should be the place to start when you next see Butler. Jewels, caste, and bloodlines.”

She already knew about the Jewels. Didn’t she?

“I don’t see why everyone is being so difficult about telling me about a person who lived years and years ago,” Saetien complained.

Eileen slammed her teacup down so hard she cracked the cup and saucer. Tea ran onto the tablecloth, and none of the men moved as she turned on Saetien.

“Maybe nobody but you feels the need to rake up the past,” Eileen said in a voice that held a crackling fury. “Maybe nobody wants to be reminded that Wilhelmina Benedict lived in Maghre, even if it was only a short time. As for a person living years and years ago, as if that erases who and what that person was? Shall I go to the village tomorrow and tell all and sundry that you’re the great-granddaughter of Dorothea SaDiablo? She who is still hated throughout the length and breadth of Kaeleer despite her being dead and gone for centuries? How many doors would be closed to you, regardless of people’s fondness for your father? How many people would wonder if you being part of the coven of malice was a sign that her bloodline runs true in you? You want to remind people of the past? You’d best be sure you’re willing to have your own history exposed.”

Eileen pushed back from the table, knocking over her chair, and ran out of the dining room.

Silence.

Saetien sat in her chair, trembling. Soon after her arrival at the sanctuary, Surreal had paid her a visit, had handed her a sheet of paper that listed her bloodlines.

“You need to be careful, Saetien,” Surreal had said. “Because of who your father is and who your grandfather was, no one asks questions about the SaDiablo family. But the information is all there in the registers at the Keep, and anyone can find your connection to Dorothea.”

“They don’t hold that connection against you,” she’d said.

Surreal gave her a sharp smile. “I am Titian’s daughter. When I helped her skin Kartane SaDiablo alive and feed him to the hounds of Hell, I proved I was Dea al Mon. But you embraced Dorothea’s kind of evil. It will take a long time for people to forget that, especially among the long-lived races.”

Kildare cleared his throat. “Well. I guess that’s the second mark. You’ve only got one left, Saetien.” He rose from the table. “I’d best see to Eileen.”

A fierce look filled Kieran’s eyes once his father left the room. “Ask your questions when you see Butler or don’t ask him. But you won’t bring up that woman’s name in this house again. Having you here is hard enough on my mother. You will not cause her more grief.”

I didn’t ask to stay here! Saetien clenched her teeth to keep the words from spilling out.

“We should give the maids a chance to clean up the room,” Kieran said, pushing back from the table.

Ryder stood as well.

Trembling, Saetien finally rose. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll retire for the evening.”

The men gave her a small nod.

Probably relieved to be rid of her.

As she climbed the stairs to her room, she thought about calling to Shelby. She wanted someone who loved her, who didn’t think she was an awful person for wanting to know about someone a Black Widow said she needed to find in order to understand the truth about herself. But the puppy was probably playing with the adult Scelties or out for walkies. Since she didn’t want to run into anyone, it was better that he go out with the other dogs.

What would the people here do if they did know she was Dorothea SaDiablo’s great-granddaughter? Would they shun her? Hate her? Try to hurt her? Her father wouldn’t have left her here if he thought for a moment she would come to any harm.

But as she sat by the window, looking out at the night sky, she wondered if Wilhelmina Benedict’s descendants had felt the same concerns.

And she wondered what Wilhelmina had done that made people want to forget her so much.