The Queen's Price

THIRTY-SIX

The next morning, Saetien did her best to be respectful, letting Eileen know that she was walking down to the stables and maybe going out for a ride. The woman’s chilly response made it clear that trespasses weren’t quickly forgiven.

Her reception at the stables was cautious, but warmed as she helped feed and groom horses. Kildare and Ryder warmed even more when the kindred foals—except for Stormchaser—acted like she was one of them and expected her to go out to the paddock and play with them. Which she did.

She lost every race.

Laughing, she returned to the stables breathless and sweaty, only to discover the Scelties had decided it was her turn to brush them. By the time she had brushed them to their satisfaction, she was covered with fur that had stuck to her sweaty skin.

“Here.” Ryder set a large bucket of water next to her. “You should wash up a bit before going to the house for the midday meal.”

Saetien looked down at herself. “Just dump the water over me.”

A moment’s pause before Ryder grabbed the bucket and dumped the water over her head.

She gasped. She would have shrieked but . . . “Hell’s fire! That’s cold.”

“Didn’t hear you say anything about warming it up.”

She glared at Ryder. He grinned and took the bucket into the stables. When he came back out, he said, “You might want to put a warming spell on those clothes to help them dry out a bit before you try to go inside. We’ll use the back door. There’s a small room near the laundry where you can strip down.”

She wasn’t sure if Ryder had told Eileen they were going to use the back door or if the woman just had an instinct about such things, but the lady of the house was waiting for them when they arrived.

Eileen looked her over from head to toe—and sighed. “At least it’s not mud. Come in, then. Anya! Fetch a robe for Lady Saetien.”

Ryder smiled at his mother and eased out of the room, as if he’d had nothing to do with Saetien’s bedraggled appearance.

“Best if you take a hot shower so you won’t catch a chill,” Eileen said. She started to turn away, then stopped and added, “Next time, be fast enough to put a warming spell around yourself or on the water.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Anya returned with the robe and held it up as a shield while Saetien stripped out of the wet clothes.

“I’ll do what I can with the shoes,” Anya said. “You’ve others you can wear for the rest of today, but you’ll be wanting these for the stables tomorrow.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Saetien hurried to her room and took a quick hot shower. She used Craft to dry her hair well enough to avoid any comment about catching a chill and was downstairs before Eileen started to dish out the midday meal.

“I’m going up to the village,” Eileen said after they’d eaten and the men had left the table to resume their work. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Shall I go to the village tomorrow and tell all and sundry that you’re the great-granddaughter of Dorothea SaDiablo?”

Eileen’s words rang in Saetien’s head.

“I spoke in anger last night, and I’m sorry for that,” Eileen said. “No one in the village will learn about your great-grandmother from me.”

“I know,” Saetien replied. Looking into this woman’s eyes, she did know. “I just have a lot of things to think about before I see Butler tonight. Next time?”

“Next time,” Eileen agreed.

Saetien went up to her room and sat near the window, letting her thoughts drift as she watched the world beyond the glass. Shelby joined her, curling up for a nap.

Jewels. Caste. Bloodlines. The Blood’s place in their society was also measured by social standing, but that wasn’t as important as Jewels and caste.

“Half of what you’ve written down is inaccurate.”

She thought and thought and thought, but in the end, she didn’t see any other way to find out what she wanted to know.

In order to ask about Wilhelmina Benedict, she would have to ask about Jaenelle Angelline.

Butler woke before sundown, feeling battered by troubling dreams of trying to build a sturdy wall to protect a dear friend. But no matter how fast he put up that wall or how thick he made it, parts of it crumbled, leaving her exposed. Leaving her vulnerable.

Butler, it’s time.

Jaenelle Angelline had been a lovely woman, generous and compassionate, brilliant in Craft and interested in other people. A talented Healer and a beloved Queen.

She had also been terrifying, but most people didn’t fully appreciate that, didn’t know the choices she’d made—or what those choices had cost her. What those choices still cost her.

Butler, it’s time.

Was it really time to tell some hard truths just because some child wanted answers about another woman? Did the Queen really owe this girl anything? Did he?

The people who matter already know who I am—and what I am. What I always was. I’m beyond caring what anyone thinks of me.

“No, you’re not,” Butler muttered as he pushed aside the covers and got out of bed. “Even when you walked among the living, you tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter what people thought of you, but it mattered. When your sister delivered that heart wound, it mattered.”

He warmed a glass of yarbarah and drank it before taking a shower and getting ready for this meeting.

He would reveal some hard truths because his Queen commanded. But only the truths he had to tell in order to answer the questions the girl would ask.

“You don’t have to stay,” Saetien told Kieran as she stepped down from the pony cart.

“I’ll stay,” he said.

This pony cart had a foldable roof and sides that could be put up to protect passengers from the wind and the wet. With warming spells, it could be quite cozy. Or maybe romantic, since it would afford some privacy if a couple wanted to share a kiss or two without everyone in the village knowing about it before lips left lips.

It was also convenient for a man who wanted to do some paperwork while he waited for a girl to ask questions—and hopefully get some answers from a surly Prince.

The wind had a sharp edge this evening, a reminder that winter hadn’t completely surrendered to spring. It took Saetien three tries to add a warming spell to the hooded cape she wore. By the time she succeeded, she’d started to wonder if Butler was going to come out or if she was supposed to go up and knock on the cottage door. She had her hand on the gate’s latch when the cottage door opened and he walked out.

There you are.

Her heart thumped in her chest. It wasn’t romantic. Not at all. But something about Butler made her want to yield, made her want to be someone he would be proud to know—and that feeling scared her and kicked in the need to fight.

He wasn’t pleased to see her, but he walked to the gate and stood there, waiting.

Saetien took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Jewels. Caste. Bloodlines. That’s what I would like to talk about. Wilhelmina Benedict and . . . Jaenelle Angelline . . . were sisters. That means they had the same parents.”

“The same father,” Butler said. “And it wasn’t Robert Benedict, the man who was registered as their father in the records kept on Chaillot.”

“Then who was their father?”

“Philip Alexander, who was Robert Benedict’s half brother.

“Benedict was married twice. His first wife was a journeymaid Black Widow named Adria. I don’t know why she married him before she’d safely had her Virgin Night, but she did—and he broke her. A broken witch can only conceive once, and Adria, who still had enough power to wield some of the Hourglass’s Craft, was determined not to give Robert a child of his loins. During the first cycle of fertile days after her wedding, she wove a dream web around Philip Alexander, making him believe he was pleasuring someone else—someone he desired. Because of the dreamlike feel of his coupling with Adria, it’s fairly certain that Philip never knew he had sired Wilhelmina. At least, not while she was growing up.

“A few months after Wilhelmina was born, Adria died under mysterious circumstances and Robert Benedict settled in Beldon Mor—and focused his amorous attention on Leland, who was Alexandra Angelline’s daughter. Hard to say if Robert’s interest in Leland was due to her being the daughter of Chaillot’s Territory Queen or due to Philip, who served as one of Alexandra’s escorts, being in love with Leland. Either way, among Robert’s close circle of male friends was a Hayllian named Kartane SaDiablo, who was in Beldon Mor to encourage select aristo males to form an exclusive club where certain sexual tastes could be indulged.”

Saetien sucked in a breath. “Wait. Wilhelmina’s father knew Kartane SaDiablo?”

“He knew him,” Butler agreed. “Since Dorothea SaDiablo, the High Priestess of Hayll, was toppling the courts in other Territories and destroying any Queens and Warlord Princes who tried to stand against her, when Robert expressed interest in marrying Leland—and reminded Alexandra of who would look favorably on such a union—the Queen of Chaillot convinced her daughter to marry Robert, even though Leland and Philip were already lovers and were in love. But Dorothea was an encroaching threat, and Alexandra didn’t hesitate to do what she could to keep Hayll’s influence out of Chaillot.”

“But it was already there, in that exclusive . . .” Saetien stared at Butler, horrified. “Briarwood. You’re talking about Briarwood.”

“The pretty poison.” Butler’s voice sounded rough, as if centuries hadn’t purged all the rage he felt about that place.

“But Jaenelle Angelline . . . Robert had to know . . .”

“He knew. Jaenelle was a troublesome child who told the truth about the things she could see—including the things no one else could see. But that’s getting ahead of the story. Leland married Robert and had one child, a daughter Robert claimed as his own. During the Birthright Ceremony for each girl, he was granted paternity.”

“Did Philip know he was Jaenelle Angelline’s father?”

“Possibly. But Robert quickly entrenched himself in Alexandra’s home and controlled Leland. The only way Philip could stay and serve in Alexandra’s court—and stay near Leland and the two girls—was not to challenge Robert.”

Saetien swallowed hard. “Was Wilhelmina sent to Briarwood?”

“No. Wilhelmina was shy and easily overlooked, despite being beautiful even as a child. Maybe Robert realized that having one child constantly being put in and taken out of Briarwood wouldn’t cause too much talk—she was, after all, a difficult child. But both of his daughters? No, there would be too much talk if both girls were deemed unstable. And Alexandra might stop looking the other way if the girl who caused no problems was sent to a place that specialized in treating emotionally disturbed girls.” Butler paused a moment before adding, “I think Jaenelle did something to make sure Wilhelmina was overlooked by Robert Benedict’s friends—or she was until that last awful night that changed so many things and left so many scars.”

Her head ached and she felt a little sick. This wasn’t what she’d expected. Not at all what she’d expected.

“Let’s talk about Jewels,” she said. That should be safe enough.

It felt like time slowed until she would have been able to see each grain of sand fall in an hourglass if one had been present. Then Butler opened the gate in the picket fence and said, “Come in and wait.”

He went into the cottage. Saetien stepped past the gate. Just one step, but it felt like she’d crossed some threshold that would change everything.

Butler returned a minute later carrying a cloth bag. A table appeared in front of Saetien, a ball of witchlight hanging above it. He called in a purple gemstone and placed it on the table. Might be a piece of amethyst. Then again, it might be colored glass.

“Wilhelmina’s Birthright Jewel was Purple Dusk,” Butler said.

“You mentioned that before,” she replied when it seemed like he was waiting for her to acknowledge . . . something.

He opened the cloth bag and poured out pieces of colored glass, then arranged the pieces in the order of the Jewels: White, Yellow, Tiger Eye, Rose, Summer-sky, Purple Dusk, Opal, Green, Sapphire, Red, Gray, Ebon-gray—and thirteen Black.

“Jaenelle’s Birthright.”

Saetien looked at the colored glass. “Which one?” Had to be Red, if Jaenelle Angelline had worn the Black.

“All of them,” Butler said quietly.

She stared at him. “All of . . . ? How?”

“When Jaenelle was seven years old, Lorn, the last Prince of the Dragons, gifted her with a full set of Jewels, from White to Ebon-gray, and thirteen Black Jewels to hold her reservoir of power. Seven years old and she already eclipsed the High Lord of Hell’s power, already stood deeper in the abyss than he could hope to reach. So powerful. So very powerful, and able to do things no one had ever done before or will ever do again. But she was still a child, still dependent on the adults around her, still vulnerable to the demands of the adults who controlled her. A truth that pertains to all children.”

Had Jaenelle Angelline realized she was so different from the rest of the Blood? Or had she simply accepted the way things were because that was the way things were and kept tripping every time she did something no one else could do, only to have people tell her she was fibbing, that she couldn’t possibly do that?

Butler pushed the piece of dark blue glass out of the line until it was between Jaenelle’s Jewels and Wilhelmina’s.

“On that last night when everything changed, there was a children’s party. The purpose of the party was for men like Robert and Kartane to select a couple of girls who would be drugged and raped. Broken of their power. Then the girls would be declared emotionally hysterical and taken to Briarwood to cure them. Wilhelmina was chosen but Jaenelle intervened, holding off the men who were going to take Wilhelmina to a room upstairs to recover from drinking too much sparkling wine. Wilhelmina was fourteen. Jaenelle was twelve.”

Her eyes stung, but she wasn’t going to cry. Not here. Not yet. “They put something in the wine?”

“Yes. Daemon was there that night, a pleasure slave serving in Alexandra’s court. He had planned to get Jaenelle out of Chaillot, but Alexandra took Jaenelle away and left him to get Wilhelmina back to the Angelline estate. By the time he realized she’d done that in order to take Jaenelle to Briarwood and have Hayllian guards in place to capture and control him . . . Alexandra used the Ring of Obedience, poured agony into him to cripple him so that he couldn’t fight the guards. But he did fight—and he did escape, did manage to break the Ring of Obedience by unleashing the full power of his Black Jewel. That power also ripped through the Blood in Beldon Mor, shattering a lot of Jewels, killing some people. When it was over, Wilhelmina was wearing a Sapphire Jewel.” Butler tapped the piece of glass. “This Jewel. Jaenelle’s Sapphire. Wilhelmina couldn’t use it—she wasn’t powerful enough to use it—but there were shields in that Jewel that kept her protected from men like Robert. When she made the Offering to the Darkness and acquired her own Sapphire Jewel, Jaenelle’s Sapphire disappeared.”

Butler called in another piece of dark blue glass and set it next to Wilhelmina’s Purple Dusk. Then he moved the other Sapphire back in line with the rest of Jaenelle’s Jewels. He hesitated a moment before moving six of the black pieces just enough to separate them from the rest. “When Jaenelle made the Offering to the Darkness—something she had to do before setting up her official court—six of the Black Jewels were transformed into a Jewel called Ebony. Darker than the Black, and a much deeper reservoir of power. Power beyond imagining—until the war between Kaeleer and Terreille.”

He gathered up all the pieces of glass and put them back in the bag. “That’s enough for today.”

“But . . . What about my father? Did he escape with her?”

Butler hesitated. “No. He and Saetan managed to keep Jaenelle connected to her body—and he got her promise that she wouldn’t sever the connection between her body and her Self. But after that ordeal, he was too exhausted, too damaged, to do anything more. It was Cassandra, the previous Queen of Ebon Askavi, who took Jaenelle to the Keep. And it was Surreal who helped Daemon elude the guards who were hunting for him and found a place for him to hide until he recovered.” He shuddered. “Enough.”

The table vanished. Butler walked into the cottage and closed the door.

Still so much she wanted to know, but she felt battered and already had so much to think about.

As she walked away from the cottage, the witchlight that had hung above the table faded, and another witchlight appeared above the pony cart.

Kieran studied her face. “You got some answers?”

“Some.”

“Not what you expected?”

“No. But it’s given me a lot to think about.”

Kieran didn’t try to fill the silence, and she was grateful. She did have a lot to think about. Like, her father wore a Black Jewel. Yes, it had been made into a pendant and a ring, and there were probably smaller chips of the Jewel that he used for other things, but it was still one Jewel.

Jaenelle Angelline had been powerful enough to need thirteen Black Jewels for her reservoir of power. When she was seven years old.

How old had she been when she had started protecting her sister from men like Robert Benedict and Kartane SaDiablo?

If Jaenelle had loved Wilhelmina that much, what had gone wrong between them?