The Queen's Price

FORTY-FOUR

Wilhelmina knocked on Alexandra’s bedroom door and waited. Everyone from Chaillot had been confined to the guest rooms they’d been assigned and the common rooms that were connected to those guest rooms. No one had tried to reach her on a psychic thread or had asked about her. Not even Philip. Someone from the Hall would have told her if Philip had asked about her. They would have delivered a note, at the very least.

That was why she was here, standing outside Alexandra’s door, with one of the footmen serving as her escort. She needed to explain that she hadn’t meant to cause trouble; she just didn’t want to go with Osvald. She was afraid. She’d always been afraid of doing the wrong thing or being criticized for something she’d said. Look what had happened to Jaenelle when she’d said things the adults didn’t like.

There were moments here at the Hall when she didn’t feel afraid, when she caught a glimpse of who she might be if the people around her hadn’t smothered that girl who had her own thoughts and desires.

She was about to knock again when the door opened. Alexandra stared at her, then walked back to the bed and the trunks of clothes, leaving the door open.

Wilhelmina went in, puzzled that her grandmother hadn’t used Craft to open the door. She was more puzzled that the other woman’s psychic scent was . . . not different, exactly, but not the same.

Maybe her head was still muzzy. She’d been told that because so many compulsion spells had been used to try to control her, she might react erratically for a little while, until the spells faded completely. Because she might still be susceptible to suggestions or commands, the Healers and the Black Widows in residence had told her not to make any decisions or promises without consulting someone who would be impartial and would tell her if she was about to compromise herself.

“What are you doing?” Clearly, Alexandra was packing, but why? A Queen didn’t pack her own trunks.

“We’re leaving,” Alexandra replied, her voice full of sharp bitterness. “Going back to Chaillot. You’ve sided with that creature who masqueraded as your sister for all these years, and there’s nothing I can do now to save you from your own folly.”

“I had to leave Chaillot,” Wilhelmina said. She’d been so brave coming to Kaeleer. Hadn’t she been brave, despite being terrified? But facing Alexandra, she felt that brave girl crumble beneath the weight of her grandmother’s disapproval.

“You had to leave,” Alexandra repeated, making it sound like she’d done something filthy. “First you ran away from home, leaving us to wonder what had happened to you. Then you ran here, placing yourself under the control of the High Lord of Hell. Don’t you understand what he is, what he does?”

“I . . .” How could she say she felt safe here, protected here, when Alexandra thought the people who lived here were so terrible and dangerous? “Jaenelle trusts him.”

Alexandra laughed. Hearing it was like listening to glass break. “Jaenelle? Have you ever really seen your so-called sister? She’s a monster, Wilhelmina. She’s not even human. It’s no wonder she was so strange, so different.” Alexandra straightened and faced Wilhelmina. “Haven’t you noticed anything different about me?”

She looked and almost said no, she didn’t see anything different. Then it struck her. “You’re not wearing your Jewels.”

“The Queen of Ebon Askavi, that thing that pretended to be a child living in my house, broke me back to basic Craft because an animal was killed when you created so much fuss and drama instead of letting Osvald escort you away from the Hall. She took me to a place full of mist and stone and crushed my power as if I were nothing.”

“I—”

“You just couldn’t cooperate, could you? Osvald ended up killing an animal to avoid being attacked, and the Queen carries on as if I’d ordered him to slaughter a human boy.”

“Dejaal was trying to protect me.”

“He was trying to prevent your rescue.”

No. That wasn’t . . . Was it?

“We’re leaving this vile place. If you have any sense, you’ll come with us.” Alexandra closed her trunks. “But if you don’t come with us now, don’t come back. You’ve cost me enough, Wilhelmina. More than you’re worth.”

“I’m not supposed to decide important things right now,” she said.

“You’ll believe what they tell you but not what I tell you?”

“You’ve never believed anything I said!”

An awful silence filled the room.

“Believe what you like,” Alexandra finally said. “But before you commit yourself to what rules this Realm, demand that Jaenelle show you her true Self. See the truth of what she is. Then you’ll understand why she could do this to me—and why she might break you, too, someday.”

Wilhelmina hurried back to her room, her escort hustling to keep up with her. Alexandra’s words were sharp hooks sinking deep into her mind and heart.

Have you ever really seen your so-called sister? A monster. Not even human.

It couldn’t be true. Could it?

Why would Alexandra lie?

The High Lord of Hell didn’t waste any time helping Alexandra return to Chaillot, along with all the people who had come with her. Philip and Leland had gone with the rest of them, without saying anything to her.

There hadn’t been time to make a decision, to figure out what she really wanted for herself. She’d come to Kaeleer to find answers—or something. Instead, she’d found Jaenelle living among dangerous, frightening people. And Blood who weren’t people at all. She’d found the sister she’d thought had been lost forever.

But the sharp hooks of Alexandra’s words kept sinking in deeper and deeper.

Have you ever really seen your so-called sister? A monster. Not even human.

Alexandra was mistaken. Wilhelmina had to believe that. Otherwise, she’d just traded the rest of her family for someone she hadn’t seen in thirteen years—and had never understood.

Not even human.

What did that mean?

Wilhelmina followed one of the footmen to the Craft library, where Jaenelle was working on . . . something . . . and was alone. She didn’t need to be told that finding Jaenelle alone was a rare occurrence, which meant her sister had anticipated that this discussion might be difficult.

“What are you doing?” Wilhelmina asked as she looked at the open books that covered a large table. Some were printed in the common tongue. Others . . . She couldn’t begin to guess the language in most of the books.

“I’m looking for an alternative to war,” Jaenelle replied. She closed one book, set it aside, then stepped back from the table. “How are you feeling?”

“How should I be feeling?” Wilhelmina snapped.

Those sapphire eyes stared at her. Stared into her. Stared through her.

“All right,” Jaenelle said. “How is your body feeling?”

“You’re supposed to be a Healer. Can’t you tell?” Where was this anger coming from? Why was she looking for a fight?

Something odd came and went in Jaenelle’s eyes. The air in the room cooled until it was almost chilly.

“All right,” Jaenelle said. “Let’s take a look at you.”

She started to move around the table. Wilhelmina stumbled back.

Jaenelle stopped. “Be careful, Wilhelmina. Right now, you’re still talking to your sister. Don’t draw a line that requires me to continue this as a Queen.”

Was that a threat?

“Is that what you did with Alexandra? You forgot that she was your grandmother, that she was family, in order to make pronouncements as a Queen?”

“The bloodlines say she is a relative, but she is not family. Not to me.”

Wilhelmina heard the warning, but she couldn’t stop. “You broke her. You stripped her of her power. How is she supposed to rule Chaillot?”

“She probably won’t be able to. Then again, I didn’t have the impression that she had the support of Chaillot’s people anymore, especially the other strong witches and Queens.”

“You broke her!”

“Are you forgetting that she had either given the orders or given tacit consent for you to be abducted?” Jaenelle snapped. “Are you forgetting that a young Warlord Prince was killed trying to protect you? Osvald killed Dejaal, but Alexandra is responsible for allowing it to happen. I could have ordered her execution, but that wouldn’t have paid the debt. Not all of it. The loss of her Jewels, the loss of her power? That was a debt she owed not just for Dejaal but for all the girls in Briarwood.”

“But those girls are dead, and Dejaal was just—”

“Just what?” Jaenelle’s eyes filled with a cold fury. “Just an animal? Just expendable? Not worthy of holding a human responsible for his death? If he’d been a human boy who had been killed trying to protect you, would you be saying this? Thinking this? Maybe you would. Terreilleans are very selfish and single-minded when it comes to having what they want, regardless of what it costs the people already living in the lands they covet. Well, I rule Kaeleer, which means a tiger is as important to me as a human boy, and as the Queen, it is my duty to protect everyone in my Territory, especially those who serve in my court. Queen’s price, sister. I don’t get to pick and choose who is worthy of my protection based on if he has two legs or four. Everyone who serves in my court is under my hand—and my protection.”

And that makes Alexandra expendable?

Words churned and swirled. Dug deep until there was only one way to pull free of them. “I want to see your true Self.”

The person looking at her was no longer her sister. Oh, Jaenelle looked the same, but colder. Less . . . civilized.

“No, you don’t,” Jaenelle said too quietly.

“I need to know who you are.”

“Why?”

How to explain to someone else what she couldn’t explain to herself? “I need to know.”

Silence. Then Jaenelle said in a midnight voice, “Very well. The truth.”

One moment they were standing in a library at the Hall. The next moment there was nothing but pitch dark and biting cold. And then . . .

Mist. A stone altar. The sound of a hoof striking stone.

What walked out of the mist . . .

Wilhelmina stared at the creature that was part human and part . . . many things. What horrified her the most were the sapphire eyes. No mistaking those eyes.

“The living myth,” Witch said quietly. “Dreams made flesh. But not all the dreamers were human. This is who I am, Wilhelmina. This is who I’ve always been.”

Wilhelmina shook her head. “No.”

“This is the sister who protected you when we were young. Who gave you a Sapphire Jewel to protect you when it was no longer possible for me to be there.”

“No.”

Come to Kaeleer, the creature had said. So she had. But to come here and find this?

“You’re not my sister,” Wilhelmina cried. “You’re not human.”

“Not all of me, no,” Witch replied.

“Now I understand how you could break Alexandra as if she were nothing.” She felt reckless—and something pushed her to spew the words. “I wish I’d never seen you again, never seen . . . this thing that you are. Our lives would have been so much better if you’d just died in Briarwood!”

What she said horrified her—and filled her with a strange exultation when she saw how those words, words that had come from someplace inside her that she didn’t know existed, sank in and cut deep. She’d been able to call in a debt owed to Alexandra and her family by inflicting a mortal wound on this inhuman creature.

She and Witch stood there, in that place of mist and stone. Then . . .

Pitch dark. Biting cold. And Wilhelmina stood in a library in SaDiablo Hall.

Alone.

Saetan walked into Jaenelle’s sitting room and felt the Ebony shields and locks snap back into place, keeping out everyone who served in the Dark Court. The only thing keeping Daemon from exhausting himself against shields he couldn’t hope to break was Ladvarian’s ruthless herding. The Lady needed alone time, so they would give her alone time—and they included her mate.

Of course, the reason Daemon—and the rest of them—were yielding was because they all knew if the alone time went on too long, the Sceltie would find a way of getting through those shields, or raising such a commotion that Jaenelle would have to come out and deal with it.

One of the things she would have to deal with was that every male who wore a Ring of Honor could feel her intense emotional turmoil and was now one step away from the killing edge—without an enemy on which to focus that rage.

Then came the Queen’s summons to her Steward. It bought him a little more time to keep the more volatile males—meaning his sons—under control, providing he could give them some kind of answer once he talked to the Queen.

As he walked up to her, Jaenelle continued to stare out the sitting room windows, keeping her back to him.

“Lady,” he said quietly.

“High Lord.”

Two words, but enough for him to recognize the huskiness that came into a woman’s voice after hard crying that had gone on for too long.

He tightened the leash on his temper and swallowed rage. He didn’t need rage—yet. “How may I be of service?”

“I need you to do something for me without arguing about it.”

He moved until he stood beside her and could see her face. The well of pain and grief that had brought so many tears to the surface was old—and deep. And new.

“I can’t promise that until I know what upset you.”

“You don’t need to know.”

“Maybe your Steward doesn’t need to know, but your father does. And I don’t think you want anyone outside this room to start thinking about why you’ve been crying.”

She looked at him, alarmed. “There is no need to issue threats, Saetan.”

“That’s not a threat, witch-child. That’s a statement.” He softened his voice. “You and Wilhelmina had words?”

A huff of laughter, bitter and cutting. “You could say that.” Jaenelle’s eyes filled with tears.

“Tell me.” A father’s command, not a Steward’s request. When she hesitated, he added, “I give you my word that I will not act out of anger.” Which wasn’t the same as promising not to act at all, and they both knew that.

She brushed lightly against his inner barriers, a request for direct contact, mind to mind.

It would have been easier to hear the words than to receive the memory, but he opened his inner barriers and viewed this exchange between sisters.

Oh, witch-child, he thought when she withdrew. Given the steep price Jaenelle—and Daemon—had paid for that last attempt to keep Wilhelmina safe from the men who used Briarwood, the words might be forgiven, eventually, but would never be forgotten.

He, being who and what he was, would never forgive or forget.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“One of the other Territories might suit Wilhelmina better than staying here,” Jaenelle replied. “To be honest, it would suit me better as well. But not right now. She’ll be safer at the Hall right now.” She called in a slip of paper and handed it to him. “I’d like you to take money from my accounts and set up an account for Wilhelmina.”

Saetan looked at the amount and swallowed a snarl. Not that Jaenelle couldn’t afford it, but the amount would provide a generous lifetime income for someone from the short-lived races—provided that person spent wisely. That kind of generosity after that bitch said . . .

One way or another, she would try to take care of Wilhelmina while the woman was in Kaeleer, so she and Saetan would do this his way. “Does Lady Benedict have any experience with finances?”

She knew what his choice of formality meant, the cold temper running beneath polite words, but all she said was, “Probably less than I have, although I gathered she’d been fending for herself for a while before coming to Kaeleer.”

No, she had a young man looking after her, and having worked on the Angelline estate, he would have had a keen appreciation of the cost of food and the need to have a safe place to sleep.

“Then I propose providing Lady Benedict with a quarterly income sufficient to run a modest aristo household.” And if he found her being parsimonious with her servants’ wages in order to buy things for herself, he would pay the servants directly and take the wages out of her quarterly income before she received it.

Nothing he needed to trouble Jaenelle about.

“All right,” Jaenelle said. “Will that be enough?”

“Since I’ll be investing what isn’t immediately needed, I think your gift will be more than sufficient,” he said dryly.

“Thank you, Papa.”

“You’re welcome, witch-child.” He ran a thumb over one of her cheeks to wipe away the last tears. “I suggest you wash your face and drop these shields very soon.”

Jaenelle looked toward the door. Then she sighed. “They’re going to want to fuss.”

“Oh, yes, witch-child, they are all going to want to fuss. And if you don’t want any of the boyos thinking too long or too hard about why you were upset, you will let them fuss until they settle down. And that includes Lucivar and Daemon. Especially Daemon.”

“Maybe . . .”

“No.”

“But . . .”

“No.”

“I am the Queen.”

“And everything has a price.”

She sighed again. “Yes. It does.”

Saetan walked out of the room and faced a corridor filled with males, human and kindred. He didn’t see the cats, but you rarely saw the cats before they attacked. Still, a quick psychic probe confirmed Jaal’s and Kaelas’s presence.

“She’ll be all right,” he said.

“What happened?” Lucivar growled.

“Easy enough to guess,” Daemon said too softly.

“Perhaps,” Saetan said, looking at each male in turn. “But we are all going to pretend that nothing has changed. We are not going to challenge or strike out at anyone still residing at the Hall.”

“And when someone is no longer residing at the Hall?” Chaosti asked.

“You will let me handle this.” Saetan made sure they heard the warning beneath the words. “Jaenelle has made her choice. I will see that it is carried out. Is that understood?”

None of them liked it, but he waited until he received agreement from each of them. Including Lucivar and Daemon. Especially Daemon.

Ladvarian’s tail began to wag. A moment later, the Ebony shields and locks disappeared. The Sceltie passed through the door before any man could take the first step.

*Jaenelle!*

They heard the psychic shout even through the closed door.

“The rest of you can fuss later,” Saetan said. He looked at Daemon. “If I were you, I’d wait a few minutes before going in.”

“I’m the soother rather than the scolder?” Daemon asked.

“Exactly.”

The rest of the males dispersed. Saetan walked into his suite of rooms and wasn’t surprised when Lucivar followed him and closed the door.

“That’s it?” Lucivar said. “You’re just going to let this go?”

“You don’t know—”

“I can guess, High Lord. Wilhelmina Benedict signed a contract with me, so—”

“You will do nothing.” Saetan looked at this strong, volatile son. “Right now, we have other concerns, and in a place the size of the Hall, it’s easy enough to keep people from being in each other’s company. When the time is right, you and I will decide where and how Lady Benedict completes her contract with you.”

“So I ignore the pain she’s just caused my sister, my Queen?”

“You forget, Prince, that sooner or later, Wilhelmina Benedict will come to me, and as the High Lord of Hell, I will make sure that whatever debt she owes us is paid in full.”

Lucivar stared at him. Then the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih nodded. “I’ll accept that, but if Wilhelmina ever hurts Jaenelle again, you should know that the Sadist will call in the debt before you do.”