The Queen's Price

FIFTY-NINE

Feelings clashed and burned through Saetien, scorching her heart, sizzling under her skin, igniting her thoughts until she had to do something before the fire took her and turned her into cold ash.

She tried helping out at the puppy school, but all the Scelties sensed there was something wrong with her, and with her around, the pups paid no attention to their lessons or the instructors. They were too busy trying to climb into her lap and offer comfort with licks and warm little bodies.

She tried helping Ryder with the foals, but they, too, knew something was wrong with her and crowded around her until Ryder created a shield and gently pushed them back before one—or more—of them ended up standing on her feet.

Nothing wrong with her leg. Nothing at all. Eileen had been so furious with Butler when he’d brought Saetien back last night that she’d sent Kildare to fetch the Healer to examine Saetien and tell a functioning, feeling adult what was wrong with the girl. The Healer confirmed there was no physical damage. A spell had created the feeling of the leg exploding, and what Saetien was experiencing now was the memory of that pain. It would fade.

But it was still there as Saetien strode to Butler’s cottage. Faint, yes. Not really pain anymore, true. But it was there, and she had to do something with all these feelings.

She’d tried to leave Shelby behind, but that hadn’t worked. The puppy had done his best to keep up with her at first, but by the time she realized he would struggle to follow her until he hurt himself, she couldn’t send him back—and the adult Sceltie Warlord who followed both of them wasn’t going to help her. Not with that. So, with the sun well into morning, there she was, carrying Shelby and striding toward the cottage of a man who hadn’t seen daylight in centuries.

When she reached the cottage, she opened the gate and closed it with a crash. No movement in the cottage. No flutter of curtains to indicate someone looking out to see what the noise had been. Did Butler sleep during the day, or did he just have to avoid daylight? She knew so little about the demon-dead. Had never been interested. Why hadn’t she been interested?

What to do? What to do?

Saetien looked at the flower beds that bordered the fence.

Okay, the cottage was probably locked and shielded, which made sense since Butler wouldn’t leave himself vulnerable to attack. He might even have used an aggressive shield that would hurt anyone who tried to break through it. But the cottage wasn’t the only building on the property.

“Come on, Shelby. Let’s see what the man has in the shed.”

The man had tools in the shed—rusty, neglected tools. Plenty of them—spade, shovel, spading fork, rakes, a variety of hoes—but each of them was in such bad condition that she suspected the business end would come away from the handle the first time she tried to use it. And the wheelbarrow had holes so big you couldn’t carry anything in it!

It took her a couple of tries to create a Purple Dusk shield that lined the wheelbarrow and stayed in place. She found hand tools, just as rusty as the others but not as dangerous if they fell apart.

She hoped.

She put the tools in the wheelbarrow, then returned to the flower bed near the gate. It had rained last night. She’d heard the quiet patter as she lay in bed, waiting for the Healer’s brew to relax her enough to sleep while nerves ping, ping, pinged with the memory of her leg exploding into pieces.

The ground was just right for weeding.

The Sceltie Warlord sat nearby, watching while Shelby did a sniff and piddle. Watching while Saetien picked up a tool and focused her scorching emotions on destroying the damn weeds.

She dug and pulled, pulled and dug, tossing weeds into the barrow. While she worked, thoughts rose and crashed.

Jaenelle Angelline had endured that pain for weeks. For weeks. Why? Because she loved Daemon Sadi so much, and she needed to endure it in order to return to him and stop his suffering and grief. Could she have told him and the kindred who had fought to keep her alive that she’d had enough, that she didn’t want to remain among the living after everyone realized how many of the Blood she had killed? Daemon had been one of the dreamers responsible for creating Witch in the first place, and Butler had said that, being who and what she was, she had always answered those who had needed her.

It hadn’t occurred to Saetien that the reason Daemon loved Jaenelle with such a fierce, single-minded intensity was that she was everything he needed, everything he’d wanted in a Queen and partner. He had been one of the dreamers. How could Jaenelle not have been perfect for him? And she loved him because . . . she was supposed to love him?

Saetien pulled out weeds, dug out weeds. Pulled and dug, dug and pulled.

Jaenelle Angelline had endured that pain for weeks, caught and trapped by a web of love. Had she returned a few months ago as a presence felt throughout the Realm because she wanted to return, or was she still trapped by the same web?

*Saeti?* Shelby approached when Saetien finally sat back on her heels and used her sleeve to dab the sweat from her face. *We are thirsty.*

“Me too.” She’d noticed a small stable and pasture. Butler—or someone else—must have kept horses once upon a time. Maybe there was water there? Was there anything to put it in? She wasn’t going to let the Scelties drink out of some rusty pan or filthy bit of crockery, and she sure wasn’t going to drink out of anything like that either.

Hearing wheels and hooves, Saetien stood up and stretched her back and shoulders as Eileen drove up to the gate. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other and wondered if the leg with the phantom pain would hold her if she took a step.

“You’ve done a fair bit, haven’t you?” Eileen said after she studied the stretch of weeded flower bed and the mound of weeds filling the wheelbarrow. “And done it well, from the look of things. But that much effort needs breathing space. You didn’t come back for the midday meal, so I’ve brought you all something to eat and drink.”

*Water?* The Scelties wagged their tails.

“Yes, water and food for all of you.” Eileen walked into the yard, placed a heavy-bottomed bowl to one side of the flagstone walkway, and filled it with water. Then she called in a glass, filled that with water, and handed it to Saetien.

“Thanks.” Saetien rubbed her hands on her trousers before taking the glass and drinking the water before taking another breath. Hell’s fire, she hadn’t realized she was that thirsty.

Eileen looked at the tools and tsked. “You can’t be working with those. They’re a disgrace.”

“They’re the best the man owns.” Saetien frowned. How did Butler pay for things? Did he pay for things? His clothes weren’t old or threadbare, so he must have to purchase some things. “Maybe he can’t afford better tools?”

“Well now, he may not be extravagant in his spending, but the man makes a decent living. Always has. This is just him being . . . lazy . . . about parting with a few coins.”

Eileen called in a basin, a bar of soap, and a towel. She filled the basin with water and used Craft to warm it. “Wash your hands so you don’t end up with dirt in your food. And use your brains, girl, and put on some gloves before you get blisters.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Saetien washed her hands, then dug into the food Eileen had brought. The woman called in two more bowls and gave the Scelties their meal.

Eileen called in a basket and set it down near the flower bed. “You can borrow my gardening tools. The gloves in there should fit you too. Just bring them back with you when you come home.”

Saetien looked into the basket and smiled. Proper, well-kept tools. “Thank you.”

Eileen packed up the empty food containers, but left the second jug of water, the Scelties’ water bowl, and the glass. “Are you seeing Butler this evening?”

“I don’t know. I guess so.” Did she want to see him? She was still angry and too full of feelings, but not as much as when she’d started weeding.

“You won’t clear all this out in a day. And you don’t want to collapse from the sun and the heat, so come back early enough to take a bath and rest a bit. You’ll want your wits about you when you see him.”

Saetien watched Eileen and the horse drive off. Then she went back to digging out and pulling out what didn’t belong.

And she thought that maybe, just maybe, she was clearing out more than a flower bed.

Butler walked out of the cottage at sundown and wondered if Saetien would come that evening. Had he done too much, said too much? Eileen thought so, judging by the amount of fury she’d aimed at him last night when he’d brought Saetien back to the house.

The white flutter of paper caught his attention. What was the wheelbarrow doing there? He approached cautiously—a lifetime and more of training in the way he moved—and noticed the weeds filling the wheelbarrow. Noticed the length of flower bed cleared of debris.

When was the last time he’d noticed the flowers? Or cared about their being crowded out by weeds? He’d gotten tired. That’s why it was time to go after this last assignment.

He stood at the gate as Kieran rode up.

“Saetien’s not coming.” Butler made it a statement, not a question.

“She was sleeping so soundly we couldn’t rouse her, not even for supper,” Kieran replied. “Consider it a reprieve. I expect she’ll have a few things to say to you tomorrow.”

Relief. Yes, this feeling was relief. “I’ll look forward to hearing them.”

Kieran laughed. “Oh, I doubt that, but you’ll hear from her all the same.” He gathered the reins. “Are you sure about this, Butler?”

“As sure as I can be.”

“Good night to you, then.”

“Good night, Kieran.”

Butler waited until Kieran was well down the lane before creating a ball of witchlight. Only two words on the paper: Compost bin?

Simple words, simple question. But the shape and thickness of the letters gave him a fair idea of the level of annoyance Saetien was aiming at him. She was fighting mad, and that was just fine with him.

Smiling, Butler wheeled the barrow to the spot that used to hold the compost bins.