The Queen's Price

SIXTY

When Saetien tried to convince Shelby to go to puppy school without her, his response was to grab her shirt and hide under the bed. It took promising that he could go to Butler’s cottage and help her with the digging for her to manage to retrieve the puppy and a shirt that had dust balls clinging to it. She handed the dusty shirt to Anya, who was mortified to see that the new maid wasn’t taking her duties seriously. Anya suggested that Saetien be on her way before the housekeeper and Eileen were informed of this lapse, because Things Would Be Said.

Knowing how the housekeeper at SaDiablo Hall would react to such a lapse, Saetien took the hint, dressed in a hurry, gulped down her breakfast, and was out the door—which was where a speedy departure ended because Ryder and Kildare caught up to her. She had Eileen’s basket of gardening tools, didn’t she? And the cold box of food for her and the Scelties who would accompany her? And a couple of jugs of water? And the dishes and bowls girl and dogs required? And a hat in case she was going to be working in the sun?

She pointed out that she could use Craft to vanish all those things and call them back in when she reached the cottage.

Sure she could, but what about Shelby? Was she going to carry the pup all that way?

Somehow she ended up taking a small cart that Kildare and Ryder had loaded with all the things she’d need that day. She and two Scelties sat on the driving seat. Not that she was driving. The Warlord hitched to the cart made that very clear. He would take care of the cart and getting her to the cottage. She just had to make sure she and the Scelties didn’t do anything foolish and fall out of the cart.

Actually, making sure no one fell out of the cart was the job of the adult Sceltie who was standing escort since Shelby was too young for that task. Which made her the lone sheep being watched.

Five Warlords being helpful. Different species, sure, but still it had been five against one. She’d never stood a chance of stomping off this morning like she’d done yesterday. The Warlords were aware now and looking ahead, as males who were Blood tended to do.

No point grumbling about it. She’d save her grumbles for the damn weeds.

The wheelbarrow was where she’d left it, but it was empty.

At least the man had done that much. But . . .

Saetien unpacked the cart, thanked the Warlord, and promised to let him know when she was ready to go home. She filled a bowl with water for the Scelties, put on her hat and gloves, and, temper once again sizzling, she went after the weeds as if they were blighting her life instead of a flower bed.

Kieran looked at the letter in the basket where the family left mail that had to be delivered beyond the village. The letter from Eileen to Brenda was expected. His report to Prince Sadi? Also expected. But the letter from Saetien to her father? After spending her day in Butler’s garden, attacking weeds while trying to deal with her reaction to that brutal lesson? She must have written it before she’d fallen asleep last evening, and dropped it in the basket on her way out the door this morning.

He took all the mail heading for SaDiablo Hall over to Angelline House and requested that one of the staff there deliver the letters personally.

Was there anything urgent? Prince Sadi wouldn’t appreciate a delay in receiving news about his daughter.

Kieran assured them that there was nothing urgent in any of the letters.

Saetien might not agree with that, but whatever she’d said to the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, he and Butler would deal with it—and pay the price.

Caitie and Stormchaser showed up an hour into Saetien’s battle with the weeds. They entered the yard and Caitie closed the gate. Foal and Scelties immediately began a game of chase that had them circling the cottage.

“I don’t think they can get into any trouble,” Saetien said as the kindred rounded a corner.

Caitie nodded. “I’ll help you.” She selected a tool from Eileen’s basket, knelt, and started weeding. A minute later, she pointed to the clump of plants Saetien was swearing at. “That’s not a weed. It will claim whatever ground it can, but it’s not a weed. Mother keeps it contained in large pots. The flowers are pretty.”

“I don’t have any pots.” Saetien sat back on her heels. She was going to have to find a spade or figure out how to use Craft to dig that clump of plants out of the ground. Working around that patch, she listened to Caitie sing a Scelt folk song. She knew the next song—not the lyrics but the chorus—and joined in until a man rode up to the fence.

“Now, that’s a pretty sight to warm a heart,” he said.

Saetien tensed, wary of a stranger who sounded ready to take liberties, but Caitie gave the man a big smile.

“Father,” Caitie said, “we need some pots. Big ones like Mother has in her garden.”

“Do you, now?” he replied with a smile. “And how many will you be needing?”

Caitie looked at Saetien, who said, “Three?”

“I can fetch those for you. And you’ll be needing some good soil to go in them?”

She hadn’t thought that far ahead since she hadn’t expected to get the pots. “Yes, sir, we will.”

“Easy enough to do. You have anything to eat for the midday meal?”

“Yes, sir. Lady Eileen gave me plenty.”

“That’s fine, then. I’ll be back in a bit.” He rode away.

Saetien looked at Caitie, who gave her a sweet smile and began to sing and weed again.

It was close to midday when the foals came trotting up the lane with a Sceltie witch for escort. None of the foals knew—yet—how to work a latch on a gate, so they lined up on the other side of the fence to watch their human friends digging in the dirt. Saetien took a break to pet and praise and to drop kisses on muzzles, keeping the foals close to the cottage until she spotted Ryder and a stallion coming up the lane to retrieve the youngsters.

“Saetien and Caitie have to work now,” Ryder said. “They will come to the stables in a little while to play with you.”

The look in his eyes warned that there would be consequences if she made a liar out of him.

“We’ll be down in a little while,” she agreed.

Ryder gathered up the foals, including Stormchaser, and he and the Sceltie witch escorted the little herd back to the family stables. After being nipped for ignoring previous reminders about food, Saetien fed the Scelties and shared her own food with Caitie.

Caitie’s father returned with three large pots. A couple of men drove up with a wagon filled with soil. They filled the pots, then deposited half the wagonload of soil next to the shed.

Not to worry, they all told her. They would send Butler the bill.

Hell’s fire.

Caitie’s father called in a spade and obligingly dug out the clumps of plants that would go into two of the pots and helped the girls with the planting by fetching a bucket of water from somewhere.

That much done, he pulled out his pocket watch and gave it a long look. “Time to be heading home, Caitie girl.”

Which meant it was time for Saetien to pack up too; the Warlord with the cart came trotting up the lane and would not take kindly to being kept waiting for long.

Saetien eyed the Scelties. Shelby just wagged his tail, but the adult Sceltie who had been watching his two sheep . . . Someone besides Caitie’s father had decided it was time for the girls to go home and play with the foals.

“Caitie can ride with me and see Stormchaser before going home,” Saetien said as she wiped off Eileen’s gardening tools and gathered up the rest of her supplies.

“Well then, I’ll ride along with you.”

They climbed into the cart and headed home, with Caitie’s father riding alongside.

She’d left the wheelbarrow piled high with weeds again, and no one could miss the difference between the ground she and Caitie had cleared and all the work still to be done.

But there was a different kind of work that needed to be done once the sun set.

“Do you want to come inside?” Butler asked when Saetien arrived that evening.

“No, I want you to show me how to use Craft to remove something from the ground,” she replied as she walked over to a spot in the flower beds and pointed to a clump of plants. “How do I remove that using Craft?”

“You could use a shovel or a spade.”

“I could if you had tools that weren’t falling apart.” She took a breath. “Let’s pretend there is a buried chest and I don’t have any tools and I’m miles from any town, and I want to get the chest out of the ground because it might contain something important. How would I do that?”

“So we’re after buried treasure—is that it?” He sounded amused—and he sounded intrigued. Willing to play along.

“Yes.” Had her father tried to show her how to do this bit of Craft? Probably. But somehow, learning from him had made everything so dreadfully important because he was so important. And things had changed inside her head when Papa stopped being just Papa and was also the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan in a way that made that title more than just words.

But Butler could teach her how to extract buried treasure from the ground.

“All right, then. With a lot of practice you could stand a few feet away and pass the chest through the ground like you’d pass any object through another, or you could vanish the chest and call it back in. But if you’re not sure what’s in the chest, and you have to dig it out without doing any actual digging . . .” Butler knelt in front of the bed and waited for Saetien to join him. He hesitated a moment, then put his hands over hers. “You want to take care to get all of what you’re after, but you don’t want to spend your power on taking up more than you need. So first you release a psychic thread to give you the shape of the object.” He guided her hands, let her follow the power he was using to shape the lesson. “Once you have the shape—you don’t want to nip off a corner of the chest and have the treasure spilling out—you create a shield around it, like this. And then you . . . lift.”

The clump of plants rose out of the ground, soil clinging to the roots.

“Since this isn’t a chest, what are you going to do with the plants?” Butler asked.

“Put them back tonight,” Saetien replied, lowering the clump of plants into the hole created by their removal. “I haven’t decided if they will stay or go.” She stood and brushed off her trousers.

Butler sat back on his heels and waited.

“Did he know?” Saetien finally asked. “Did Daemon Sadi know how much pain Jaenelle Angelline endured in order to come back to him? Was he . . . selfish . . . not letting her go?”

Butler rose and stared at the land beyond the cottage. “He knew there was pain. Everyone who saw her could sense that there was pain. He knew she was fragile for months after he was allowed to bring her back to the Hall. But she never shared what it felt like as her body exploded and was caught in all the healing webs the Arachnians had made. Daemon did not—and does not—know the extent of that pain or what it felt like when she rose from the healing webs too soon and had to endure the rest of the healing awake and aware. At that point, she was the primary Healer and was putting her own body back together. He didn’t know what that felt like. Neither did Saetan or Lucivar.”

“Why do you?” she asked softly.

“A few years before her body died of old age, Jaenelle and I talked about that time in her life. She shared with me the truth about what happened to her when she unleashed her power to save her friends and Kaeleer. She opened a place within herself that she’d kept well guarded for all those years, and I felt what she felt in that moment. Hideous, unimaginable pain. I wept for her, and she said, ‘Everything has a price, Butler. To be with Daemon? It wasn’t too high a price to pay.’ ”

Saetien couldn’t blink back all the tears. “He meant that much to her.”

“He still does,” Butler said gently.

“But why did she tell you?”

“She’d spun a tangled web of dreams and visions, and it showed her that she needed to tell me about that time because I would meet someone someday who would be on a heart quest and would need to know. I guess that’s you.”

Her breath caught. A sob escaped. Butler gathered Saetien in his arms and held her while she cried.

Butler, it’s time.

Sometimes a heart had to break in order to heal. He and Jaenelle understood that all too well.

“Her road isn’t yours,” he said. “You have to find the shape of your own life, Saetien. And you will find it if you allow yourself to look.”

They were still standing there when Kieran drove up to take Saetien home.