The Queen's Price

SEVENTY-ONE

Saetien spent time with Shelby at the Sceltie school. The pups Shelby’s age were learning to make a ball of witchlight and to air walk. It embarrassed her—and startled the instructors—when she admitted she had forgotten how to air walk and couldn’t assist with the lesson. She used to know, but she’d chosen to forget when she’d learned that bit of Craft had been handed down from Jaenelle Angelline. All the Scelties who went to the school learned that bit of Craft because the Lady had taught Ladvarian and other Scelties how to do it. And while there were many, many humans who didn’t know how to air walk, the instructors were surprised that Prince Sadi hadn’t taught her, since he could do it so well, having been taught by the Lady herself.

She’d spent so much time resenting Jaenelle Angelline that only now was it beginning to dawn on her that so many spells and bits of Craft the Blood used today had been created by the Queens in the Dark Court. Only now was it beginning to dawn on her that she’d resisted learning Craft from her father because he had learned so much of it from Jaenelle. Not everything. He’d had centuries to learn a lot of Craft before he met the Queen, but the things that were the most fun were the things that had come from the Lady, and that was why Saetien hadn’t wanted to do them.

She couldn’t ask her father. Oh, he’d be happy to teach her, but learning Craft from him would get tangled up in so many things about the family that she found difficult. She needed to find an instructor who wasn’t so overwhelmingly important.

Maybe the answer was right here in Maghre.

Saetien knocked on the cottage’s door, then looked over her shoulder. Kieran and the kindred Warlord pulling the pony cart would wait until Butler opened the door. She should have come over earlier and spent an hour weeding the garden. Then Kieran wouldn’t be waiting to make sure she wasn’t on her own after sundown.

She didn’t want this discussion while Kieran could overhear it—or while the horse could hear it, since his hearing would be even better.

Butler opened the door. Saetien waved at Kieran, who gave her a long look—and aimed a longer look at Butler—before he and the horse returned to the family home.

“Problem?” Butler asked.

Saetien took a deep breath. “I’d like you to teach me.”

“Did you have something in mind?”

“Anything. Everything.”

He blinked. “That’s a broad range of topics.”

“Yes.”

They stood on the threshold. More than one threshold. She wasn’t sure what he would say, but she was sure his answer, one way or another, would change so many things.

“Do you know how to make scrambled eggs?” Butler asked.

“No.”

“Then that’s where we’ll start.” He turned and walked toward the back of the cottage. “Wipe your feet and close the door.”

She wiped her feet, closed the door, and hurried after him. “I was thinking about a lesson in Craft.”

“You said anything, remember?” He took eggs, milk, and butter out of the cold box. “I’ve been thinking about Wilhelmina Benedict. She didn’t know how to make scrambled eggs either.”

“Didn’t she have a cook when she lived in Tuathal?” Cooking eggs wasn’t what Saetien had had in mind. Obviously, it had been on Butler’s mind. Why else would he have eggs, milk, and butter in his cold box when he didn’t consume anything but yarbarah?

He took a pan out of a lower cupboard. “You’re on a ship with a few other aristos. Small ship, small crew, and your destination is a secret because you’re looking for an island that contains buried treasure. Big storm blows up out of nowhere, and a huge wave hits the ship, breaking it in half.”

“Can a wave do that?”

He gave her a look. “This is my story, so yes, it can.”

“Right.”

“You’re swept away from the rest of the people on the ship and you land, safely, on an island. You do some exploring and find fresh water. You also find ripe fruit on trees and tubers that you recognize as edible.”

“How do I recognize them?”

“You’ve seen the cooked version on your plate.”

He paused, and she figured he was waiting for another interruption, so she kept quiet.

“After a couple of days of eating tubers and fruit, you return to the beach and discover some of the ship’s cargo has washed ashore. Some of the pots and pans and cooking utensils. Small barrels of butter, salt, sugar, cooking oil. You’ve found some clutches of eggs on the island but haven’t had a way of cooking them, and eating them raw is not appealing.”

“They aren’t reptile eggs, are they? I’m not cooking reptiles.”

“No, they are from chickens that ended up on the island because of a shipwreck years before.”

“But no other humans.”

“No other humans. Since you know some cooking basics, you will have a much better and varied diet than the aristos who landed on a different island.”

“Without the cook.”

“Of course without the cook. The aristos were trying to find the island that had the buried treasure, while the cook, who wasn’t looking for anything beyond a job and wages, quite sensibly caught the nearest Wind before the wave hit the ship, and he rode that Web in the direction of the coast—where he, upon arriving, told the Master of the Guard who served in the nearest court about the ship and the storm.”

“So everyone will be rescued?”

“Eventually. In the meantime, do you want to eat scrambled eggs along with your tubers and fruit?”

“Have to keep up my strength if I’m going to look for that buried treasure. Besides, I already know how to dig something out of the ground even if I don’t have a shovel.”

“Exactly.” Butler put the pan on the cooktop and gave her a long look. “Do you know how to create witchfire to heat up a pan?”

“Let’s assume I don’t and start from there.”

What was on her plate didn’t look quite like the scrambled eggs she’d had for breakfast, but they were edible—especially if her other choices were raw tubers and fruit.

“Not enough butter?” Saetien asked, forking up another bite.

“Too much witchfire,” Butler replied as he warmed a glass of yarbarah. “But you didn’t burn down the cottage or blow up the kitchen, so you’re ahead of a few people who’ve attempted to learn how to cook.”

Since Butler had told her a bit about teaching Wilhelmina to make a few basic dishes—and shop for the ingredients—Saetien figured Lady Benedict might have used a bit too much witchfire too. Which left . . .

“Jaenelle Angelline blew up a kitchen?”

Butler nodded. “According to the story, Jaenelle and Karla were making a casserole while Mrs. Beale was out somewhere. They were also working on a complex bit of Craft that they needed to keep an eye on, which is why that bowl was in the kitchen. Well, they put the wrong bowl in the oven and blew up the kitchen.”

Saetien dropped her fork. “They blew up the kitchen at the Hall? Mrs. Beale’s kitchen?” She shuddered.

“Yes. That kitchen. Which Saetan rebuilt to Mrs. Beale’s specifications. And he didn’t argue when Mrs. Beale banned Jaenelle and Karla from entering the kitchen ever again.”

“But Jaenelle learned how to make scrambled eggs.”

Butler roared with laughter. “Hell’s fire, girl. Jaenelle couldn’t even hard-boil an egg, let alone do anything else with it.” He thought for a moment. “Well, she couldn’t do anything with an egg that would make it edible.”

I can do something Jaenelle couldn’t do. She wasn’t perfect after all.

The scrambled eggs still needed improvement, but they suddenly tasted better.

At supper that night, Kieran listened to Saetien’s enthusiastic recounting of making scrambled eggs. He watched the way her gold eyes lit up as she responded to Eileen’s questions and comments.

Something about the way her eyes lit up made him uneasy, but it wasn’t until later, when his father followed him over to his side of the house, that remembering a story made him realize why he was uneasy.

“You’ve got a problem, boyo,” Kildare said.

Kieran nodded. “I know it. A fire’s been lit inside Saetien.” He fiddled with bits and pieces on his desk. “Like the filly in your story.”

“Exactly. And that means you need to find a way to tell Prince Sadi that his daughter has finally heard the right voice—and it isn’t his.”