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8 / Kaeleer
Saetan opened the front door of SaDiablo Hall and stepped into orchestrated chaos.
Maids flitted in every direction. Footmen lugged pieces of furniture from one room to another for no reason he could fathom. Gardeners trotted in with armloads of freshly cut flowers.
Standing in the center of the great hall, holding along list in one hand while conducting the various people and parcels to their rightful places with the other, was Beale, his Red-Jeweled butler.
Somewhat bemused, Saetan walked toward Beale, hoping for an explanation. By the time he'd taken half a dozen steps, he realized that a walking obstacle had not been taken into account in this frenzied dance. Maids bumped into him, their annoyed expressions barely changing upon recognizing their employer, and their "Excuse me, High Lord," just short of being rude.
When he finally reached Beale, he gave his butler a sharp poke in the shoulder.
Beale glanced back, noticed Saetan's stony expression, and lowered his arms. A thud immediately followed, and a maid began wailing, "Now look what you've done."
Beale cleared his throat, tugged his vest down over his
girth, and waited, a slightly flushed but once more imperturbable butler.
"Tell me, Beale," Saetan crooned, "do you know who I am?"
Beale blinked. "You're the High Lord, High Lord."
"Ah, good. Since you recognize me, I must still be in human form."
"High Lord?"
"I don't look like a freestanding lamp, for example, so no one's going to try to tuck me into a corner and put a couple of candle-lights in my ears. And I won't be mistaken for an animated curio table that someone will leash to a chair so I don't wander off too far."
Beale's eyes bugged out a bit but he quickly recovered. "No, High Lord. You look exactly as you did yesterday."
Saetan crossed his arms and took his time considering this. "Do you suppose if I go into my study and stay there, I might escape being dusted, polished, or otherwise rearranged?"
"Oh, yes, High Lord. Your study was cleaned this morning."
"Will I recognize it?" Saetan murmured. He retreated to his study and sighed with relief. It was all the same furniture, and it was all arranged the same way.
Slipping out of the black tunic-styled jacket, he tossed it over the back of a chair, settled into the leather chair behind his desk, and rolled up the sleeves of his white silk shirt. Looking at the closed study door, he shook his head, but his eyes were a warm gold and his smile was an understanding one. After all, he had brought this on himself by telling them in advance.
Tomorrow, Jaenelle was coming home.
Chapter four
1 / Hell
"That gutter son of a whore is up to something. I can feel it."
Deciding it was better to say nothing, Greer sat back in the patched chair and watched Hekatah pace.
"For two glorious years he's barely been felt, let alone seen in Hell or Kaeleer. His strength was waning. Iknow it was. Now he's back, residing at the Hall in Kaeleer.Residing. Do you know how long it's been since he's made his presence felt in one of the living Realms?"
"Seventeen hundred years?" Greer replied.
Hekatah stopped pacing and nodded. "Seventeen hundred years. Ever since Daemon Sadi and Lucivar Yaslana were taken away from him." She closed her gold eyes and smiled maliciously. "How he must have howled when Dorothea denied him paternity at Sadi's Birthright Ceremony, but there was nothing he could do without sacrificing his precious honor. So he slunk away like a whipped dog, consoling himself that he still had the child Hayll's Black Widows couldn't claim." She opened her eyes and hugged herself. "But Prythian had already gotten to the boy's mother and told her all those wonderful half-truths one can tell the ignorant about Guardians. It was one of the few things that winged sow has ever done right." Her pleasure faded. "So why is he back?"
"Could—" Greer considered, shook his head.
Hekatah tapped her fingertips against her chin. "Has he
found another darling to replace his little pet? Or has he finally decided to turn Dhemlan into a feeding ground? Or is it something else?"
She walked toward him, her swaying hips and coquettish smile making him wish he'd known her when he could have done more than just appreciate what her movements implied.
"Greer," she crooned as she slipped her arms around his neck and pressed her br**sts against him. "I want a little favor."
Greer waited, wary.
Hekatah's coquettish smile hardened. "Have your balls shrivelled up so quickly, darling?"
Anger flashed in Greer's eyes. He hid it quickly. "You want me to go to the Hall in Kaeleer?"
"And risk losing you?" Hekatah pouted. "No, darling, there's no need for you to go to that nasty Hall. We have a loyal ally living in Halaway. He's wonderful at sifting out tidbits of information. Talk to him." Balancing on her toes, she lightly kissed Greer's lips. "I think you'll like him. You're two of a kind."
2 / Kaeleer
Beale opened the study door. "Lady Sylvia," he announced as he respectfully stepped aside for Halaway's Queen.
Meeting her in the middle of the room, Saetan offered both hands, palms down. "Lady."
"High Lord," she replied, placing her hands beneath his, palms up in formal greeting, leaving wrists vulnerable to nails.
Saetan kept his expression neutral, but he approved of the slight pressure pushing his hands upward, the subtle reminder of a Queen's strength. There were some Queens who deeply resented having to live with the bargain that the Dhemlan Queens in Terreilleand Kaeleer had made with him thousands of years ago in order to protect the Dhemlan Territory in Terreille from Hayll's encroachment, who deeply resented being ruled by a male. There were
some who had never understood that, in his own way, he had always served a Queen, that he had always served Witch.
Fortunately, Sylvia wasn't one of them.
She was the first Queen bora in Halaway since her great-grandmother had ruled, and she was the pride of the village. The day after she had formed her court, she had come to the Hall and had informed him with forceful politeness that, while Halaway might exist to serve the Hall, it was her territory and they were her people, and if there was anything he wanted from her village she would do her utmost to honor his request—provided it was reasonable.
Saetan now offered her a warm but cautious smile as he led her to the half of his study that was furnished for less formal discussions.
After watching her perch on the edge of one of the overstuffed chairs, he took a seat on the black leather couch, putting the width of the low blackwood table between them. He picked up the decanter of yarbarah, filled one of the raven glass goblets, and warmed it slowly over a tongue of witch fire before offering it to her.
