"No," Saetan said dryly, "Inever called you anything but Saetan. It was Manny and Tersa"—he hesitated, wondering if Daemon knew about Tersa, but there was no surprise—"who called you Daemon. Manny informed me one day, when I pointed out her error, that if I thought she was going to stand at the back door bellowing that name to get a boy to come in for supper I had better think again."
Daemon laughed. "Come now, Manny's a sweetheart."
"To you. "Saetan chuckled. "Personally I always thought she just wanted to avoid having both of us answer that summons."
"Would you have?" Daemon asked warmly.
"Considering the tone of voice used, I wouldn't have dared not to."
They both laughed.
The parting was awkward. Saetan wanted to embrace him, but Daemon became tense, almost skittish. Saetan wondered if, after all those years in Dorothea's court, Daemon had an aversion to being touched.
And there was Lucivar. He had wanted to ask about Lucivar, but Daemon's haunted expression at the mention of his brother's name eliminated that possibility. Since he wanted to know his sons, he would have to have the patience to let them approach when they were ready.
Jaenelle returned a teeth-grinding day and a half later.
After a hectic afternoon of social calls with Alexandra, Daemon was prowling the corridors, too restless to lie down and get some badly needed rest, when he saw the girls come in from a walk in the garden.
"But you must remember how funny it was," Wilhelmina said as he approached. She looked bewildered. "It only happened yesterday."
"Did it?" Jaenelle replied absently. "Oh, yes, I remember now."
Daemon gave them an exaggerated bow. "Ladies."
Wilhelmina giggled. Jaenelle raised her eyes to meet his.
He didn't like the weariness in her face, didn't like how ancient her eyes looked even though they were the dissembling summer-sky blue, but he met her steady gaze. "Lady, may I have a word with you?"
"As you wish," Jaenelle said, barely suppressing a sigh.
They waited until Wilhelmina climbed the stairs to the nursery before going to the library. Daemon locked the door. Before he could decide what to say, Jaenelle grumbled, "Don't be scoldy, Prince."
Hackles rising, Daemon slipped his hands into his pockets and leisurely walked toward her. "I haven't said a word."
Jaenelle removed her coat and hat, dropping them on the couch. She slumped beside them, "I've already had one scolding today."
So the Priest had gotten to her first. Just as well. All Daemon wanted to do was hug her. He settled beside her, perversely wanting to take the sting out of the very scolding he had wanted to administer. "Was the scolding very bad?" he asked gently.
Jaenelle scowled at him. "He wouldn't have scolded at all if you hadn't told him. Why'd you tell him?"
"I was scared. I thought something had happened to you."
"Oh," Jaenelle said, immediately chastened. "But I worked so hard to create that shadow so no one would worry, so there wouldn't be any difference. No one else noticed the difference."
They noticed, my Lady. They were grateful for the difference. It amused him—a little—that she was more concerned that her Craft hadn't been as effective as she'd thought than she was about the worry she'd caused. "It took the Black to notice the difference, and even I wasn't sure until a whole day had gone by."
"Really?" Jaenelle perked up.
"Really." Daemon tried to smile but couldn't quite do it. "Don't you think I'm entitled to an explanation?"
Jaenelle ducked her face behind her golden veil of hair. "I was going to tell you. I promised I'd tell you. And I had to tell the Priest because he has to arrange some things."
Daemon frowned. "Promised who?"
"Tersa."
Daemon counted to ten. "How do you know Tersa?"
"It was time, Daemon," Jaenelle said, ignoring his question.
Daemon counted to ten again. "Tersa's very special to me."
"I know," Jaenelle said quietly. "But you're grown up now, Daemon. You don't really need her anymore. And it was time for her to leave the Twisted Kingdom . . . but she'd been there so long, she couldn't find her way back by herself."
The room was so cold—not the cold of anger, the cold of fear. Daemon held Jaenelle's hands between his own, taking small comfort from their warmth. He didn't want to understand. He truly did not want to understand. But he did. "You went into the Twisted Kingdom, didn't you?" he said, trying desperately to keep his voice calm. "You walked the roads of madness to find her and led her back to sanity—at least as far as she can come."
"Yes."
"Didn't you think—" His voice broke from the strain. "Didn't it occur to you it might be dangerous?"
Jaenelle looked puzzled. "Dangerous?" She shook her head. "No. It's just a different way of seeing, Daemon."
Daemon closed his eyes. Did she fear nothing? Not even madness?
"Besides, I've traveled that far before, so I knew the way back."
Daemon tasted blood where his teeth had nicked his tongue.
"But it took a while to find her, and it took a while to convince her it was time to go, that she didn't need to stay inside the visions all the time." Jaenelle gave his hands a little squeeze. "The Priest is going to buy a cottage for her in a little village near the Hall in Kaeleer. She'll have people there who will look after her, and a garden to work in, and Black Widow Sisters to talk to."
Daemon pulled her into his arms and held her tight. "You convinced her to live there?" he whispered into her hair. "She'll really be in a decent house with decent clothes and good food and people who will understand?" Her head moved up and down. He sighed. "Then it was worth the worry. A hundred times that would have been worth it."
"That's what the Priest said—after the scolding."
Daemon smiled against her hair. "Did he say anything else?"
"Lots of things," Jaenelle grumbled. "Something about sitting down comfortably, but I didn't understand him and he wouldn't repeat it."
Daemon coughed. Jaenelle raised her head, eyeing him suspiciously. He tried for a bland expression. She looked more suspicious.
Passing footsteps in the corridor made him turn, his body tensed, his eyes fixed on the door.
"You'd better join your sister." He handed her the coat and hat. Before he opened the door, Daemon paused.
"Thank you." It was far from adequate, but it was all he could think of to say. Jaenelle nodded and slipped out the door.
Daemon had just finished brushing his hair, ready for another day of Winsol activity, when Jaenelle tapped lightly on his door and bounced into the room. He wasn't sure when his room had become mutual territory, but he was much less casual about the way he dressed—and undressed—than he had been.
Jaenelle bounced up beside him, her eyes fixed on his face. Daemon smiled. "Do I meet with your approval?"
She reached up, brushed her fingers against his cheek, and frowned. "Your face is smooth."
One eyebrow rising, Daemon turned back to the mirror to check his collar. "Hayllian men don't have facial hair." He paused. "Neither do Dhemlans or Eyriens, for that matter."
Jaenelle still frowned. "I don't understand."
Daemon shrugged. "Differences in race is all."
"No." Jaenelle shook her head. "If you don't have to take the hair off the way Philip does, why did Graff say you might serve better if you were shaved? Philip does it hims—"
Daemon's fist hit the top of the dresser, splitting the wood from end to end. He gripped the edges while he fought for control. The bitch. The bitch, to make such a suggestion!