Saetien wondered if he could hear her heart pounding. “What reason?”
Butler called in an oval frame and held it out to her.
The picture of the girl, the beginning of a smile lifting her lips as if someone she loved had just walked into the room.
She hadn’t seen this girl smile when they had walked through Briarwood. She’d seen the anger and the slit throat—and the blood.
Saetien looked at Butler.
He said quietly, “Rose was my sister.”
SEVENTY-SIX
Saetien spent two days walking and thinking and . . . feeling. She went to the cottage during the day and stared at the gardens, at the cottage. She thought about the man inside the cottage and the work—and way of life—he was offering her.
She loved her father, but she wasn’t suited for life at the Hall. It was too big. Not just the physical Hall but that way of life itself—and the duties that came with it.
She didn’t have the heart for it.
The relief that came from recognizing that truth about herself was painful. But with the relief and pain came hope. Hope that she could spend time with her father eventually and not feel like she was competing with the Queen, whose will—and love—would always be his life. Hope that she could learn from her previous mistakes and now shape the life she wanted, choice by choice.
Even hope that, while she couldn’t mend what she’d broken, she might be able to make peace with Surreal.
But all those hopes, all those choices, came down to making the first choice.
Blinking back tears that were part pain, part regret, and part joy, Saetien walked back to Kieran’s house to tell the Warlord of Maghre her decision.
Butler became aware of Saetien’s presence the moment she walked into the cottage, but he stayed in his room until the sun went down. Sunlight caused pain for the demon-dead and also drained the reservoir of power in the Jewels. Too much pain, too much of a drain of power, and consuming yarbarah wouldn’t be enough to sustain him. A few months ago, he wouldn’t have cared about sustaining himself. Now . . .
Kieran offered him a cup of blood, fresh from the vein, once a month. He didn’t want to get careless in his habits and need more.
Still, he was up and dressed and warming a glass of yarbarah minutes after the sun went down.
He found Saetien in the kitchen, reading a list of instructions before she gingerly put a dish in the oven.
When she finally looked at him, all she said was “Ask them.”
SEVENTY-SEVEN
Daemon looked at the letter Beale carefully placed on his desk, then at his butler.
He’d given himself two days of solitude to think—and not think—about what had happened and why. Dinah being jealous of the privileges, real or imagined, that Zoey received. Zoey responding to the verbal assault by trying to prove she was a good Queen—and taking a wrong step when Grizande arrived at the Hall. His own miscalculation in giving the children exercises that would require the Queens to define boundaries and draw lines for acceptable behavior—exercises they were not yet mature enough to handle. The appearance of Lady Dumm, which likely opened the door to the children thinking that the extra orders had come from an instructor or from him. And that stung.
A lot of things stung lately, making him wonder if having children at the Hall was in any way a good idea.
“Neala found this under the bed when she and another maid did a thorough cleaning of the room Lady Cara used,” Beale said. “Neala is sure the letter wasn’t there the day before Cara was removed from the Hall because she’d checked under the bed when she tidied the room.”
“You think Cara left this letter from Dinah deliberately? Why?” Daemon asked.
“Perhaps as an explanation for her part in the effort to get the other Queens expelled.”
“Well, it does complete a circle of correspondence. I’ll add it to the other letter and the order that was sent from Dinah.” Daemon waited, but Beale didn’t move away from the desk. “Something else?”
“Lord Mikal would like to have a word.”
“Send him in.”
Beale left. Mikal walked in and stood in almost the same place.
“Would you like to sit?” Daemon asked. “Or is this a report rather than a conversation?”
Mikal hesitated, then sat. “It’s a little of both. First, I want to apologize for not mentioning that some odd things were going on with the students, but I didn’t witness those things firsthand, and the Scelties who did see them are young and couldn’t convey what they were seeing in a way that I understood. They knew the humans were behaving strangely, but they didn’t understand why. When I heard about the punishments that had been added to the Queen’s tasks, I figured out what they were trying to tell me.”
“Hitting puppies for no reason is a wrong thing, whether they are Scelties or humans,” Daemon said.
“Yeah. That’s what it came down to. If I’d mentioned it, you might have figured this out sooner.”
“It wasn’t your duty to inform me.” Daemon studied Mikal. As a boy, Mikal had made his share of mistakes, but he’d learned and he’d grown, and now he was a strong, compassionate young man . . . who was about to dump something else on him. “What?”
“Just that when Brenda and Raine took Lady Dumm to her home in the attic, they found six rolly sheep and thought the sheep would be fun for the Scelties. And they are. And you don’t have to feed them or clean up after them.”
“Rolly sheep.” He made it sound like a confirmation rather than a question. If it sounded like a question, Mikal would explain. He did not want anyone to explain.
“They’re the sheep version of Lady Dumm,” Mikal explained cheerfully. “A hollow body with fleece sewn on it that fits over a large ball. The sheep roll over the ground and do sheep things while the Scelties practice herding. Well, they’re supposed to practice herding. My pack has been riding the rollies and having sheep races.”
“Right. We got rid of Dumm and now have rolly sheep that are a size that can be ridden by Scelties.”
“Sort of a fleecy pony for dogs.”
Daemon looked at the empty basket near his desk. “Mikal?”
“Sir?”
“Breen . . . ?”
“Oh, Liath is teaching her to ride a rolly.”
Mother Night. “How delightful.”
Mikal left. Beale returned.
“Beale? If there are other constructed props hiding in the attics that represent living things, perhaps one or two of them could find their way into a box that ends up at the bottom of the lake.”
Beale looked amused. “I believe one or two of them are already there, Prince.”
“Of course they are.” He sighed. “Something else?”
Amusement faded. “A message just arrived from Lady Surreal. You’re needed in Amdarh as soon as you can get there.”
SEVENTY-EIGHT
Surreal waited for Sadi in his study on the Yaslana side of the town house. This was the second-in-command reporting to the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan. This was business, not personal.
She turned away from the window when Daemon walked in. Like his study at the Hall, this one had a social side for informal discussions, and a formal side, which held his desk and the visitors’ chairs.