She walked over to the desk and sat in a visitor’s chair.
He followed her and sat behind the desk. “You indicated my presence is required.”
Surreal huffed out a breath. “After receiving your letter, I went to the town where Dinah’s family lives and went into a couple of shops, intending to ask about the maid Ida. I didn’t have to. She was all anyone was talking about—and according to everything I heard, she was a liar, a manipulator, and blamed other servants for her own shoddy work. She held grudges against anyone who dismissed her, including our family, since Beale and Helene booted her out of the Hall when Jaenelle and the coven lived there with your father. No one in that town knew why she’d been dismissed—she claimed it was because of jealousy that the Ladies preferred working with her—but they were certain she’d done something to deserve it.”
“She probably started the rumor that a guest kicked a puppy.”
Surreal stared at Daemon. “And she got out of the Hall alive?”
“It was a rumor, which was grounds for dismissal, not execution.”
He looks tired, she thought. Maybe more than tired. “Anyway, Zhara needs to see you.”
“I said a week, and I meant a week. If any of the children show up before then, I’ll extend the time another week.” He sounded irritated.
“I guess Zhara explained a few things to young Zoey, and she will be back, but not a minute before you allow the doors to open.”
“Then what, Surreal?”
“Apparently Dinah hadn’t expected to be caught out for initiating this game to get the other Queens expelled, and she claims Ida was the one who gave her the idea in the first place, and not only encouraged her to do it but also wrote out the extra orders and the envelopes, using a false name so that no one would know who was really sending letters to Cara.
“People saw Dinah and Ida in the back garden, arguing beneath a large tree. The witnesses didn’t hear the words clearly enough to repeat what was said, but Ida’s tone was mocking and derogatory. While familiar, it was not a tone they expected her to use with the daughter of their employer—especially when that daughter was a Queen.”
“And?” Daemon said.
“Dinah lashed out. A flash of power striking a large branch above Ida. It shouldn’t have been enough to bring the branch down, but the gardener was inside, talking to Dinah’s father about that branch being weakened by the winter storms and needing to be removed. By bad luck or design, Dinah’s flash of power hit the branch’s weak spot, and it came down on Ida, crushing her chest. The woman didn’t have time to shield or try to move. Just flash, crack, and a girl watches a woman die in front of her.”
“Mother Night,” Daemon muttered.
“Dinah is hysterical and swears she didn’t mean to hurt Ida. They were friends, despite the difference in their social status. Ida understood her. On and on. Doesn’t make Ida any less dead.” Surreal shifted in the chair. “Knowing Ida’s nature, the town’s influential residents contacted the District Queen’s court and requested that Ida be moved to Amdarh and held in a secure place until you, as the High Lord, can collect her and take her to Hell. There seems to be some concern that the townspeople won’t be safe if Ida, being one to hold grudges, makes the transition to demon-dead while she’s still in Dhemlan.”
“I’ll take care of it.” The High Lord would find out what else Ida had done to make people’s lives difficult. Then he would finish the kill so that she would become a whisper in the Darkness—and no longer a threat to anyone.
Surreal called in the envelope of gold marks and pushed it across the desk. “I deducted expenses, but the tree did the job, not me.”
“Did it?”
“It did.” She could see he didn’t quite believe her. After all, she was a very good assassin.
Daemon pushed the envelope of gold marks back across the desk. “A donation for your sanctuary.”
“All right.” She vanished the envelope—and wondered if she should say something, if she should tell him she knew the sand was running in the glass and his time among the living . . . No. She would wait until he told her. “What are you going to do about Dinah?”
“Nothing. That decision is in the hands of the District Queen and Province Queen.” He rose. “I’ll probably be away from Dhemlan for a couple of days. Maybe more.”
“Anything you want me to do?”
She didn’t know what to think about the mischievous look in his eyes. “You could spend a day at the Hall and give out the prizes to the winners of the rolly sheep races.”
“Rolly what?”
“Rolly sheep. Mikal will explain.”
“Why can’t you do that?”
He smiled—and that smile held mischief. “Because I’m going to deny ever knowing about them.”
SEVENTY-NINE
Daemon listened. Part of him was grateful, was relieved, that Butler had been able to do so much for Saetien. Another part of him wondered how this man had been able to cut through all the temperamental adolescent crap so that the emerging young woman reflected the wonderful child Saetien had been before her Birthright Ceremony.
“She’s young, Butler,” Daemon said.
“Jillian was around the same age when she went to Little Weeble,” Witch said.
“That isn’t helpful right now.” The words came out in a growl.
“Butler will be there to continue Saetien’s education in business, and he’ll be there when young men come to call.” Witch smiled at both of them when they stared at her. “Well, they will come to call.”
“Daylight,” Daemon and Butler said.
“Kindred,” she countered. “Hooves and teeth and opinions. There is a whole school of Scelties in that village more than willing to offer opinions, to say nothing about acting as self-appointed chaperons. She’ll also be under Kieran’s protection, which everyone in Maghre has already figured out.”
Witch stared at Butler. Stared through him. Then she asked softly, “For yourself as well as for her?”
“Yes,” Butler replied just as softly.
“You’re welcome at the Keep whenever the time comes, Prince Butler.”
“Thank you, Lady.” A pause. “Prince?”
So hard to say the words. “Help her grow into the life she wants for as long as it suits you both,” Daemon replied. “And thank you, Butler.”
“It is my pleasure, Prince.” Butler bowed and walked out of the sitting room in the Queen’s part of the Keep.
Daemon waited until Butler left the Keep. Then he poured a large brandy and stared into the liquid. “How did Lucivar stand it when he realized Jillian wasn’t going to come back? That the leaving he thought was temporary was actually her leaving for good?”
“Ask him,” Jaenelle said. She touched his right arm where four white scars reminded him that he wasn’t alone. “Come into my sitting room. I’d like to show you a couple of things.”
He downed the brandy and followed her across the corridor to her private sitting room. He froze when he spotted the tangled web positioned in the center of a table.
“Take a look,” Jaenelle invited.
He approached the table reluctantly. “This is about Saetien?”
“She’s part of it, but this tangled web is more about Butler.”
Daemon looked into the tangled web of dreams and visions. Then he looked at Jaenelle. “A daughter of the heart? Saetien is the daughter of his heart?”
She smiled. “He didn’t know it, but he’s waited a long time for her—and this is the right time in her life to find him. He can help her build an extraordinary ordinary life.”