Sighing, Jaenelle Saetien carefully retrieved her book and read until her little Brother woke up.
Momentarily speechless, Daemon stared at Jillian. Lucivar had told him the girl needed to see him but not why, so he’d been expecting her. But . . .
Jillian raised her eyebrows. “It’s hair. It’s short.”
It was still black. Thank the Darkness for that. But the spiky style was just like . . . “If you say ‘kiss kiss,’ I am tossing you out of my study.”
Jillian laughed. “Fair enough.” A flash of understanding in her eyes. “Is that why Lucivar and Daemonar got a bit exercised about my hair being short? Because it reminds them of Karla? That’s actually a compliment.”
“That depends on how you’re dealing with Karla.”
Her smile was a little bit wicked.
He would not whimper. “Something you wanted to discuss?”
Now she sat forward in her chair, looking a little nervous. “Surreal has that sanctuary for girls who have been broken, where they can be protected from anyone who might want to do them more harm and where they can learn how to use what power they have left—and how to do things physically that they used to do with Craft. I’m going to work there as an informal counselor, and also teach the girls how to fight and defend themselves. It’s important to know that losing one part of yourself doesn’t mean you have to lose everything. You’re different afterward, and you need to learn to be who you are now. You need to fight instead of accepting.”
She wasn’t talking about herself. A delicate psychic probe confirmed that her power wasn’t diminished in any way. But someone had given up. “Did the person who . . . surrendered . . . to the pain end up in the Dark Realm?” he asked gently.
“If she did?” Prickly response.
“I’ll find her and do what I can to help.”
She looked at him a long time, no longer the nervous young woman who walked into his study but a fighter. No wonder Surreal had hired her. She probably recognized a bit of herself at that age.
Jillian gave him three female names. And then she gave him four more—and his temper turned cold when he realized what those four male names meant. “Was that your first killing field?” he asked too softly.
She swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Did you tell Lucivar?”
“No.”
“I’ll give you two days. If you don’t tell Lucivar, I will. You’re not a Warlord Prince, Jillian. You don’t walk off a killing field and just swallow the feelings. Even we don’t do that the first time. I’m one of four Warlord Princes you can talk to who will understand how it felt and why you chose to step onto that field. Talk to one of us.”
“Four?”
“Daemonar stepped onto his first killing field recently.”
“Mother Night,” she whispered.
“And may the Darkness be merciful.” She looked distressed, ready to bolt, so he changed the subject. “You’re going to work at the sanctuary and . . . ?”
Strong relief washed through the room. “I want to buy a house. It has enough room for me and the two Scelties who are going to live with me, and it has four bedrooms, so I can have guests.”
“What kind of guests?” he asked sweetly.
“Not the kind that would put that look in your eyes. I was thinking more of friends from Little Weeble who might want to venture beyond their village or having Andulvar stay over for a couple of days. It must be hard for him to be considered too young to have adventures away from home, and this way . . .”
“Still with family but able to feel independent?”
“Yes.” Her smile regained some of its brightness, but the nerves were back. “I talked to the owner’s man of business on my own when I first saw the place, but Lucivar came with me the second time, and he had all these men from the SaDiablo estate come and inspect the house, and they came up with this list of things that would need to be done even though the man of business said the house could be lived in now.”
Daemon kept his expression interested and encouraging—and said nothing about Lucivar being the one who held the deed to that particular SaDiablo estate. Jillian would figure that out soon enough when people from the estate began offering their time and skills to her because she was part of Lucivar’s family.
“Anyway,” Jillian continued, “I was going to try to take out a loan to pay for the house, but Lucivar said I should talk to you about having some of the interest released on the money he had set aside for me.”
She looked baffled that there was money she hadn’t known about, that Lucivar would have done that. Thinking of her as a daughter was one thing. Setting aside some of the family wealth said daughter in a different way. At least Jillian seemed to think so.
“Maybe the interest would offset the costs enough that I wouldn’t have to take out that much of a loan?” she said hopefully.
Probably just as well that Jillian didn’t know how much was in the account.
Daemon removed a sheet of paper from a tray on his desk and uncapped a pen. “Do you have any figures?”
Jillian called in a sheet of paper and used Craft to float it to the desk.
Daemon raised an eyebrow. “The man of business claimed the house was livable, and this is what the skilled craftsmen told you and Lucivar would be required to make it livable?”
“Livable by SaDiablo standards,” Jillian said. “The asking price was reduced by the cost of the repairs.”
Someone had thought they were dealing with a young woman excited about purchasing her first house and gullible enough to be persuaded to accept the asking price on a building that needed that much work. Someone had been smart enough to realize how pissed off Lucivar would be if—or when—he found out Jillian had been cheated. Which meant the girl really wasn’t paying more than house and land were worth.
“There’s no problem with providing you with the funds to pay for the house and the repairs,” Daemon said. “However, before you sign the contract and hand over so much as a silver mark, Lord Marcus will read over the contract and answer any questions you may have about the language of a formal agreement, and he and I will be there to witness the signing.” And that would guarantee that nothing was slipped into the agreement that would oblige Jillian to pay other costs.
“Okay,” she said hesitantly.
He began making a list of expenses. “That takes care of the purchase of the house and repairs. What about your living expenses? Will you be making enough at the sanctuary to pay most or all of your bills? What about the income from your book?”
She laughed so hard, she had to catch herself before she fell out of the chair. When he just watched her, waiting, she settled herself and cleared her throat. “The people who work for you aren’t fools, Prince. Yes, I stacked the odds in my favor by submitting my book to your publishing house . . .”
“And yet I still haven’t read your book.” His voice was less purr and more rumble of annoyance.
“Well, of course,” she replied as if it should be obvious. “There is some envy among other writers who haven’t been accepted, but I can look every single one of them in the eyes and say that you haven’t seen the book yet, so publishing it wasn’t your decision. Or done at your command.”
It still rankled that he hadn’t been allowed to help, at least not directly, but he understood her point. He’d just have to make sure she understood his point about this other bit of finance.
“And since your editor has to justify expenses to Lord Marcus and to you,” Jillian continued, “she didn’t offer one copper more than she would have offered any other writer for a first book. Which is one reason I needed to find work while I wrote the next book.”