She raised a hand to stop him. “Ever since that black-bordered warning was presented to all the Dhemlan Queens—and let’s not pretend it was anything less than Witch showing her claws and announcing that she had returned—I’ve been thinking about where that leaves you and me.”
“It doesn’t have to change anything between us.”
He stood so quiet, so still.
“Mind and heart, you’re Witch’s husband. You always were. Am I correct in assuming that you can’t be Witch’s lover?”
“Not while I still walk among the living.”
“Sadi.”
He huffed out a breath. “You don’t need to worry. I won’t hurry that day.”
“If you did, Witch would kick whatever was left of your ass.”
Daemon laughed. “And Lucivar would stomp on whatever was left after that.” Then he sobered. “But that day is on the horizon. Still distant, but it’s there.”
Mother Night.
“The Queen has no objections to me being your lover?”
“She has no objections. She expects me to honor my commitment to you.”
“What about you? Can you accept having a lover?” She and Daemon didn’t spend much time together, but he still needed the occasional relief of having sex and, more important, he needed someone physical to hold. So did she.
“I can accept it,” he said quietly. A pause. “What do you want for yourself, Surreal?”
“I want to be who I am—a hunter who won’t allow the debt owed a broken girl to go unpaid. Beyond that?” She shrugged. Then she smiled. “I don’t think Jaenelle Angelline came back just for your sake.”
Daemon put his arms around her. Held her as a friend and lover.
She eased back. “We’ll get Jaenelle Saetien settled at the sanctuary tomorrow.”
He gave her a gentle kiss, more friend than lover. “Tomorrow.”
Daemon sat behind his desk, a hard reminder to himself that it wasn’t Jaenelle Saetien’s father who had to hand down this decision but the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan—and the High Lord of Hell.
“Why do I have to leave?” His daughter’s eyes were bright with tears—and shadowed with fear.
“It’s part of the price for your involvement in the coven of malice,” he explained again. “I’m sorry, Jaenelle Saetien, but it has to be this way.”
“Couldn’t I live in the village?”
“No,” he said gently. “You’ve been banned from Amdarh and Askavi, so you can’t live in those places either.” His heart hurt, but he couldn’t see any other way to help her now. “You’ll be going to the sanctuary that Surreal created for girls who have been broken. It will be a good place for you to learn how to use the Purple Dusk Jewel. And Jillian is going to be working there, so you won’t be all alone.”
He’d been ignoring the scratching on the wood and the yips that had followed when he hadn’t obligingly obeyed the demand to open the door. Now the yips became howls and the scratching became determined. To spare the door being refinished—again—Daemon used Craft to open the study door for Shelby.
The puppy raced across the room, then scratched at Jaenelle Saetien’s legs until she picked him up.
*My Saeti,* Shelby announced.
“There will be other Scelties there who will help Shelby learn his own lessons,” Daemon said.
Jaenelle Saetien cuddled the puppy. “Why did you name me after the Queen?” The question burst out of her, as if the need to ask had been building for days.
“I didn’t choose your name.” He sighed. “Surreal didn’t have an easy time giving birth to you, and once you arrived, her need to keep you safe made her dangerous to everyone else for a little while. When she was rational again, she said she wanted to name you Jaenelle Saetien to honor two people we both loved. I agreed.”
She wouldn’t look at him. “So you wouldn’t be angry if I changed my name so that people wouldn’t compare me to the Queen?”
“No, I wouldn’t be angry. My father gave me his name—Saetan Daemon SaDiablo—but Manny called me Daemon because, so she said, she wasn’t about to stand at the back door and yell for Saetan to come wash up for dinner.”
Jaenelle Saetien smiled.
*Saeti,* Shelby said. *My Saeti.*
Daemon raised an eyebrow.
“That’s my Sceltie name,” she mumbled.
“Easy enough to be Saetien for the humans. That would explain Shelby’s choice of name. You could do what your grandfather did and use your initials to sign legal papers and be Saetien SaDiablo going forward.”
“Saetien,” she said softly, nodding. “Saetien.” A hesitation. “Can I write to you?”
It took everything in him not to burden her with his own feelings of loss. “I’d like that.”
“Would you write to me?”
“Yes.” He would purchase a decorative seal that would only be used for her—a special communication between the two of them. “We’ll leave tomorrow. A couple of the maids will help you pack.”
When he stood, she grabbed the puppy and bolted for the door. Then she stopped and looked at him. “I understand some things now, and I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.” She fumbled the door open and whispered, “Good-bye, Papa.”
“Good-bye, witch-child.”
Alone, Daemon locked the door. Then, finally, he allowed himself to feel the pain of letting her go this way—and felt his heart break.
FIFTY-ONE
As the horse-drawn carriage took them from the SaDiablo estate to the sanctuary, Surreal wasn’t sure what to say to someone who had come from her body and then had become the enemy. She didn’t know what to say to this girl who had been protected her whole life and now was about to live among the broken.
There is no cure for Briarwood. But you learn to live with the scars.
Knowing that Witch had suggested the sanctuary as the place for Jaenelle Saetien, Surreal wondered what other price the girl still had to pay.
No, not Jaenelle Saetien. Just Saetien now.
“Jillian is going to be working at the home,” she finally said. “If you run into trouble, you can ask her for help.”
“All right.” Saetien caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Is this like Briarwood?”
“No,” Surreal replied sharply. She looked out the window. She supposed it was a reasonable question, but even the thought that one place might be mistaken for the other made her ill. “It’s more like the school in Amdarh, only smaller.” And more exclusive, considering who lived there.
The administrator, housekeeper, and Healer who ran the place came out to greet them. So did Jillian.
The pack of Scelties now in residence must have been herding some other unfortunates who required their help. Thank the Darkness for that.
“This is Lady Saetien,” Surreal said. “And this is Lord Shelby.”
The women eyed the Purple Dusk Jewel and the girl’s delicately pointed ears. Whatever conclusions the women made about why a girl who still wore a Jewel was being sheltered there went unspoken. This wasn’t the first time Surreal had brought a girl to the sanctuary, and it wouldn’t be the last.
“Why don’t I take the luggage and show Lady Saetien to her room?” Jillian said. “Then I can show her around and help her collect the books and supplies for her classes.”
“Thank you,” Surreal said. She waited until the two girls went into the building, then turned to the women. “Questions?”
“Are you sure about her being here?” the administrator asked.
“No,” she replied. “But the Queen of Ebon Askavi is sure, and that’s all the young Lady’s father and I need to know.”
After promising to return in a week to review the women’s observations about all the girls, Surreal returned to the family estate just long enough to collect her belongings. Then she caught the Gray Wind and headed for Dea al Mon to spend a couple of days with her mother’s people. Among the Children of the Wood, she wasn’t Sadi’s wife or his second-in-command. She was the daughter of a young Black Widow Queen who had been taken from her people and broken by a Hayllian Warlord. She was Surreal, a hunter who was very good with a knife—and whose prey usually walked on two legs.