Daughter of the Blood (Page 58)

When she finally returned to him, he asked, "Do you like them?"

She smiled at him and nodded.

"I’m glad, because they’re your rooms." He ignored her delighted gasp and continued. "Of course, they’ll need your personal touches and lady’s paraphernalia to give them character, and I didn’t put any paintings on the walls. Those are for you to choose."

"My rooms?"

"Whenever you want to use them, whether I’m here or not. A quiet place, all your own."

He watched with pleasure as she explored the rooms again, a territorial gleam in her eyes. His smile didn’t fade until she tried the door on the opposite side of the bedroom. Finding it locked, she turned away, not interested enough to question it.

When Jaenelle returned to the bathroom to ponder the possibilities of the bathtub, Saetan studied the locked door.

He loved her dearly, but he was no fool. On the other side of that locked door was another suite of rooms, somewhat smaller but no less carefully decorated. Someday a consort would reside in those rooms whenever she came to visit. For now, or at least until she asked, there was no reason to tell her what was on the other side of that door or what its occupant would be for.

"Saetan?"

He came out of his dark reverie to find her beside him again, her happiness putting a little color back into her cheeks. "Do you think we could begin my lessons again?"

"Of course." He thought for a moment. "Do you know how to create witch light?"

Jaenelle shook her head.

"Then that’s a good place to begin." He paused and added casually, "How about having your lessons here?"

"Here?"

"Yes, here. That way—"

"But then I wouldn’t see Andulvar and Prothvar and Mephis," Jaenelle protested.

For the briefest moment, he was honest enough to acknowledge the jealousy he felt at her wanting to see them, at her not being exclusively his. "Of course you can see them," he said mildly, trying not to grind his teeth. "There’s no reason they can’t come here."

"I thought demons didn’t leave Hell."

"Most of the time it’s more comfortable for the dead to remain among the dead, just as it’s more comfortable for the living for the dead to remain among the dead. But we all lived so long ago . . ." He shrugged. "Besides, even if it’s been a long time, Mephis has been here and still handles a number of my business arrangements in this Realm. I think he would enjoy an excuse to get out of the Dark Realm—as would Andulvar and Prothvar." He hoped he wasn’t going to botch this by being too sly. "And when your lessons are over, you could stop in and see your friends in Kaeleer more easily."

"That’s true," Jaenelle said slowly, considering. "That way, most of the time I’d only have to jump the Webs once instead of twice." Her eyes lit up and she snapped her fingers. "Or I can even use the Gates if you show me how to open them."

His mind didn’t stumble. It went head over mental heels and landed in a heap. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was desert dry. "Quite so," he finally choked out. He definitely had to strangle her. Otherwise, he’d do himself an injury with the mental acrobatics required to translate the impossible into something reasonably probable. "Your lessons," he croaked, hoping, a bit hysterically, that this would be a safe subject.

Jaenelle beamed at him, and he sighed, defeated.

"When would you like to begin?"

Jaenelle thought about this. "It’s getting late today. I’ll be missed if I don’t come to lunch." She wrinkled her nose. "I should see Lorn tomorrow. I haven’t seen him in a while and he’ll be worried."

He’llbe worried! Saetan bit back a growl.

"The day after tomorrow? Wilhelmina has her lessons in the morning, so no one would really miss me before lunchtime."

"Done." He kissed the top of her head, led her to the front door of the Hall, and watched her vanish as she waved good-bye. He stayed long enough to make sure Helene was over any shock she might have had, left explicit instructions about conduct when Jaenelle arrived—particularly if she arrived without him—and made his way back to his private study in the Dark Realm.

Andulvar found him there a little later, pouring a very large brandy. The Eyrien’s eyes narrowed when he noticed Saetan’s shaking hands. "What are you doing?"

"I’m going to get very drunk," Saetan replied calmly, taking a large swallow of brandy. "Care to join me?"

"Demons don’t drink straight alcohol, and for that matter, neither should Guardians. Besides," Andulvar persisted as Saetan knocked back a second glass, "why do you want to get drunk?"

"Because I’ll strangle her if I don’t get drunk."

"The waif’s back and you didn’t tell us?" Andulvar braced his fists on his hips and growled, "Why do you want to strangle her?"

Saetan carefully poured his third large brandy. Why had he given up drinking brandy? Such a delightful drink. Like pouring water on a blazing mental fire. Or was it like pouring oil? No matter. "Did you know she jumps the Webs?"

Andulvar shrugged, unimpressed. "At least half the Jeweled Blood can jump between the ranks of the Winds."

"She doesn’t jump between the ranks, my darling Andulvar, she jumps between the Realms."

Andulvar gulped. "That isn’t possible," he gasped, grateful that Saetan was pouring brandy into a second glass.

"That’s what I always thought. And I’m not even going to think about the danger of doing it while I can still think. That’s how she’s been coming and going all these years, by the way. Until today, she didn’t know there were Gates."

Andulvar eyed the bottle of brandy. "That’s not enough to get us both drunk—assuming, of course, it’s stillpossible to get drunk."

"There’s more."

"Ah, well, then."

They settled in the chairs by the fire, intent upon their task.

5—Hell

"Guardians shouldn’t drink, you know," Geoffrey said, too amused to be sympathetic.

Saetan gave the other Guardian a baleful look, then closed his eyes, hoping they would just fall out so at least some part of his head didn’t hurt. He cringed when Geoffrey scraped his chair along the library floor and sat down.

"Names again?" Geoffrey asked, keeping his voice low.

"A surname, Angelline, probably from Chaillot, and Wilhelmina."

"A surname and a place to start. You’re too kind, Saetan."

"I wish you dead." Saetan winced at the sound of his own voice.