“I took care of things,” he replied too softly. “I took care of everything.” He turned and walked up the stairs. When he was halfway up, he stopped and looked back at her. “If you want other lovers, you don’t want me as a husband. I’ve tolerated that game for the last time, Priestess. If it happens again, we’ll be divorced before you have time to leave your lover’s bed. As for him . . .” He smiled a brutal, gentle smile. “I’ll take him to Hell. Your name will be the last thing he screams while the Hounds tear him apart.”
Hekatah stared up at him. Then she made a dismissive gesture. “What did you do to Zuulaman?”
“Zuulaman? That’s a word without meaning.”
“It’s a place, as you very well know.”
Saetan shook his head. “It doesn’t exist.” He walked up the stairs and disappeared down the corridor toward his suite.
Since Saetan was no longer available, Hekatah rounded on Andulvar. “What did he do?” she demanded. “Did he put some kind of shield around the islands so no one can find them?”
“They’re gone, Hekatah,” Andulvar said quietly.
“We sent messengers to find out why the Ambassador left so suddenly but they couldn’t find—”
“The islands are gone.” Hell’s fire! How many times would he have to say it before the bitch finally heard him?
Hekatah frowned at him. “What do you mean they’re gone?”
“The islands don’t exist anymore. The Zuulaman people don’t exist anymore. Everything that ever came from them doesn’t exist anymore.”
She shook her head slowly. “Not possible. You can’t destroy everything about a people that fast.”
“You can’t. I can’t. But the Prince of the Darkness? The High Lord of Hell? He can. Oh, yes, Hekatah. He can.”
She kept shaking her head. “You don’t believe that story about him ruling the Dark Realm. A living man can’t rule the demon-dead, can’t control them.”
Andulvar released her arm and stepped back. “You believe what you choose. But when they butchered his son and sent the pieces to him, Zuulaman broke the chain he’d forged to keep the rest of us safe from what he is. I know what he is. So I know he’s the High Lord of Hell.”
Fear slowly filled her eyes. She staggered back a step. “I can’t stay here. He’s angry with me.”
“He’s still riding the killing edge,” Andulvar said. “There’s no room in him yet for something as small as anger. Not when the rage only needs a spark to rekindle and look for another killing field.”
She shrank away from him.
“Why don’t you go back to Hayll and spend a few more days with your family? Right now, there’s nothing you can do to help him.”
As she glanced up the stairs, her face turned a sickly gray. “Yes. I need—I don’t feel well.”
He watched her stumble out of the room. Then he went to the window and pulled back the curtains enough to watch her run to the Coach that was still waiting for her.
Stupid aristo bitch. He wondered if Saetan had sensed the Coach and realized Hekatah hadn’t intended to stay. He wondered if Saetan cared. At least she was gone for a few more days and wouldn’t stir things up.
I can’t help you, SaDiablo, Andulvar thought as he let the curtain fall back into place. She shattered the moment when I might have made a difference. But I can give you two reasons to step away from the killing edge . . . and come all the way back from the Twisted Kingdom.
16
As he stared at the charred, broken remains of a tangled web, Saetan felt Andulvar’s wary presence as the Eyrien entered the short corridor that led to this hidden workroom.
“The boys?” he asked when Andulvar stepped into the room.
“Upstairs in their playroom.”
“The baby kept crying,” Saetan said softly, keeping his eyes focused on the web. “Screams of pain. Shrieks of terror. He kept crying. When I made the pain go away, the terror go away . . . When the reason for those things ceased to exist, he stopped crying.” He closed his eyes. He still felt hollowed out, knew he was still too close to the border of the Twisted Kingdom. But he had to ask. “They don’t exist, do they? Zuulaman doesn’t exist anymore.”
“No,” Andulvar said. “They don’t exist anymore. Everything they were is gone.”
He felt the weight of what he had done settle on his shoulders and knew he would feel that burden for the rest of his life. He was a strong man. He would carry that weight. But nothing would be the same because of it. He would never be the same because of it.
He turned and looked at Andulvar, noting how the Eyrien tensed and had to fight to keep from taking a step back.
“Are you afraid of me, Andulvar?”
A long pause. “Yes. I’m afraid of you.” Another pause. “I’m still your friend. We’ve been friends too long for it to be otherwise. But what happened to Zuulaman has changed things. I need . . . some time.”
“I understand.” Saetan forced his lips to curve into a smile. “Prince Yaslana.”
Andulvar didn’t try to return the smile. “High Lord.”
Saetan listened to Andulvar’s retreating footsteps before he turned back to study the web.
Yes, they’d been friends too long to break completely. Centuries ago, they’d first met in a court, two Red-Jeweled Warlord Princes who came from cultures that had nothing in common. Despite that, or because of it, they had become friends. It wasn’t the first time they’d parted on uneasy terms. It wouldn’t be the last. But this time, it was different.
Are you afraid of me, Andulvar?