"And the old Priestess?"
Hekatah shrugged delicately. "A meal shouldn't be wasted."
Greer smiled, bowed over the hand she held out to him, and left.
Humming, Hekatah performed the first movements of a court dance. For seven months Daemon Sadi had slipped through her traps, and his retaliation every time he was driven away from a Gate had made even her most loyal servants in the Dark Realm afraid to strike at him. For seven months she had failed. But so had he.
There were very few Priestesses left in Terreille who knew how to open the Gates. Those who hadn't gone into hiding after her first warning had been eliminated.
It had cost her some of her strongest demons, but she'd made sure Sadi never had time to figure out for himself how to light the black candles in the correct sequence to open a Gate. Of course, if he had gone straight to Ebon Askavi, his search would have ended months ago. But she had spent century upon century turning a natural awe of the place into a subtle terror—which wasn't difficult since the one time she had been inside the Keep the place had terrifiedher. Now,no one in Terreille would willingly go there to ask for help or sanctuary unless he was desperate enough to risk anything—and most of the time, not even then.
So Sadi, with no safe place to go and no one he could trust, would continue hiding, searching, running. When he finally got to the Gate where she would be waiting, the strain of the past months would make him all the more susceptible to what she'd planned.
"Rule Hell while you can, you gutter son of a whore," she said as she hugged herself. "This time I have the perfect weapon."
2 / Hell
Saetan opened the door of his private study and froze as the Harpy standing hi the corridor drew back the bowstring and aimed her arrow at his heart.
"A rather blunt way of requesting an audience, isn't it, Titian?" he asked dryly.
"None of my weapons are blunt, High Lord," the Harpy snarled.
Saetan studied her for a moment before stepping back
into the room. "Come in and say what you've come to say." Leaning heavily on his cane, he limped to the blackwood desk, settled himself on one corner, and waited.
Titian came in slowly, her anger swirling like a winter storm. She stood at the other end of the room, facing him, fearless in her fury, a demon-dead Black Widow Queen of the Dea al Mon. Once more the bowstring was drawn back, the arrow aimed at Saetan's heart.
His patience, already frayed from the unrelenting months, snapped. "Put that thing down before I do something we'll both regret."
Titian didn't waver. "Haven't you already done something you regret, High Lord? Or are you so filled with the pus of jealousy you have no room for regret?"
The walls of the Hall rumbled. "Titian," he said too softly, "I won't warn you again."
Reluctantly, Titian vanished the bow and arrow.
Saetan crossed his arms. "Actually, your forbearance surprises me, Lady. I expected to have this conversation long before now."
Titian hissed. "Then it's true? She walks among thecildru dyathe!"
Saetan watched the tension building in her. "And if it is?"
Titian looked at him for one awful moment, then threw back her head and keened.
Saetan stared at her, shaken. He had known the rumor would drift through Hell. He had expected that Titian, like Char, the leader of thecildru dyathe, would seek him out. He had expected their fury. Their fury he could face. Their hatred he could accept. But not this.
"Titian," he said, his voice unsteady. "Titian, come here."
Titian continued to keen.
Saetan limped over to her. She didn't seem to notice when he took her in his arms and held her tightly against him. He stroked her long silver hair, and murmured words of sorrow in the Old Tongue.
"Titian," he said gently when the keening faded to a whimper, "I'm truly sorry for the pain I've caused you, but it couldn't be helped."
Titian buried her fist in his belly and sent him sprawling.
"You're sorry," she snarled as she stormed around the room. "Well, so am I. I'm sorry it was only my fist and not a knife just then. You deserve to be gutted for this! Jealous old man.Beast! Couldn't you let her enjoy an innocent romance without tearing her apart out of spite?"
Finally able to catch his breath, Saetan propped himself up on one elbow. "Witch doesn't becomecildru dyathe, Titian," he said coldly. "Witch doesn't become one of the demon-dead. So tell me which you prefer: that I say she walks among thecildru dyathe, or that I leave a vulnerable young girl open to further enemy attacks?"
Titian stopped, an arrested look in her large blue eyes. She leaned over Saetan, searching his face. "Witch can't become demon-dead?"
"No. But you and Char are the only others in Hell who know that."
"I suppose," she said slowly, "that the most convincing way to fool an enemy would be to fool a friend." She considered this for a moment more and offered him a hand up. She retrieved his cane and looked him in the eye. "A Harpy is a Harpy because of the way she died. That made it easy to believe the rumors."
That was more of an apology than he'd thought to get from Titian.
Saetan took the cane from her, grateful for the support. "I'll tell you the same thing I told Char," he said. "If you're still a friend and want to help, there is something you can do."
"What is that, High Lord?"
"Stay angry."
A fire kindled in Titian's eyes. A smile brushed her lips and was gone. "An arrow that just misses would be highly convincing."
Saetan raised one eyebrow and clucked his tongue. "A Dea al Mon witch missing a target?"
Titian shrugged. "Even the Dea al Mon don't always succeed."
"Just in case you miss missing, try not to aim for anything terribly vital," Saetan said dryly.
Titian blinked. The smile brushed her lips again. "There's only one part of a male's anatomy a Harpy aims for, High Lord. How terribly vital do you consider it?"
"Go," Saetan said.
Titian bowed and left.
Saetan stared at the study door for a moment before limping to a chair. He sank into it with a sigh, stretching out his legs. A minute later he left the study, making his way through the corridors to the upper rooms in the Hall, hoping Mephis or Andulvar would be around.
He wanted company. Male company.
Having Titian for a friend didn't make a man feel comfortable.
3 / Terreille
In the moonlight, the lawn was a ghostly silver rippled by the wind. Throughout the hot midsummer's day, storm clouds had been piling up on the horizon, and thunder had rumbled in the distance.
Surreal buttoned her jacket and hugged herself for warmth. The air had turned cold. An hour from now the storm would break over Beldon Mor. But she would be back at Deje's Red Moon house by then, the guest of honor at her quiet retirement dinner.
After that night at Cassandra's Altar, she had discovered that she no longer had the stomach for playing the bed, not even when it would have made a kill easier. She wouldn't starve if she gave up whoring. Lord Marcus, Sadi's man of business, also handled her investments and handled them well. Besides, she'd always preferred being an assassin to being a whore.
Surreal shook her head. She could think about that later.
Moving silently through the small shrub garden that backed the lawn, she reached the large tree with the branch that was perfect for a swing. Something hung from that branch, but it wasn't a child's toy.
Surreal looked up, trying to feel the ghostly presence, trying to see the transparent shape.
"You won't find her," a girl's voice said. "Marjane is gone."
Surreal spun around and stared at the girl with the slit throat and bloody dress. She'd met Rose seven months ago when Jaenelle had shown her Briarwood's awful secret. The next night, she and Rose had gotten Jaenelle out of Briarwood, but too late to stop the vicious rape.
"What happened to her?" Surreal said, glancing toward the tree. A silly thing to ask about a girl long dead.
Rose shrugged. "She faded. All the old ghosts have finally returned to the Darkness." She studied Surreal. "Why are you here?"
Surreal took a deep breath. "I came to say good-bye. I'm leaving Chaillot in the morning—and I'm not coming back."
Rose thought about this. "If you hold my hand, maybe you'll be able to see Dannie. I don't know how Jaenelle always saw the ghosts. Even after I became a demon, I couldn't see the oldest ones unless she was here. She said that was because this was one of the living Realms."
Surreal took Rose's hand. They walked toward the vegetable garden.
"Is Jaenelle all right?" Rose asked hesitantly.
Surreal pushed her windblown hair from her face. "I don't know. She was hurt very badly. A witch at Cassandra's Altar took her away to a safe place. She might have reached a Healer in time."
They stopped at the carrot patch where two redheaded sisters had been buried in secret, as all these children had been buried. But there were no shapes, no whispery voices. Surreal didn't feel the numb horror she had the first time she'd seen this garden. Now there was grief mingled with the hope that those young girls were finally beyond the memory of what had been done to them.
Dannie was the only one there. Surreal tried hard not to look at the ghostly stump where a leg should have been. Her stomach tightened as she tried even harder not to remember what had been done with that leg.
Burying her pity, Surreal sent out a psychic thread of warmth and friendship toward the ghost-girl.
Dannie smiled.
Even in death the Blood were cruel, Surreal thought as she squeezed Rose's cold hand. How empty, how lonely the years must have been for those who weren't strong enough to become demon-dead but were too strong to return to the Darkness. They remained, chained to their graves, unseen, unheard, uncared for—except by Jaenelle.
Whathad happened to her?
Surreal and Rose finally walked back to the shrub garden. "They should all be gutted," Surreal growled, releasing Rose's hand. She leaned against the tree and stared at the building. Most of the windows were dark, but there were a few dim lights. Calling in her favorite stiletto, she balanced it in her hand and smiled. "Maybe one or two can feed the garden before I go."