He'd also forgotten how hunger pangs felt or how fuzzy-brained a man could be when he was beyond tired.
Everything has a price.
He smiled cautiously at Cassandra when she joined him at the window. "You look lovely tonight," he said, making a small gesture that took in her long black gown, the open-weave emerald shawl, and the way she'd styled her dusty-red hair.
"Too bad the Harpy didn't bother to dress for the occasion," Cassandra replied tartly. She wrinkled her nose. "She could have at least worn something around her throat."
"And you could have refrained from offering to lend her a high-necked gown," Saetan snapped. Then he clenched his teeth to trap the rest of the words. Titian didn't need a defender, especially after her slur about the delicate sensibilities of prissy aristo witches.
He watched the lights of Riada wink out, one by one.
Cassandra took a deep breath, let it out in a sigh. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," she said quietly. "The Black were never meant to be Birthright Jewels. I became a Guardian because I thought the next Witch would need a friend, someone to help her understand what she would become after making the Offering to the Darkness. But what has happened to Jaenelle has changed her so much she'll never be normal."
"Normal? Just what do you call 'normal,' Lady?"
She looked pointedly at the corner of the room where Andulvar, Prothvar, Mephis, and Geoffrey were trying to include Titian in the conversation and keep a respectful distance at the same time.
"Jaenelle just celebrated her fifteenth birthday. Instead of a party and a roomful of young friends, she spent the evening with demons, Guardians—and a Harpy. Can you honestly call that normal?"
"I've had this conversation before," Saetan growled. "And my answer is still the same: for her, that is normal."
Cassandra studied him for a moment before saying quietly, "Yes, you would see it that way, wouldn't you?"
He saw the room through a red haze before he got his temper tightly leashed. "Meaning what?"
"You became the High Lord of Hell while you were still living. You wouldn't see anything wrong with her having the cildru dyathe for playmates or having a Harpy teach her how to interact with males."
Saetan's breath whistled between his teeth. "When you foresaw her coming, you called her the daughter of my soul. But those were just words, weren't they? Just a way to ensure that I would become a Guardian so that my strength would be at your disposal for the protection of your apprentice, the young witch who would sit at your feet, awed by the attention of the Black-Jewelled Witch. Except it didn't work out that way. The one who came really is the daughter of my soul, and she is awed by no one and sits at no one's feet."
"She may be awed by no one," Cassandra said coldly, "but she also has no one." Then her voice softened. "And for that, I pity her."
She has me!
The quick, sharp look Cassandra gave him cut his heart.
Jaenelle had him. The Prince of the Darkness. The High Lord of Hell. More than any other reason, that was why Cassandra pitied her.
"We should join the others," Saetan said tightly, offering his arm. Despite the anger he felt, he couldn't turn his back on her.
Cassandra started to refuse his gesture of courtesy until she noticed Andulvar's and Titian's cold stares.
"Draca wants to talk with all of us," Andulvar growled as soon as they approached. He immediately moved away from them, giving himself room to spread his wings. Giving himself room to fight.
Saetan watched him for a moment, then began reinforcing his own considerable defenses. They were different in many ways, but he'd always respected Andulvar's instincts.
Draca entered the room slowly, calmly. Her hands, as usual, were tucked into the long sleeves of her robe. She waited for them to be seated, waited until their attention was centered on her before pinning Saetan with her reptilian stare.
"The Lady iss fifteen today," Draca said.
"Yes," Saetan replied cautiously.
"Sshe wass pleassed with our ssmall offeringss."
It was sometimes difficult to perceive inflections in Draca's sibilant voice, but the words sounded more like a command than a question. "Yes," Saetan said, "I think she was."
A long silence. "It iss time for the Lady to leave the Keep. You are her legal guardian. You will make the arrangementss."
Saetan's throat tightened. The muscles in his chest constricted. "I had promised her that she could stay here."
"It iss time for the Lady to leave. Sshe will live with you at SsaDiablo Hall."
"I propose an alternative," Cassandra said quickly, pressing her fists into her lap. She didn't even glance at Saetan. "Jaenelle could live with me. Everyone knows who—and what—Saetan is, but I—"
Titian twisted around in her chair. "Do you really believe no one in the Shadow Realm knows you're a Guardian? Did you really think your masquerading as one of the living had fooled anyone?"
Anger flared in Cassandra's eyes. "I've always been careful—"
"You've always been a liar. At least the High Lord has been honest about what he is."
"But he is the High Lord—and that's the point."
"The point is you want to be the one who shapes Jaenelle just like Hekatah wants to shape Jaenelle, to mold her into an image of your choosing instead of letting her be what she is."
"How dare you speak to me like that? I'm a Black-Jeweled Queen!"
"You're not my Queen," Titian snarled.
"Ladies." Saetan's voice rolled through the room like soft thunder. He took a moment to steady his temper before turning his attention back to Draca.
"Sshe will live at the Hall," Draca said firmly. "It iss decided."
"Since you haven't discussed this with any of us until now, who decided this?" Cassandra said sharply.
"Lorn hass decided."
Saetan forgot how to breathe.
Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.
No one argued. No one made so much as a sound.
Saetan realized his hands were shaking. "Could I talk to him? There are some things he may not understand about—"
"He undersstandss, High Lord."
Saetan looked up at the Seneschal of Ebon Askavi.
"The time hass not yet come for you to meet him," Draca said. "But it will come." She tipped her head slightly. It was as much deference as she ever showed to anyone. Except, perhaps, to Jaenelle.
They watched her leave, listening to her slow, careful footsteps until the sound faded away completely.
Andulvar let his breath out in an explosive ffooooh. "When she wants to cut someone off at the knees, she's got an impressive knife."
Saetan leaned his head against the chair and closed his eyes. "Doesn't she though?"
Cassandra carefully rearranged her shawl and stood up, not looking at any of them. "If you'll excuse me, I'll retire now."
They rose and bid her good night.
Titian also excused herself. But before she left, she gave Saetan a sly smile. "Living at the Hall with Jaenelle will probably be difficult, High Lord, but not for the reasons you think."
"Mother Night," Saetan muttered before turning to the other men.
Mephis cleared his throat. "Telling the waif she has to leave isn't going to be easy. You don't have to do it alone."
"Yes, I do, Mephis," Saetan replied wearily. "I made her a promise. I'm the one who has to tell her I'm going to break it."
He said good night and slowly made his way through the stone corridors until he reached the stairs that would take him to Jaenelle's suite. Instead of climbing them, he leaned against the wall, shivering.