Now the time had come. And he still wasn't prepared.
He'd arrived home to find Beale fretting in the great hall, waiting to convey Lucivar's warning: "She remembers Daemon—and she's furious."
He felt her enter the Hall and hoped he could now find a way to help her face those memories in the daylight instead of in her dreams.
His study door blew off the hinges and shattered when it hit the opposite wall. Dark power ripped through the room, breaking the tables and tearing the couch and chairs apart.
Fear hammered at him. But he also noted that she didn't harm the irreplaceable paintings and sculpture.
Then she stepped into the room, and nothing could have prepared him for the cold rage focused directly at him.
"Damn you." Her midnight voice sounded calm. It sounded deadly.
She meant it. If the malevolence and loathing in her eyes was any indication of the depth of her rage, then he was truly damned.
"You heartless bastard."
His mind chattered frantically. He couldn't make a sound. He desperately hoped that her feelings for him would balance her fury—and knew they wouldn't, not with Daemon added to the balance.
She walked toward him, flexing her fingers, drawing part of his attention to the dagger-sharp nails he now had reason to fear.
"You used him. He was a friend, and you used him."
Saetan gritted his teeth. "There was no choice."
"There was a choice." She slashed open the chair in front of his desk. "THERE WAS A CHOICE!"
His rising temper pushed the fear aside. "To lose you," he said roughly. "To stand back and let your body die and lose you. I didn't consider that a choice, Lady. Neither did Daemon."
"You wouldn't have lost me if the body had died. I would have eventually put the crystal chalice back together and—"
"You're Witch, and Witch doesn't become cildru dyathe. We would have lost you. Every part of you. He knew that."
That stopped her for a moment.
"I gave him all the strength I had. He went too deep into the abyss trying to reach you. When I tried to draw him back up, he fought me and the link between us snapped."
"He shattered his crystal chalice," Jaenelle said in a hollow voice. "He shattered his mind. I put it back together, but it was so terribly fragile. When he rose out of the abyss, anything could have damaged him. A harsh word would have been enough at that point."
"I know," Saetan said cautiously. "I felt him."
The cold rage filled her eyes again. "But you left him there, didn't you, Saetan?" she said too softly. "Briarwood's uncles had arrived at the Altar, and you left a defenseless man to face them."
"He was supposed to go through the Gate," Saetan replied hotly. "I don't know why he didn't."
"Of course you know." Her voice became a sepulchral croon. "We both know. If a timing spell wasn't put on the candles to snuff them out and close the Gate, then someone had to stay behind to close it. Naturally it was the Warlord Prince who was expected to stay."
"He may have had other reasons to stay," Saetan said carefully.
"Perhaps," she replied with equal care. "But that doesn't explain why he's in the Twisted Kingdom, does it, High Lord?" She took a step closer to him. "That doesn't explain why you left him there."
"I didn't know he was in the Twisted Kingdom until—" Saetan clamped his teeth to hold the words back.
"Until Lucivar came to Kaeleer," Jaenelle finished for him. She waved a hand dismissively before he could speak. "Lucivar was in the salt mines of Pruul. I know there was nothing he could do. But you."
Saetan spaced out the words. "Getting you back was the first requirement. I gave my strength to that task. Daemon would have understood that, would have demanded it."
"I came back two years ago, and there's nothing draining your strength now." Pain and betrayal filled her eyes. "But you didn't even try to reach him, did you?"
"Yes, I tried! damn you, I tried!" He sagged against the desk. "Stop acting like a petty little bitch. He may be your friend, but he's also my son. Do you really think I wouldn't try to help him?" The bitter failure filled him again. "I was so close, witch-child. So close. But he was just out of reach. And he didn't trust me. If he would have tried a little, I would have had him. I could have shown him the way out of the Twisted Kingdom. But he didn't trust me."
The silence stretched.
"I'm going to get him back," Jaenelle said quietly.
Saetan straightened up. "You can't go back to Terreille."
"Don't tell me what I can or can't do," Jaenelle snarled.
"Listen to me, Jaenelle," he said urgently. "You can't go back to Terreille. As soon as she realized you were there, Dorothea would do everything she could to contain you or destroy you. And you're still not of age. Your Chaillot relatives could try to regain custody."
"I'll take that chance. I'm not leaving him to suffer." She turned to leave the room.
Saetan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Since I'm his father, I can reach him without needing physical contact."
"But he doesn't trust you."
"I can help you, Jaenelle."
She turned back to look at him, and he saw a stranger.
"I don't want your help, High Lord," she said quietly.
Then she walked away from him, and he knew she was doing a great deal more than simply walking out of a room.
Everything has a price.
Lucivar found her in the gardens a couple of hours later sitting on a stone bench with her hands pressed between her knees hard enough to bruise. Straddling the bench, he sat as close as he could without touching her. "Cat?" he said softly, afraid that even sound would shatter her. "Talk to me. Please."
"I—" She shuddered.
"You remember."
"I remember." She let out a laugh full of knife-sharp edges. "I remember all of it. Marjane, Dannie, Rose. Briarwood. Greer. All of it." She glanced at him. "You've known about Briarwood. And Greer."
Lucivar brushed a lock of hair away from his face. Maybe he should get it cut short, the way Eyrien warriors usually wore it. "Sometimes when you have bad dreams you talk in your sleep."
"So you've both known. And said nothing."
"What could we have said, Cat?" Lucivar asked slowly. "If we had forced someone else to remember something that emotionally scarring, you would have thrown a fit—as well as a few pieces of furniture."
Jaenelle's lips curved in a ghost of a smile. "True." Her smile faded. "Do you know the worst thing about it? I forgot him. Daemon was a friend, and I forgot him. That Winsol, before I was . . . he gave me a silver bracelet. I don't know what happened to it. I had a picture of him. I don't know what happened to that either. And then he gave everything he had to help me, and when it was done, everyone walked away from him as if he didn't matter."
"If you had remembered the rape when you first came back, would you have stayed? Or would you have fled from your body again?"
"I don't know."
"Then if forgetting Daemon was the price that had to be paid in order to keep those memories at bay until you were strong enough to face them. . . . He would say it was a fair price."
"It's very easy to make statements about what Daemon would say since he's not here to deny them, isn't it?" Tears filled her eyes.
"You're forgetting something, little witch," Lucivar said sharply. "He's my brother, and he's a Warlord Prince. I've known him longer and far better than you."
Jaenelle shifted on the bench. "I don't blame you for what happened to him. The High Lord—"
"If you're going to demand that the High Lord shoulder the blame for Daemon being in the Twisted Kingdom, then you're going to have to shovel some of that blame onto me as well."