After introducing Brenda to the housekeeper and leaving the Scelt witch in the other woman’s hands, Daemon used a psychic thread to tap Jillian and Saetien, informing them that he was at the estate and expected them within the hour. Then he reached for Beale on a Red psychic thread and informed the Hall’s butler that he was bringing another instructor with him, a witch from Scelt. And she would be accompanied by a kindred friend who would need a box stall in the stables.
After receiving assurances that accommodations would be ready for the Lady and her friend, Daemon settled in the sitting room he’d occupied a few days ago and reviewed the papers and reports the estate’s manager brought in with a pot of coffee and breakfast sandwiches.
Jillian walked into the smaller sitting room, then retreated a step when she saw the unknown Green-Jeweled witch who was already in the room—an instinctive reaction, since Purple Dusk couldn’t stand against Green in a fight. When nothing in the woman’s psychic scent indicated an adversary, Jillian took a moment to consider this stranger—and to remember that Prince Sadi was just across the hall and had to be aware of the Green’s presence. Rich brown hair with just enough curl to sensually frame a pretty face, green eyes that sparked with curiosity and energy, fair skin with a rose blush in the cheeks.
“It’s a grand morning, isn’t it?” the woman said cheerfully. “If you’re waiting for the Prince, he and his daughter are having a talk, so you might as well tuck in to a bit of breakfast. I’m Brenda, from the village of Maghre on the Isle of Scelt. You?”
“Jillian, from the valley of Ebon Rih in the Territory of Askavi.” The formal identification seemed odd, but saying less would feel rude. She sat in a chair on the other side of the coffee table and looked at all the dishes that covered the surface. “How many people are they expecting to eat this?”
“Well now, there was me and now there is you.” Brenda grinned. “Maybe the girl, depending on how the talking goes. I didn’t see her when she arrived, but I’m thinking her idea of how things are going to go in Scelt is very different from how the Prince and my family intend for things to go.”
“Your family?” Jillian poured a mug of coffee for herself and made a selection from the various foods being offered.
“Aye. My brother, Kieran, is the Warlord of Maghre. The Prince’s girl will be staying with my parents. Strict rules, and no tolerance for someone putting on airs. I’m going to SaDiablo Hall to be an instructor. What brings you here this morning?”
“Lady Saetien is currently staying at the sanctuary Lady Surreal established for girls who were deliberately broken on their Virgin Night. Those girls need an escort when they leave the grounds, so I brought Saetien here.” Jillian bit into a sandwich triangle and studied Brenda. Then she added, “And I wanted to talk to Prince Sadi about a couple of concerns I have about my Virgin Night. Have you had yours?” Since Brenda was direct with lobbing questions at her, she didn’t see why she couldn’t be the same.
“I have. It was pleasant enough—or not unpleasant, at any rate—and I was relieved to have it done, and even more relieved that it had been done before I . . . Well, there was a man who was very good at hiding his true nature and true intentions. Never got past kisses and a bit of this and that with that one before his true nature collided with my true nature—and my fist.”
Jillian laughed. “I’ve used my fist a time or two to explain things.”
“Well then, you know how it goes. I did have a lover for a little while, and I enjoyed being with him. Was fairly on my way to falling in love and giving him my heart, and that’s the truth. Then I made the Offering and came away with the Green.”
“You were stronger than him?” she guessed.
“I was. I am. And suddenly the things he said he liked about me he started claiming were emasculating him, and he deserved better. ‘Better?’ said I. ‘Maybe so, but then, so do I.’ But there was some pressure from some of the Queens in Scelt for me to do a formal apprenticeship in one of their courts, and he was a favorite with some of those same Queens, and I didn’t need reminders. Then this opportunity to work at the Hall and get a kind of informal apprenticeship opened up, and that’s where I’m headed.”
“I’m a kind of counselor at the sanctuary—and I teach the girls how to fight.”
Brenda leaned closer, the sparkle in her eyes more intense. “I’ve heard Eyriens have those war blades they use on a killing field. Do you have one?”
Jillian called in her war blade. “It’s balanced to my hand and sharp enough that I can cut halfway through a person just by resting the blade against skin and relaxing my grip.”
“A warrior’s blade.”
“Yes.” She was a warrior in her own way. “There are other Eyrien weapons that are better suited for young women who want to be able to defend themselves. An Eyrien club, for example. And there are the sparring sticks. Those moves could be made with a broom as well. If you’re interested, you should talk to Daemonar Yaslana when you get to the Hall. He’s been teaching others how to use the Eyrien sparring sticks.”
Brenda jumped up. “Come on, then. Show me a couple of moves so I don’t feel like a complete fool when I get there.”
By the time Saetien joined them, they’d gone through the first moves of the warm-up a couple of times.
Saetien had barely been awake when her father had tapped her on a psychic thread and summoned her to the estate for this meeting. Now she sat in the same sitting room, even the same chair, where she’d made her request. Now she tried not to fidget, tried not to explode with a demand for an answer, as if getting an answer a minute from now would be different from getting an answer right now.
“I’ve made arrangements with Lord Kieran’s family for you to stay with them while you’re in Scelt,” Daemon said.
He was going to treat her like a baby? “You have a house in Maghre. Why can’t I stay there?”
“You’re not old enough to stay by yourself. Therefore, you’ll stay with Kieran’s family while you search for your answers.”
“What if I don’t like them?”
“Then Kieran will escort you back to the sanctuary here, and that will end your quest.”
“Your way or nothing?”
“Yes.”
Why was she fighting about this? Once she arrived in Scelt, she could do what she liked. “Can I have some money for new clothes?”
A beat of silence as the air in the room chilled, warning her that she had, once again, crossed a line with him. Sometimes it felt like she was in a bad play and fell into her part the moment she was with another actor. But she’d written this particular play and kept falling into the role she’d created. She just didn’t know anymore how to be someone else when she was around her father.
“No,” Daemon said softly. “Maghre is a country village. You have a wardrobe stuffed with clothes. I’m sure you already have anything you’ll need.”
“What about expenses?”
“The spending money I already provide is more than sufficient. You’ll be there a few days, a few weeks at the most.”
She didn’t want to arrive in Scelt like some child with a project. “I don’t need minding by some strangers.” Stop acting like a brat. Stop it.
“It’s been years since you were last in Scelt, so I suppose everyone in the village will be strangers. Whether you stay here or go is your choice—as long as you abide by my terms.”
“I could just go there on my own. How would you stop me?” She was playing to an audience that already hated her performance, but she couldn’t seem to hold back the words.