“Lady Eileen, this is Lady Saetien SaDiablo. Saetien, Lady Eileen is the head of this household, and her rules are the rules.”
“I thought Lord Kieran was in charge of things,” Saetien said. The look in this woman’s blue eyes made her uneasy, and being uneasy made her say things in ways adults found annoying.
Eileen had a trim figure, but the gray streaks in her brown hair and the strong lines fanning out from her eyes said “motherly” and “old.” Saetien didn’t want mothering, and she didn’t need a mother.
“Kieran is the Warlord of Maghre and runs the village. This side of the house is the family home, and it’s under my hand,” Eileen replied. “As you are now. If you’re thinking you can disregard my rules the moment your father walks out the door, think again, young lass. My house, my rules, my way. If you can’t agree to that, there’s no point in you unpacking your bags.”
Saetien turned to her father. “I can stay somewhere else.”
“No,” Daemon said. “If you want to stay in Scelt, you will be staying here. Or I can take you back to the sanctuary in Dhemlan. Your choice.”
How was she supposed to find the answers she needed if she was hemmed in by rules?
Then three adult Scelties joined them, looked at her—and growled.
Who were they to growl at her?
Shelby’s distressed whining pierced her annoyance as he sat beside her and leaned against her leg. He was failing his special friend by letting her be a bad human.
She wasn’t being bad, and Shelby wasn’t letting her do anything. He was still a puppy. They had no right to judge him!
But the Scelties who lived in this house protected the humans in the household, and Shelby would be miserable if he was ostracized because of her behavior. She suddenly wondered if his distress was partly due to some of those Scelties being related to him. If his family turned him away because of her . . .
She took a deep breath and made an effort to keep her voice civil. “I’ll stay.”
“Then I’ll show you to your room,” Eileen said. She looked at Daemon. “I’m sure you have business to attend to.”
Saetien blinked. Did this woman just dismiss her father? Her father?
Daemon hesitated, then dipped his head in a slight bow. He turned to Saetien. “I hope you find the answers you seek.”
“First I have to find the person who might have the answers,” she replied.
He let out a pained huff of laughter. “Oh, he isn’t difficult to find, but getting answers will be a different kind of challenge.”
Daemon walked out of the room and out of the house before Saetien gathered her wits. Her father knew who she needed to see and didn’t tell her?
She turned to Eileen. “Do you know who has the answers?”
Eileen gave her a long look. “Since you’re asking about Wilhelmina Benedict, there’s only one person who has more than surface knowledge. Kieran can take you to the cottage this evening before supper. Come along and I’ll show you to your room.”
“Why can’t I see this person now?” Since Eileen walked briskly through the house, with the Scelties now moving into herding position, Saetien hurried to follow.
Eileen opened a door and walked into a large, airy bedroom. Obviously a guest room, since its decor didn’t lean toward feminine or masculine. “There’s a bathroom just behind that door. It’s small but adequate. We do have a couple of maids and a cook. Kieran has a butler because his side of the house is an official residence. However, I expect you to keep your room tidy and not give the maids extra work. Any clothes that aren’t placed in the hamper won’t get washed unless you do them yourself. Any questions?”
“Why can’t I see this person now?”
“His day begins when the sun goes down. Given who your father is, I’d think you would understand what it means when a person is only available between sunset and sunrise.”
For a moment Saetien couldn’t breathe. “He’s . . . ?”
“Demon-dead. Yes.” Eileen gave her an odd smile. “Who else would know about things and people long past?”
Did she want to talk to someone who was demon-dead? “You said other people have surface knowledge.”
Eileen sighed. “I can tell you what anyone else can tell you. Wilhelmina Benedict lived in Maghre for a while. Then she moved to Tuathal, the capital of Scelt. She married, had children, and lived on this island for the rest of her life. If you need more than that, you’ll have to talk to Prince Butler. He knows more about Wilhelmina Benedict than anyone else can know.”
“Did he love her?”
“There was no love or liking between them. But Butler always made a point of keeping an eye on an enemy.”
“Was she dangerous?”
Eileen shrugged. “You’d have to ask him. Now, I’ll let you and Shelby get settled in.” She walked out of the room and closed the door.
Saetien went over to the window and looked out.
Undercurrents. Secrets. And for some reason . . . shame? Eileen knew more about Wilhelmina Benedict than she’d said, but she’d revealed all she intended to reveal.
Was it telling that Eileen didn’t mention that Wilhelmina Benedict was Jaenelle Angelline’s sister?
How did one dress when meeting the demon-dead? Did it matter? The person was dead. Sort of dead. Had her father or Uncle Lucivar told her about the demon-dead? Or, when they told stories about her, had they talked about people who had died the physical death but not the final death?
“Maghre is a small village but a good one, mostly,” Kieran said as they walked along the lane leading to the cottage. “We had some trouble with a man a while back who tried to force himself on a girl. He no longer lives in the village and is no longer a threat, but you’ll oblige me and my mother by letting someone know where you’re going. Shelby isn’t old enough to be much help if you run into trouble.”
“I know how to protect myself,” Saetien muttered.
“Good. You’ll still let someone know. If my sister Brenda could give her mother that courtesy, then so can you.”
“Do you?” Since males were supposed to serve—well, serve Queens, anyway—why were the females the ones who couldn’t have any privacy?
“I did when I was your age,” Kieran replied. “So did my brother.”
The restrictions chafed, despite being no different from the rules she’d had to follow at the Hall, at Uncle Lucivar’s eyrie, and even at the sanctuary. “I’m older than I look.”
“You have years over everyone else here—that much is true. But you’re nowhere near as mature as you seem to think.”
That stung. And who was he to judge her?
“A word of advice,” Kieran said as a man opened the door of the cottage, stepped out, and walked toward the gate in the white picket fence that surrounded the cottage gardens. “Butler doesn’t tolerate bitches. He never did. You should brush off your manners before you reach that gate, or he’ll shut you out before you begin.”
The light was fading, so it wasn’t easy to see the man who waited for them. The man who studied them. Studied her. Fair skin but not pasty pale. Gray hair cut short in a style that probably was a fashion decades ago—or never. Hard to tell until she reached the gate, but his eyes looked gray with flecks of green. And he wore a Green Jewel.
“Prince Butler, may I present Lady Saetien SaDiablo? Lady, this is Prince Butler. He manages the literary works of Lady Fiona. She wrote the Tracker and Shadow stories.”