Saetien looked past the man and studied the cottage with interest. The stories were ancient, but she loved the tales about Tracker and Shadow. If she asked—politely—would Butler show her the room where Lady Fiona wrote the stories?
“Lady Saetien,” Butler said.
She looked into his eyes, heard his voice, and thought, There you are.
What in the name of Hell did that mean?
Something about this man called to something inside her—and it scared her.
“I want to know about Wilhelmina Benedict.” A moment ago, she’d been thinking about seeing inside Lady Fiona’s cottage. Now the words—the demand—just fell out of her mouth. Because something about Butler scared her, and it had nothing to do with his being demon-dead.
Kieran made a sound like a swallowed protest. Butler just stared at her.
“You are the supplicant,” Butler finally said. “You’re the one seeking answers. You make no demands of me.”
“You have to answer my questions.” He would spend time with her if he answered her questions.
“No, I do not.”
“Saetien.” Kieran made her name into a warning.
Ignoring Kieran, she focused on Butler and aimed her best weapon—and knew a moment too late that her best weapon would turn on her. “Do you know who my father is?”
The air around them turned bitter cold. Butler said, “I am demon-dead, child. I know who your father is and what he is far better than you do. I also know that when he asked me for this favor on your behalf, he agreed that I would do this my way, on my terms. If you think to use him as a club against me, then he’s well rid of you as a daughter.”
She stepped back, stunned by the verbal attack despite recognizing that she had provoked it. Her lower lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears.
“What?” Butler snarled. “You want to be the only one who can fling harsh words at people? Your father may forgive such disrespect because he loves you. But I don’t know you, I don’t love you, and I will not tolerate disrespect for anyone who matters to me. And that includes Daemon Sadi and Jaenelle Angelline.”
Her thoughts spun and collided.
“You want to know about Wilhelmina Benedict? First tell me what you know about Jaenelle Angelline.”
“I don’t want to know about her,” Saetien shouted. “I just want to know about Wilhelmina Benedict.”
“Fine. Wilhelmina Benedict was born in Chaillot, an island in the Realm of Terreille. She came to Kaeleer during the last service fair. She lived at SaDiablo Hall for a little while before coming to Scelt. She lived here the rest of her life. Now you know all that anyone needs to know about Wilhelmina Benedict. In order to know more, you have to know about Jaenelle Angelline.” Butler walked back to the door of his cottage. “Write down what you know about both of them. Bring it with you tomorrow. Then I’ll decide if I’m going to answer your first question.”
He walked into the cottage and closed the door.
“That went well,” Kieran said dryly. “If those are your best manners, may the Darkness have mercy on you if you try to deal with him again.”
“Isn’t there someone else I can talk to?” Someone who doesn’t pull at me to be . . . something?
Kieran didn’t say anything until they were well down the lane. “If there had been anyone else, your father never would have asked Butler for this favor.”
Butler leaned against the cottage’s door and thought, There you are.
Something about this girl called to something inside him, produced a feeling full of sharp edges as well as joy. He’d never felt anything like this on an assignment. Never.
Had Saetan felt this way the first time he’d met Jaenelle Angelline? Had he realized in some way that his life would never be the same?
There you are.
What in the name of Hell did that mean?
“Half of the individuals I spoke to aren’t interested in learning to serve in an aristo house, let alone a dark house,” Helene said. “They see it as an adventure away from home, with free room and board and a requirement to do a token amount of work.”
Daemon swirled his brandy and said nothing, since he heard outrage in Helene’s voice when she said that last bit. It didn’t matter if a person was dusting the furniture or preparing a meal for visiting Queens; shoddy work was not tolerated, let alone rewarded.
“There are seven I think would benefit from working at the Hall,” Helene continued. “Different positions, including a young witch who likes working with horses and is acquainted with Lord Shaye.”
“Can we accommodate seven more people?” he asked. When there had been three residents at the Hall, with Lucivar and his family occasional visitors, the staff had tripped over one another as they tried to find things to do in order to earn their pay—and were put in a rotation so that they would have some opportunity to serve a member of the family. With the youngsters and instructors now in residence, there was more for the staff to do. Still, the Hall needed only so many people taking care of it and the people who lived there.
“We can, yes. A couple of these people are amenable to living in a city, so Beale and I thought they might get their seasoning at the town house in Amdarh, if Lady Surreal is agreeable to having them there. But they can start at the Hall, and we’ll go from there.”
“How long . . . ?”
“They’ll be here after breakfast, packed and ready to go.”
Daemon blinked. Then he wondered why he should be at all surprised. “They’ve all reached their majority?”
Helene hesitated. “Not all of them.”
Daemon swore silently. More vulnerable youngsters, male and female.
“At least they’re all human.”
They both understood that, as consolation, the words were significant.
Feeling the approach of Red power, Daemon set the brandy aside and rose. “If you’re comfortable with the arrangements, we’ll leave after breakfast tomorrow.”
Helene also rose. “Unless you need more time?”
“No.” The word came out quick and sharp. He took a breath and tried to soften it. “No, there’s no need to stay.”
“Prince.” Helene left the room as Kieran walked in.
“Brandy?” Daemon asked.
“Yes, thanks.” The Warlord of Maghre took a seat.
After pouring a brandy for Kieran, Daemon resumed his seat and picked up his own snifter. “How did it go?”
“Your girl seems to think she’s entitled to this information and attempted to play grand lady of the manor,” Kieran replied. “A lot of girls try on that attitude like they’re trying on an outfit to see how it fits. Some are born to wear it, whether they’re aristo or not. And most realize they aren’t suited to the work that goes with the title.”
“That was Saetien’s opening gambit with Butler?”
“It was.”
“Hell’s fire.”
“Aye, it went as well as you think.” Kieran stared at the brandy. “But your girl also tried to use you as a club to force him to yield.”
Daemon felt his temper chill. “Did she?”
“You may be the Queen’s weapon, but you are not a club for Saetien SaDiablo. Butler will handle it his own way, but you should know, here and now, that if she tries that with anyone else, she will deal with me—and I will not be kind.”
“I understand.” It was one thing to use him and what he was as a shield if she felt threatened; after all, it was a man’s duty and privilege to protect his child. But it was quite another thing to use a man to force someone into complying with a demand when the initial answer was no.