“Then one day Lord Donal, a friend of mine, came to visit. His family had a few kindred horses, and they were open to sharing their land with a few more. Well, the filly heard his voice, and something inside her just settled. She trotted up to him, and that was that. Everything we had tried to teach her, everything she had refused to do? Donal showed her a bit of Craft or indicated by some praise or a cool look what he expected, and didn’t she do it? It was like he was dealing with a different horse. And in a way, that was true. Something in him brought out the best in her. She went with him and was with him the rest of her life.” Kildare shook his head and went back to eating his stew.
Kieran thought about the story while they had supper. He thought about it while he read a few letters and requests.
Even now, here in Maghre, people turned a blind eye to the fact that Daemon Sadi was the High Lord of Hell. Here he was the Warlord Prince who helped run the Sceltie school in memory of the Queen who had been his wife and the love of his life.
Here in Maghre, Saetien was a girl staying with Kieran’s family while she followed a heart quest. Here she could put aside the heavy burden of being the High Lord’s daughter.
Was that the reason they were seeing a fractious girl blooming into a caring young woman? Or was Saetien like the filly in Kildare’s story, finally hearing a voice that could reach the core of who she was?
Saetien felt relieved that Kieran didn’t need to fill the silence with useless words. Not that talk about people and the village and books and all sorts of things was useless, but her head was so full of thoughts that she just didn’t have room for more. Not tonight.
She appreciated the punch-in-the-gut sensation of seeing Witch for the first time. She could easily imagine Wilhelmina Benedict, who had come to Kaeleer expecting to find the sister she remembered, facing the living myth because Alexandra had prodded her to demand to see her sister’s true Self.
How much anger had she felt because she’d turned away from her human family and sided with something that was so clearly not fully human? How much guilt did Wilhelmina carry because the monster she couldn’t accept had still loved her enough to try to protect her one last time?
“Are there . . . ?” she began, then stopped, uncertain what to ask.
“Are there . . . ?” Kieran repeated. Kindly, not mocking.
“Are there any histories about Scelt during the time of the war or the years just after?”
A thoughtful silence before Kieran said, “Scholars wrote about those years, although they were looking at it from the outside, so to speak, because some things were not shared. If you’re looking for the personal in Maghre, the family has journals left by Lady Morghann and Lord Khardeen. Khardeen wasn’t much for putting down his thoughts, so most of what we know about our family history during that time comes from Morghann. Even with preservation spells, the journals have become fragile and can’t leave the house. But you’re welcome to read them.”
“Thank you.”
Saetien ate her supper alone. By the time she’d finished, Kieran had located the journals and left them on the library table for her. She turned up the lamp on the table, then hesitated to open the first journal.
Did she want to know? So far in the telling, Wilhelmina Benedict wasn’t the heroine of the story, but she wasn’t the villain either. She was just a woman struggling to make a new life in a place where she didn’t fit in.
But Lady Morghann had been Jaenelle Angelline’s good friend. What would she say about Wilhelmina? And what would Morghann say about the Queen whom Saetien had seen as some kind of rival when she wasn’t trying to ignore Jaenelle’s existence?
Saetien hesitated a moment longer, then opened the cover of the first journal.
FORTY-EIGHT
“Lady Morghann and Lord Khardeen are here to see you,” the housekeeper announced.
Wilhelmina set aside the book she’d been trying to read. “Show them in.”
She smoothed down her dress and straightened her shawl. The Queen of Scelt and the Warlord of Maghre had been kind in a cool sort of way. They had invited her to join them for an evening meal a couple of times since she’d arrived in Maghre, but they were grieving. Everyone in Maghre was grieving the loss of the Queen of Ebon Askavi, but no one mentioned the Queen by name or what she’d done to save the Blood in the Shadow Realm. Not in Wilhelmina’s hearing. Not after the first few days.
“You’re staying in Lady Angelline’s house? Were you friends, then?”
“Never put on airs like some aristo Ladies who think they’re too important to be courteous to farmers and shopkeepers. Interested in village life, she was.”
“Such a lovely voice she had. Lady Angelline and Lady Morghann would sing a song or two at a harvest dance, and it was a delight to hear them.”
Everyone in the village knew she was staying at Jaenelle’s house. Everyone had a story to tell about the Black Widow Queen who had saved a young witch from madness—who, as a Healer, had saved a boy’s leg after it had been crushed by a wagon. They told Wilhelmina about dances and horse races and the rainbow slides the Lady had made out of Craft and air for the village children. And they all had thoughts about the school Jaenelle had created for kindred Scelties.
Jaenelle lived in that house for only a few days every season, but the remembrance of her filled the village with stories that matched the sister Wilhelmina had expected to find. These people didn’t know; they hadn’t seen the truth beneath the human skin.
If they had seen Witch’s true Self, would they have felt as horrified as she’d felt? Or would these people have nodded and said how it made sense that all the kindred had loved the Lady so much?
Then came the awful day when she’d let something slip after another story about the Lady, something that made the villagers understand that not only was there a family connection between her and Jaenelle Angelline, but also that she held some kind of grudge against the Lady. Everyone in the village cooled toward her after that, leaving her feeling more and more isolated.
Now Morghann and Khardeen had come to call.
She knew the moment she saw Morghann’s face that something had happened. Something big.
“We just received word from Uncle Saetan.” Morghann smiled brilliantly as tears ran down her face. “Jaenelle survived. The kindred managed to save her. She’s alive!”
Wilhelmina stared at them. “How . . . ?”
“We don’t know more than that, except that she’s healing in a secret place,” Khardeen said. “It could be weeks, even months, before she’s able to come home. But she will be coming home.”
“Home?” Wilhelmina felt a sharp chill beneath her skin. “Meaning here?”
“I expect she’ll be at the Hall most of the time,” Morghann replied. “But yes, we’re hoping she’ll be returning here as well.”
“Then I’d better start looking for another place to live.” She clutched the shawl.
They didn’t contradict her and tell her she could stay.
“I can ask around for other cottages to let,” Khardeen offered.