At least he could look forward to something over the next few months.
“I’m Prince Butler. I’ve been assigned to be your companion for a few months while you set up your household in Tuathal. I have the impression that you’ve had little experience in hiring staff or handling the day-to-day decisions that your butler and housekeeper will require from you.”
Wilhelmina Benedict stared at him. “Who assigned you?”
“The High Lord.”
“What if I don’t want you with me? What if I don’t want someone reporting to him about everything I do?” Her voice had taken on a hysterical edge.
Butler shrugged. “Then I don’t go with you. If you don’t want help, no help will be given. By anyone.”
“My sister would help me.”
“How long will it be before she’s able to think of anything beyond her next heartbeat, her next breath?” Butler countered. “It will be months before she can think of anyone else. What will you do in the meantime? Play the part of the misunderstood woman looking for everyone else to save her while she wrings her hands and releases tears designed to elicit sympathy? Or are you going to try to put a little steel in your spine and learn how to live on your own, learn how to be someone who isn’t pathetic?”
“Don’t tell me I don’t have any steel. I came to Kaeleer on my own!”
“So did a lot of women. They’re getting on with their lives. Why aren’t you?”
“You don’t understand. My sister . . .”
“Living myth. Dreams made flesh. I understand more than you’ll ever know.” He took a moment to leash the anger. “Not everyone can accept Witch. Not everyone can serve in the Dark Court. It must be harder for someone who is related to her to realize they will never be comfortable in her presence and they need to walk away. But you need to walk away and make a life for yourself that doesn’t include Jaenelle Angelline.”
“And you’re going to help me do that?”
“Yes. I’ll stay long enough to help you put down roots. Then I’ll be gone.”
Wilhelmina gave him a wobbly smile. “I can tell you about Alexandra Angelline, who was a good—”
“I was born in Beldon Mor. There’s nothing I need to know about Alexandra Angelline, but if you want to tell me about her being a good Queen, I will tell you about the families that were shattered because of her, the lives that were destroyed. I will tell you what had been happening outside your fine house.”
She stared at him. He swore silently at himself for saying that much.
“You came from Chaillot?”
“I put that place behind me. It will never be mentioned again. Not to you. Not to anyone.” There would be no indulgent nostalgia for that place. Not with him.
He took a controlled breath. “Do you want my help or not?”
She hesitated. Finally, she nodded. “Yes, I want your help.” She sighed. “I’m supposed to move to my new house at the end of the week.”
“Give me the address. I’ll go there now and start getting things prepared for your arrival.”
“Wouldn’t the man of business have done that?”
“No, Lady. Getting some food in the house ahead of your arrival isn’t part of his job. Neither is hiring a cook—or anyone else you’ll want working in your house.” He held out a hand. “Did he give you any keys?”
She called in a set of house keys, handed them over, and told him the address of her residence in Tuathal.
Butler bent his head, more a courtesy than an actual bow. “I’ll see you in a few days.”
He left Jaenelle’s house and walked to the landing web.
Helping a woman from Chaillot. Helping a woman from that family.
He owed Jaenelle a debt he could never fully repay, so he would do this for her—and only for her.
Everything had a price.
FIFTY
Daemon knocked on the door of Marian and Lucivar’s suite and waited until Marian answered.
She smiled at him. “I was heading out to take a walk with Grizande, but if you need something . . . ?”
“A favor.” He raised her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Don’t come down for dinner this evening. Beale will bring you a tray.”
“All right. Maybe Titian and Zoey would like . . .”
“No. All the children are required at my table tonight. So are the instructors.”
She studied him. “And Lucivar?”
“Needs to be there.”
“Is this going to be a repeat of last night’s dinner?”
Daemon smiled. “Oh, no, darling. This will be much better.”
Throughout the day, one girl after another tried to get out of showing up for dinner. Nadene examined everyone who complained of an upset stomach or a weakness in her limbs or a stubbed toe that made it impossible to walk all the way to the dining room, and why couldn’t they get something to eat from the auxiliary kitchen?
Nadene made them swallow benign tonics and booted them out of the healing room, declaring them fit to sit at the Prince’s table.
The boys didn’t complain, but if Daemon had offered them a choice of a week in the dungeons or sitting through another dinner with Lady Dumm, they would have run to reach the cells.
Just as well he hadn’t given anyone a choice.
Just as well he’d warned Lucivar not to wear the new evening clothes Marian had insisted he buy in Amdarh during their last visit. The scent from the little surprise he’d brought back from Hell was difficult to get out of fabric.
He kept Grizande close to him—and he waited.
He waited through the first course. As he waited through the smacking of lips, he wondered how many people at the table—besides Lucivar, Daemonar, and Grizande—had knives handy that could not in any way be considered silverware.
He waited through the belching. And then came the sound he’d waited for.
The stench that rose from beneath the table immediately following that protracted fart was eye watering. Nose stinging. The people sitting next to and immediately across from Dumm covered their noses and shoved back their chairs. They eyed the dining room’s closed doors with desperation, not quite daring to run past him since he sat there, calmly, as if he hadn’t noticed a thing.
The stench quickly spread to both ends of the table.
Daemonar shoved away from the table. He looked at his father, who sat there staring at Daemon. Then the boy shook his head and strode for the dining room doors. As soon as the doors opened, the children and instructors hurried to follow.
Except for Brenda, who became stuck as she passed Daemon’s chair.
Daemon smiled at the Scelt witch who blinked back tears and gasped for breath.
“I can appreciate, to an extent, that you intended this as a valuable exercise in dealing with a difficult guest, but I think Lady Dumm should put aside her crude behaviors before she next sits at my table. If she doesn’t, she, and her flatulence, could end up in people’s bedrooms. Do we understand one another, Lady Brenda?”
“We do, Prince. We do.”
“I’m delighted.” Daemon released her and heard her collide with someone as she ran out of the room.
Lucivar shoved away from the table and used Craft to open all the windows in the room. “Hell’s fire, Bastard. Corpses that have been bloating in the sun for days don’t smell that bad.”
“Funny you should say that.” Daemon rose. Using Craft, he floated the glass bowl from beneath the table and put a triple Black shield around it and the object it held.
Pulpy. Fleshy. Its smell was an irresistible lure for carrion eaters—but that smell was also bait for a trap, since the plant that produced it was a carnivore.