“I don’t know. But I would prefer to leave the girl without answers than to see Lady Eileen heartsore because of this.”
“So would I, but that’s not up to us.”
Butler smiled. “When you’re dealing with a strong-willed witch, it never is.”
“Come with me,” Eileen said after the evening meal.
Saetien followed the woman to the library. She’d read all of Morghann’s journals—at least the ones that Kieran had provided. Since those had included a few of the years after Wilhelmina had left Maghre, she kept tripping over journal entries that included news about Jaenelle Angelline. Or Jaenelle and Daemon and how happy they were to be together. And how happy Morghann was to spend time with a woman who had been one of her closest friends since childhood.
Everyone was so happy to be around Jaenelle Angelline.
Except Wilhelmina Benedict.
Eileen looked at the journals carefully stacked at one end of the table. One finger drew patterns on the wood. Finally, she sighed and called in another stack of journals. “I don’t know if these will help you, but you’re welcome to read them—but you’re not welcome to discuss them with anyone but Butler.”
Saetien moved closer to the table. “Why? What are they?”
“Wilhelmina’s journals.”
She stared at Eileen. “Why would you have Wilhelmina Benedict’s journals?”
A smile that held a hint of sorrow. Maybe even shame. “I can trace my maternal bloodline back to her. She was an old woman close to the end of her days among the living when she told one of her granddaughters that she was Jaenelle Angelline’s sister, that they had been estranged for many years because she couldn’t accept the truth about what Jaenelle was and what she had done. She couldn’t love a monster, so she’d kept the truth of their connection a secret.
“In time, that granddaughter passed that secret on to her granddaughters—and it became a family secret passed down from one generation of girls to the next.
“My family lived in Tuathal or in towns near the capital. One day a group of friends invited me to come with them to a horse fair. Grand horses that came from the best bloodlines. And there were kindred horses as well, although ‘acquiring’ one of them was usually tricky since it wasn’t the humans who made the final decision. I knew I was descended from Wilhelmina, but I didn’t know where Wilhelmina had been before she’d arrived in Tuathal. No one remembered the name of that little village. Then I arrived in Maghre with my friends and had the strangest feeling that I had come home.”
Eileen smiled, but her eyes were bright with tears. “Imagine the shock of walking around this village, seeing the Sceltie school for the first time and driving past Angelline House, which is still what it’s called. Imagine the shock of rushing out of a shop and almost running into Daemon Sadi—and realizing who he was after the young Warlord he was with kept me from tumbling into the street.”
“Lord Kildare?” Saetien guessed.
“Yes. Kildare. I looked into his eyes and knew I would marry him or never marry. Lucky for me, he felt the same.”
“What did your family say?”
“Well, I was marrying a man who could trace his bloodline back to Morghann and Khardeen, so they couldn’t say he was unsuitable. One of my uncles—may the Darkness cherish him and keep him away from the rest of us—came to Maghre to dissuade me from marrying a man who understood so little about being aristo that he mucked out stalls along with his hired help. I wouldn’t yield, so my family insisted on a handfast, figuring I’d tire of country life before the year was done. Kildare’s family held a dinner the night before the ceremony—and Daemon Sadi was a guest. My uncle’s face turned the most peculiar shade of red and my parents didn’t say a word all evening, especially after the Prince indicated he would be at the handfast.” Eileen sighed, a contented sound. “Meeting Kildare and living in Maghre were the best things that could have happened to me.”
“Does my father know you have a connection to Wilhelmina?”
“He knew before I said anything, and the only thing he said when I told him was ‘Jaenelle would have liked you.’ ” Eileen looked at Saetien, then pressed a hand on the stack of journals. “I don’t know if these will help you, but this gives you an idea of who Wilhelmina was during the years she lived in Tuathal.”
“Have you ever seen Witch? Do you think you could . . . accept . . . her?”
“Accept her? I don’t know.”
“She’s back now. At the Keep. What do you think she’s like?”
Eileen gave Saetien a long look. “I think she’s as terrifying as she is grand. But then, the same can be said for your father, which is why I think they were well matched.”
Saetien waited until Eileen left the library before she sat at the table and opened the first journal. Would the journals tell her anything? Or was Butler right and she was looking at the wrong sister in order to find the answers?
FIFTY-FOUR
Saetien spent two evenings reading and rereading Wilhelmina’s journals, but they didn’t bring her any closer to figuring out who she was supposed to be.
Wilhelmina Benedict settled among Tuathal’s minor aristos, avoiding the Queens and their courts. Butler had stayed long enough to help her put down roots; taught her how to hire staff, how to shop at the open markets in case the cook took ill; taught her how to cook a steak and make scrambled eggs so that she wasn’t completely dependent on someone else for food. She had an independent income that came from an unknown source—and that was of interest to some of the men who were looking to handfast as a way to increase their social standing. But when the question of bloodlines came up, as it always did in aristo families, most of those men backed away because she had originally come from Chaillot. Being connected to someone from Terreille did nothing for a person’s social standing—unless that Terreillean was very powerful.
According to the information supplied by the Keep, Wilhelmina Benedict’s father was a Warlord named Robert Benedict and her mother was a Black Widow named Adria. There was no mention of Robert’s second marriage or his connection to Alexandra through Leland, so there was no mention of the name Angelline—a name that would have meant awkward questions, since Jaenelle Angelline was known throughout the Realm.
Wilhelmina eventually married a man who loved her for herself, and if her journals were to be believed, she never felt a burning passion for her husband but she did love him, and they were content living in Tuathal and leasing a country house for a few weeks each year. They were content with raising their children.
As long as you didn’t look closely, you could say Wilhelmina Benedict was content.
Her journals told a different story. She felt ashamed of her mixed feelings about her sister—a sister she didn’t name even in her private journals. And she felt angry for feeling ashamed, since she was sure most of the Blood would have felt the same way upon seeing Witch’s true Self.
Still, she didn’t tell that one granddaughter about her sister until a month after the news that Jaenelle Angelline had died and Daemon Sadi had begun a year of mourning.
A secret that had been at the core of Wilhelmina’s life. By her own choice—a choice made for her survival. Not everyone could serve in the Dark Court. Not everyone could live in the shadow of the sheer power that court represented.
Saetien understood Wilhelmina’s choice. Hell’s fire, she had a father and uncle who still served Witch. And she felt like she’d been competing with Jaenelle Angelline all her life—and losing.