by Anne Bishop
"Maybe they did do something foolish with the money," Hekatah conceded with real, or feigned, reluctance before adding quickly, "But I'm sure they didn't believe you really meant it about not giving them another loan."
I'm a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince, the strongest male in the history of the Blood. I'm the only male Black Widow in the history of the Blood. And I'm the High Lord of Hell. Despite the fact that I still walk among the living, I rule the Realm of the Blood's dead. How could your family not believe I meant what I said?
"It doesn't matter if they believed me or not," he said. "The decision stands."
She slapped the chair's arm. "You're being unreasonable. The Dhemlan people didn't complain the last time you raised the tithes to cover the loans. They won't dare whine this time, either."
Speechless, he stared at her and wondered if there was any point in explaining how deeply she'd just insulted him. Finally, he regained his balance sufficiently to reply. "I didn't raise the tithes, Hekatah. That was a personal loan, from me to your family."
Now she stared at him. "Our money? You used our money?"
"Of course. Why should the Dhemlan people have to pay for your family's financial imprudence?"
"So you took almost four million gold marks away from us? "
He shrugged. "I could afford it… once." And the timing for that last loan had pissed him off enough that he'd played their manipulative game with so much finesse Hekatah's family had never realized he was playing. "You could always give them a portion of your quarterly income."
"As if that pittance would do much good," Hekatah replied, her eyes filled with resentment.
"Thirty thousand gold marks a quarter is hardly a pittance," Saetan said with cutting gentleness. "Especially when you don't have to maintain a household" …he saw the jolt of nerves, quickly suppressed, which confirmed what he'd suspected… "and the only thing those funds have to cover are your personal expenses." He paused. "Or, if you prefer, I can release the principal I put in trust for you as a wedding gift, from which you receive that quarterly income, and you can give your family as much of it as you choose."
She said nothing. He hadn't expected her to.
She pushed herself out of the chair and stood before him, one hand resting on the large belly where his child moved inside her. It might have softened him enough to yield a little if he'd truly believed that gesture was a protective one rather than a reminder that she had power over something he wanted.
"I'm going to Hayll to offer my mother, and the rest of my family, whatever comfort I can," she said.
He choked back a protest, knowing she would use any concern he showed as a weapon against him. "Do you think that's wise?" he asked mildly. "You shouldn't be traveling so close to your time."
"I'm going to Hayll."
The challenge filled the space between them.
"I would appreciate it if you would send a message back to let me know you arrived safely," Saetan said.
Her shoulders slumped, her only acknowledgment that she had lost this battle of wills. Then she walked out of his study.
He waited there, his hands, tightly clasped, resting on the desk, while his mind, at times too facile for his own comfort, turned over nuggets of information and presented him with some unpalatable conclusions.
Last year, Hekatah's father had come to him for help in solving a "minor financial difficulty" shortly before Peyton's Birthright Ceremony, when the power a Blood child was born with was tested and confirmed, and the child received the Jewel that would be a visual warning of the depth of power that lived within that flesh as well as a reservoir for the power that wasn't used. It was also the time when paternity was formally acknowledged or denied. A man could sire a child, raise that child, love that child, but he had no rights to that child until the mother granted him paternal rights in a public ceremony that usually followed the Birthright Ceremony. It didn't matter if the child looked like the man in miniature, didn't matter if the woman had taken no lovers so there could be no question of who was the sire. If paternity was denied at that public ceremony, the man had no rights to the child. He could be cut out of the child's life in every possible way, becoming nothing more than the seed.
A public ceremony…and a decision that was never overturned. In many ways, a man who wanted children was held hostage by his heart until that ceremony. After that, the child was his, no matter what happened between him and the mother.
He should have wondered why Hekatah had wanted to get pregnant so soon after they'd married, should have wondered why she hadn't wanted a year or two just for the two of them to enjoy each other. But her true personality had already begun to crack the facade that had attracted him to her in the first place, so she couldn't afford to delay a pregnancy if she was going to keep the prize of a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince whose wealth rivaled any of Hayll's Hundred Families and who ruled a Territory without having to answer to any Queen. At least, not a flesh-and-blood Queen that she could see or understand. She hadn't recognized his deep commitment to Witch, to the living myth, dreams made flesh. He had served Cassandra, the last Witch to walk the Realms. He had made a promise to serve the next one, no matter how long he had to wait for her to appear. She was the Queen he served, and he ruled both Dhemlan Territories, the one in the Terreille and the one in Kaeleer, on her behalf.
Hekatah hadn't recognized his commitment, and he hadn't recognized that she'd seen him as a way to fulfill her ambitions to become the most powerful Priestess in Terreille…or, possibly, all the Realms.
How convenient that she'd become pregnant with Peyton a few months before Mephis's Birthright Ceremony. How well-timed was her father's embarrassed admittance a year ago, when it was time for Peyton's Birthright Ceremony, that the family debts had become a difficulty. The bastard had mentioned too many times how distressed Hekatah was about the family's social status being tarnished by whining merchants who had so far forgotten their place that they'd gone to the Queen of Draega to complain about a "few" overdue bills.
He'd made sympathetic murmurs, but he'd understood the threat: If he didn't make some effort to reestablish her family financially, Hekatah might say something in haste when it came time to acknowledge Peyton as his son and grant him paternal rights to his child.
Hekatah's father and brothers were anxious to have their gambling debts paid off since those were to other aristos and the invitations to social engagements had declined as those debts had piled up. Instead, Saetan had paid up the accounts with all the merchants and presented her father with the receipts…and had insisted that he was simply too caught up in the celebration of Peyton's Birthright Ceremony to deal with "minor" gambling debts. He'd assured her father that those would be taken care of after the ceremonies.
While they realized he might refuse to pay the gambling debts if Hekatah said something in haste at the ceremony, it never occurred to anyone in her family that his timing in paying off the debts that concerned them the most was as manipulative as their timing in asking for financial help.
So his paternity of his younger son was granted, the debts were paid off… and he gave himself a few weeks to consider if, with his sons safely under his control, he wanted to remain married to a woman who expected absolute fidelity from her Warlord Prince husband while she indulged her taste for variety by having affairs with men from the minor branches of Hayll's aristo families.
He'd almost accepted that his hopes for this marriage had been wishful thinking and the self-delusion of a lonely man who, while receiving plenty of bedroom invitations, had been craving love.
Then Hekatah had told him she was pregnant again. And, once again, a child's life held his heart hostage. He didn't blame her for the pregnancy. He wanted another child, had willingly stopped doing anything to prevent conception, and had let her decide when she was ready.
But the timing had just been a little too convenient to make him feel easy, just as this request for another loan coming so close to when Hekatah would be brought to c
hildbed was a little too convenient.
He sighed. Hekatah would punish him for not agreeing to provide the loan by staying with her family instead of being with him right now, and Zuulaman…
He pushed away from the desk. Screw all of it. What was the point of being the most powerful male in Terreille and shouldering the responsibility for a land and its people if he couldn't indulge himself once in a while?
Leaving the study and moving through the massive structure he'd built as a symbol of his power as well as a family home, he bounded up the stairs and headed for the family wing. He opened a door and his sons, Mephis and Peyton, the two joys of his marriage, rushed forward to greet him.
"Papa!" Peyton said."Look what we helped Daemon Carpenter make for us!"
"You helped him, did you?" Saetan said as he took a wooden ship from his younger son and gave it the careful inspection that was expected… and wondered if he should offer Daemon Carpenter hazard pay for whatever "help" had been given.
"Well," Mephis said, "we didn't actually help him make the ships, but we did make the sails."
Which explained the badly stitched canvas. But that was the difference between the two boys. Peyton tended to be fiery, dramatic, always leading with his heart, while Mephis thought things through as well as he could before acting, was a little less demonstrative, and more bitingly exact about details.
"That's helping," Peyton protested, scowling at his older brother. "Are you going to read us a story?" he asked, turning back to his father.
Saetan blew softly on the sail, using Craft to expand a puff of air into enough to fill the canvas. "No, I don't think so," he replied, handing the ship back to Peyton in order to inspect the one Mephis now held up for his approval.
Peyton's lower lip pushed out in a pout, but before he could start wheedling, Mephis gave him a hard elbow jab in the ribs.
"No," Saetan said slowly, "as commander of the fleet…"
"How come you get to be commander?" Peyton demanded. "Ow!" That because Mephis's elbow caught him in the ribs again.
"Because I'm bigger," Saetan replied. "As I was saying, as commander of the fleet, I think my stalwart captains should test their new ships on the Phantom Sea."
"Where?" Peyton asked.
"He means the pond," Mephis said out of the corner of his mouth. "Now, hush."
"Dangerous place, the Phantom Sea," Saetan said, his deep voice dropping into a croon while he continued to inspect Mephis's ship.
"Are there whirlpools, Commander?" Mephis asked.
Peyton frowned at his brother, still young enough that he had to work to catch up.
"Yes, Captain Mephis," Saetan crooned. "There are the Wailing Whirlpools and the Murky Mists. Challenges for even the most courageous sailors."
"Are there sea dragons, too?" Peyton asked, his eyes wide.
"What would the Phantom Sea be without sea dragons?" Saetan murmured.
"How'd we get sea dragons in the pond?" Peyton whispered to Mephis.
"Papa's going to make them for us," Mephis whispered back.
"Oooh." Peyton looked up at Saetan, his gold eyes sparkling with anticipation.
"If we're ready, gentlemen," Saetan said, handing the ship back to Mephis.
"And I suppose you're going to end up muddy to the knees and smelling like pond water," a female voice said.
Saetan turned to face the woman now standing in the doorway. He had no complaints about Lady Broghann, the Purple Dusk-Jeweled witch who was the boys' governess and teacher, but he was feeling a little too raw to accept a challenge from anyone, especially a woman.
Then he saw the humor in her eyes that balanced the stern tone of voice.
"I expect some mud will be inevitable," Saetan said solemnly.
"Yay!" Peyton said, only to be elbowed again by Mephis.
Puppy is going to be black-and-blue before he figures out when to keep quiet, Saetan thought.
"Now," Lady Broghann said. "Don't go drinking so much grog that you run aground."
"What's grog?" Peyton asked, starting to bounce with impatience.
"You would know if you had paid attention to the lesson about sailing," she replied.
While Peyton's face scrunched up in thought, Saetan turned away and coughed to clear the laughter from his throat.
Finally able to look suitably grim, he turned back to his captains. "Shall we go?" Then he noticed the boys' appearance. The trousers were worn to the point of looking shabby, and there was a long tear on the left sleeve of Peyton's shirt…neatly mended but still apparent. "Why are you wearing those clothes?"
"This is the attire of adventurous sailors," Lady Broghann said.
Curious, Saetan studied her. "According to… ?"
"My mother. I have three younger brothers."
And her younger brothers had a clever older sister.
"An unquestionable authority," Saetan said with a small bow.
"What's grog taste like?" Peyton asked, having circled back to something more interesting than clothes.
"It tastes like milk," Saetan replied.
"Sailors drink milk?"
"Short ones do."
While Peyton was working out why Mephis was snickering, Commander Saetan led captains Mephis and Peyton to the Phantom Sea, where they tested their ships against Murky Mists, Wailing Whirlpools… and sea dragons.
2
Hekatah stood at the window of her mother's private receiving room, rubbing her belly to soothe the whelp inside her while she stared at the back garden.
How much did Saetan know? Was the comment about not having to maintain a household simply a comment, or did he know about the little house she kept in Draega for the pretty toy-boys? It wasn't that she didn't enjoy sex with Saetan. He was an exquisite lover. How could a man who had been Witch's Consort for years not be exquisite in bed? But he wasn't as much fun. She couldn't play with him the way she could the toy-boys. So why shouldn't she enjoy a romp with a male she could dominate? Besides, it wasn't like she was doing anything wrong. Fidelity and sexual exclusivity were required of the male in a marriage, not the female. Males served, after all.
But Warlord Princes were a law unto themselves, and a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince might not think the status of a wedding ring was sufficient reason to overlook his wife's lovers.
Her mother, Martella, entered the room, unhappiness and embarrassment rolling off her in waves.
"We had to go to a different butcher, so the Darkness only knows what the cook will set before us for the evening meal. And the bastard demanded payment before he'd hand over the meat!" Martella's mouth thinned to a petulant line. "I had to return the pearl brooch I'd bought last week in order to pay for the meat." She sighed as she joined Hekatah at the window. "Your… husband … is being difficult about assisting the family, isn't he?"
"He says he won't make another loan because the extra million gold marks he gave Father wasn't used for the estates as they'd agreed."
"How could it be?" Martella cried. "Your brothers wanted that new carriage and team of horses, and then there was that payment that the Queen demanded we make because that witch was broken when Caetor got a little too enthusiastic about enjoying himself."
"Didn't she tell him she was virgin?" Hekatah asked.
"Well, of course she did. But she wasn't anyone important. Nothing would have come of it if her family hadn't gone to the Queen and made a formal accusation. And they said it was rape, insisting the girl hadn't agreed to have sex. The Queen gave your father and Caetor a choice: They could pay all the Healer's expenses and make a settlement as compensation for breaking the girl and stripping her of her Jeweled power, or Caetor could stand before a tribunal of Queens to determine if the accusation of rape was justified. The only reason she offered a choice was because the girl is a nobody and Caetor is from one of Hayll's Hundred Families." Bitterness filled Martella's voice. "The question wouldn't have come up at all if we still had the wealth we deserve. But I suppose we can't expect your husband to under
stand aristo concerns."
Hekatah felt the verbal slice. Her family's opinion of her marriage was divided. "Saetan" was a common name among the lower social classes. Hell's fire! Even one of the footmen who worked at the family's house here in Draega was named Saetan. And "SaDiablo" wasn't even a twig on a branch of any of the Hundred Families. She'd searched when she'd considered him as a mate. Her mother and aunts had searched. He seemed to have come out of nowhere when he built SaDiablo Hall in Dhemlan and made the bargain with the Dhemlan Queens in both Terreille and Kaeleer to protect their people and lands in exchange for being the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan… the ruler of both Dhemlan Territories. Socially unacceptable, he was still a Black-Jeweled Hayllian Warlord Prince who had wealth and power…two things she coveted. So she'd studied him until she was certain how to approach her quarry. She'd worked hard to dazzle him, to intrigue him, to convince him that the Jewels he wore and the power he wielded were insignificant compared to her feelings for the man.
But the wedding ring hadn't brought her what she'd thought to get from the bargain. Despite what she'd said, she'd wanted to bend the strength of those Black Jewels to her will, had wanted him to wield all that dark power on her behalf. Instead, she'd gotten the man. A man who followed the Blood's code of honor, even though he was powerful enough to do anything he wanted and no one could oppose him. Of course, no one really knew what he could do with the Black Jewels. Telling people he was the High Lord of Hell was a nice fillip for a reputation of temper that had never actually been seen. Not that she believed it for a moment. After all, she knew the man.