SaDiablo Hall, Dhemlan Kaeleer, Late Sunday Afternoon (Fandom Time)
Part Two
Jaenelle ghosted down the stairs, tipping a wink and a smile at Beale and Karla-who had both diligently returned to the task of plant care-before setting her face into a polite mask and entering the drawing room. The door remained open.
"What's going on?" Jaenelle asked. Smiling politely at Magstrom and Friall, she settled next to Saetan on the couch. Karla bit her lip. Jaenelle was sitting close to Saetan to show daughterly affection. But such a distance was open to misinterpretation.
"We're having bunny stew for dinner instead of chicken," Uncle Saetan replied, trying to keep control as the afternoon spiraled into chaos.
"Ah. That explains Mrs. Beale." Amusement shot through her psychic scent. "I suppose I should explain human territoriality to the wolves to avoid further misunderstandings."
*At least Mrs. Beale's territory,* Karla sent.
*Quiet,* Jaenelle sent back with more amusement. *You’re too busy picking leaves off a plant to eavesdrop, remember?*
Friall decided to begin the interview with a thoughtful and relevant question. "Is that your usual way of dressing, Lady Angelline?" Lord Friall asked, once more dabbing his lips with his handkerchief.
Jaenelle looked at the baggy overalls she had acquired from one the gardeners and the white silk shirt Saetan had unknowingly donated to her wardrobe. She lifted one loose braid and studied the feathers, small bells, and seashells attached to the strips of leather woven into her hair. Then her eyes swept over Friall.
"Sometimes," she said coolly. "Do you always dress like that?"
"Of course," Friall said proudly.
"Why?"
Friall stared at her.
*Remember their delicate sensibilities, witch-child.* How kind. Saetan had sent that thought out on a general distaff thread, meaning any witches in the vicinity could pick up on it.
Which meant it was probably just as much a warning for her as for Jaenelle.
*Screw their delicate sensibilities.* Saetan flinched; Karla could tell through the link. Jaenelle’s mood had shifted.
Outwardly, he simply dropped one arm around her shoulders. "Lord Magstrom would like to ask you a few questions." Karla approved of that tactic. Hopefully the older Warlord felt the emotional currents in the room and would tread carefully.
"Before the interrogation begins, may I ask you something?” Jaenelle asked him.
Lord Magstrom fiddled with his cup. "This isn't an interrogation, Lady," he said gently.
"Really?" she said in her midnight voice.
Magstrom shivered. His hand shook as he set his cup on the table. Karla just wanted to laugh. If you were going to tangle with Witch, you deserved what you got.
Hoping to divert her, Saetan groaned theatrically. "What do you want to ask?"
Her sapphire eyes studied him. Concern faded to exasperated amusement. "It isn't that bad."
"That's what you said the last time."
Jaenelle gave him her best unsure-but-game smile. "Dujae wants to know if we can have a wall."
Karla smothered giggles while Saetan looked panicked. "A wall? Dujae wants one of my walls?"
"Yes."
Saetan pressed his fingertips against his temple. "Why does Dujae want a wall?" His voice sounded as if something was clogging his throat. Karla was willing to lay equal bets on a shriek or a laugh.
"We're going to paint it." She pondered this for a moment. "Well, I guess saying we're going to paint it isn't quite accurate. We're going to draw on it. Dujae says we need to think more expansively and the only way to do that is to have an expansive canvas to work on and the only thing big enough is a wall."
Uh-huh. "I see." Saetan looked around the tastefully decorated room and sighed. "There are lots of empty rooms here. Why don't you pick one in the same wing as the rumpus room."
Jaenelle frowned. "We don't have a rumpus room."
Saetan tweaked one of her braids. "You wouldn't say that if you'd ever been in the room under it while you were all doing . . . whatever. You can use the one Karla dropped on Khary’s head."
In the hallway, Karla ducked down and avoided Beale’s too-curious gaze. The leaf in front of her suddenly needed all of her attention.
Jaenelle gave him a look of amused tolerance. "Thank you, Papa." She bussed his cheek and bounded off the couch.
Saetan grabbed the back of her overalls and pulled her down beside him. "Dujae can wait a bit. Lord Magstrom has a few questions."
The cold fire was back psychic scent, but she settled against him on the couch, her hands demurely in her lap, and gave the two men a look of polite impatience. Saetan nodded at Lord Magstrom.
His hands loosely clasped on the arms of the chair, Lord Magstrom smiled at Jaenelle. "Is art a favorite study of yours, Lady Angelline?" he asked politely. "I have a granddaughter about your age who enjoys 'mucking about with colors,' as she puts it."
At the mention of a granddaughter, Jaenelle looked at Lord Magstrom with interest. "I enjoy drawing, but not as much as music," she said after a moment's thought. "Much more than mathematics." She wrinkled her nose. "But then, anything's better than mathematics."
"Arnora holds mathematics in the same high regard," Lord Magstrom said seriously, but his blue eyes twinkled.
Jaenelle's lips twitched. "Does she? A sensible witch."
"What other subjects do you enjoy?"
"Learning about plants and gardening and healing and weaponry and equitation is fun . . . and languages. And dancing. Dancing's wonderful, don't you think? And of course there's Craft, but that's not really a lesson, is it?"
"Not really a lesson?" Lord Magstrom looked startled.
He accepted another cup of coffee. "With so much studying, you don't have much time to socialize," he said slowly.
Jaenelle frowned and looked at Saetan.
"I believe Lord Magstrom is referring to dances and other public gatherings," he said carefully.
Her frown deepened. "Why do we need to go out for dancing? We've got enough people here who play instruments and we dance whenever we want to. Besides, I promised Morghann I'd spend a few days in Scelt with her when they have the harvest dances, and Kalush's family invited me to go to the theater with them, and Gabrielle---"
"Dujae," Friall interrupted tightly. "Dujae is teaching you to draw?"
Saetan squeezed Jaenelle's shoulder but she shrugged away from him. Karla rose, slowly. She didn’t need to be a Black Widow to tell that things were about to go precipitously poorly.
"Yes, Dujae is teaching me to draw," Jaenelle said, the chill back in her voice.
"Dujae is dead."
"For centuries now."
Friall dabbed at his lips. "You study drawing with a demon?"
"Just because he's a demon doesn't make him less of an artist."
"But he's a demon."
Jaenelle shrugged dismissively. "So are Char and Titian and a number of my other friends. Who I call a friend is no business of yours, Lord Friall."
"No business," Friall sputtered. "It most certainly is the Council's business. It was a show of faith that the Council allowed something like the High Lord to keep a young girl in the first place-"
"Something like the High Lord?"
"-and to soil a young girl's sensibilities by forcing her to consort with demons-"
"He never forces me. No one forces me."
"-and submit to his own lustful attentions- "
The room exploded.
There was no time to think, no time to protect himself from the spiraling fury rising out the abyss. Karla could feel Saetan drawing everything he could from his Black Jewels, Saetan threw himself on Jaenelle as she lunged for Friall. Wild, vicious sounds erupted from her as she fought to break free and reach the Warlord, who stared at her in shock while windows shattered, paintings crashed to the floor, plaster cracked as psychic lightning scored the walls, and the furniture was ripped to pieces.
Karla flung herself into the fray. Saetan could shatter the Black at this rate. He was hanging onto grimly, letting the room go, using his strength to shield the other men, using himself as a buffer between Jaenelle's rage and flesh. She wasn't trying to hurt him. Karla could feel that. That was the terrifying irony. Jaenelle was simply trying to get past the barriers he was placing between her and Friall. Karla wrapped shield after shield around Magstrom, hoping that he would be spared. Even through Saetan’s shields, she felt the relentless push of the Black as Jaenelle threw everything she had at Friall. Karla spared no concern for him. Let the bastard burn for what he was insinuating.
*Please, witch-child. Please!* Saetan didn’t even have the control to narrow the thread. It was broadcast for everyone to hear.
Rising up from an impossible distance, Jaenelle came at him with frightening speed, cocooned him in black mist, and then brought him up to the depth of the Red Jewel before she turned and glided back down into the comfortable sanctuary of the abyss.
Silence.
Stillness.
Karla’s head throbbed mercilessly. Her tongue hurt. She must have bitten it-her mouth was full of blood. She felt too brittle to move. But she had to. Saetan had a moment of brief clarity-Karla could feel a pleasant thought ripple through his psychic scent-and then surrendered to oblivion. Both Magstrom and Frial were also unconscious; Friall’s nose and lip were bleeding. Karla wished there was more. If she’d had her way, Friall wouldn’t wake up at all.
Well, no. She probably wouldn’t kill him even if she had the opportunity. But she’d hurt him for what he’d said.
Witch looked at Karla for a moment with ancient, sapphire eyes, then glanced down at the unconscious males. Her eyes gentled when she looked at Saetan but froze again when she glanced Friall’s way. Without a word, she turned and glided from the room.
Exhausted and sore, Karla limped after her. Beale was standing at attention in the doorway and Karla could see Andulvar striding down the hallway towards the room. “Take care of Uncle Saetan,” Karla croaked. “Then see to them.” Eyes hard and jaw set, Beale nodded once, sending out a wave of orders to the household staff on physic threads.
Karla didn’t stay to watch the clean-up. She had a best friend to find.
***
They talked over a table of herbs. Jaenelle was brewing a soothing tonic for when Saetan woke up. She looked haggard; her face pinched and pale. What had happened in the drawing room was disturbing her more than she liked. She handed Karla a glass. "Drink this. Let me know how it is."
She took a sip and then another. It tasted of moonlight, summer heat, and cool water. "This is wonderful, Jaenelle!” Karla exclaimed, immediately taking another sip. “You should have a glass yourself."
"I've already poured one." Jaenelle tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it. She fluffed her hair and bit her lower lip.
"Karla, I don't like what happened today. I don't like what. . . almost happened today."
Karla drained the glass before answering, set it on the table, and reached for her hand. "I'm glad. Killing should never be easy, Jaenelle. It should leave a scar on your soul."
Jaenelle looked at her. “You’ve killed.”
Karla nodded, glancing away. “Three times now. And I can feel every death, like a rough spot on my soul. It hurts, even when you know that it’s the right thing to do. One of my teachers had promised to teach me to become a killer. I agreed, thinking that it was what I wanted, what I needed. Now, I’m not so sure I made the best decision.”
"They'd come here to condemn him, to hurt him. They had no right."
“Of course they had no right!” Karla flared. “But do you honestly think Saetan would want you to kill someone because of something they said, even as hurtful, as disgusting, as wrong as those statements were?”
It was Jaenelle’s turn to look away. “No,” she admitted. “It feels wrong to even think of it.”
“Course it does,” Karla said. “We’re Queens. We’re Healers. We’re sworn to life, not death. The time may come when we have to kill--” or kill again, in her case, “-but it shouldn’t ever be our first option. Not if there’s another way.”
Jaenelle came to the other side of the table to embrace Karla and kiss her cheek. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For being there. For helping. For understanding.”
“This isn’t over,” Karla reminded her quietly.
The last thing Jaenelle said before she left for Saetan’s his bedroom was, "I know. But I won't let them put more scars on his soul. I will find another way."
(Part Two of Two. NFB, NFI, OOC=pie. Adapted from chapter eight of Anne Bishop's Heir to the Shadows.)
Jaenelle ghosted down the stairs, tipping a wink and a smile at Beale and Karla-who had both diligently returned to the task of plant care-before setting her face into a polite mask and entering the drawing room. The door remained open.
"What's going on?" Jaenelle asked. Smiling politely at Magstrom and Friall, she settled next to Saetan on the couch. Karla bit her lip. Jaenelle was sitting close to Saetan to show daughterly affection. But such a distance was open to misinterpretation.
"We're having bunny stew for dinner instead of chicken," Uncle Saetan replied, trying to keep control as the afternoon spiraled into chaos.
"Ah. That explains Mrs. Beale." Amusement shot through her psychic scent. "I suppose I should explain human territoriality to the wolves to avoid further misunderstandings."
*At least Mrs. Beale's territory,* Karla sent.
*Quiet,* Jaenelle sent back with more amusement. *You’re too busy picking leaves off a plant to eavesdrop, remember?*
Friall decided to begin the interview with a thoughtful and relevant question. "Is that your usual way of dressing, Lady Angelline?" Lord Friall asked, once more dabbing his lips with his handkerchief.
Jaenelle looked at the baggy overalls she had acquired from one the gardeners and the white silk shirt Saetan had unknowingly donated to her wardrobe. She lifted one loose braid and studied the feathers, small bells, and seashells attached to the strips of leather woven into her hair. Then her eyes swept over Friall.
"Sometimes," she said coolly. "Do you always dress like that?"
"Of course," Friall said proudly.
"Why?"
Friall stared at her.
*Remember their delicate sensibilities, witch-child.* How kind. Saetan had sent that thought out on a general distaff thread, meaning any witches in the vicinity could pick up on it.
Which meant it was probably just as much a warning for her as for Jaenelle.
*Screw their delicate sensibilities.* Saetan flinched; Karla could tell through the link. Jaenelle’s mood had shifted.
Outwardly, he simply dropped one arm around her shoulders. "Lord Magstrom would like to ask you a few questions." Karla approved of that tactic. Hopefully the older Warlord felt the emotional currents in the room and would tread carefully.
"Before the interrogation begins, may I ask you something?” Jaenelle asked him.
Lord Magstrom fiddled with his cup. "This isn't an interrogation, Lady," he said gently.
"Really?" she said in her midnight voice.
Magstrom shivered. His hand shook as he set his cup on the table. Karla just wanted to laugh. If you were going to tangle with Witch, you deserved what you got.
Hoping to divert her, Saetan groaned theatrically. "What do you want to ask?"
Her sapphire eyes studied him. Concern faded to exasperated amusement. "It isn't that bad."
"That's what you said the last time."
Jaenelle gave him her best unsure-but-game smile. "Dujae wants to know if we can have a wall."
Karla smothered giggles while Saetan looked panicked. "A wall? Dujae wants one of my walls?"
"Yes."
Saetan pressed his fingertips against his temple. "Why does Dujae want a wall?" His voice sounded as if something was clogging his throat. Karla was willing to lay equal bets on a shriek or a laugh.
"We're going to paint it." She pondered this for a moment. "Well, I guess saying we're going to paint it isn't quite accurate. We're going to draw on it. Dujae says we need to think more expansively and the only way to do that is to have an expansive canvas to work on and the only thing big enough is a wall."
Uh-huh. "I see." Saetan looked around the tastefully decorated room and sighed. "There are lots of empty rooms here. Why don't you pick one in the same wing as the rumpus room."
Jaenelle frowned. "We don't have a rumpus room."
Saetan tweaked one of her braids. "You wouldn't say that if you'd ever been in the room under it while you were all doing . . . whatever. You can use the one Karla dropped on Khary’s head."
In the hallway, Karla ducked down and avoided Beale’s too-curious gaze. The leaf in front of her suddenly needed all of her attention.
Jaenelle gave him a look of amused tolerance. "Thank you, Papa." She bussed his cheek and bounded off the couch.
Saetan grabbed the back of her overalls and pulled her down beside him. "Dujae can wait a bit. Lord Magstrom has a few questions."
The cold fire was back psychic scent, but she settled against him on the couch, her hands demurely in her lap, and gave the two men a look of polite impatience. Saetan nodded at Lord Magstrom.
His hands loosely clasped on the arms of the chair, Lord Magstrom smiled at Jaenelle. "Is art a favorite study of yours, Lady Angelline?" he asked politely. "I have a granddaughter about your age who enjoys 'mucking about with colors,' as she puts it."
At the mention of a granddaughter, Jaenelle looked at Lord Magstrom with interest. "I enjoy drawing, but not as much as music," she said after a moment's thought. "Much more than mathematics." She wrinkled her nose. "But then, anything's better than mathematics."
"Arnora holds mathematics in the same high regard," Lord Magstrom said seriously, but his blue eyes twinkled.
Jaenelle's lips twitched. "Does she? A sensible witch."
"What other subjects do you enjoy?"
"Learning about plants and gardening and healing and weaponry and equitation is fun . . . and languages. And dancing. Dancing's wonderful, don't you think? And of course there's Craft, but that's not really a lesson, is it?"
"Not really a lesson?" Lord Magstrom looked startled.
He accepted another cup of coffee. "With so much studying, you don't have much time to socialize," he said slowly.
Jaenelle frowned and looked at Saetan.
"I believe Lord Magstrom is referring to dances and other public gatherings," he said carefully.
Her frown deepened. "Why do we need to go out for dancing? We've got enough people here who play instruments and we dance whenever we want to. Besides, I promised Morghann I'd spend a few days in Scelt with her when they have the harvest dances, and Kalush's family invited me to go to the theater with them, and Gabrielle---"
"Dujae," Friall interrupted tightly. "Dujae is teaching you to draw?"
Saetan squeezed Jaenelle's shoulder but she shrugged away from him. Karla rose, slowly. She didn’t need to be a Black Widow to tell that things were about to go precipitously poorly.
"Yes, Dujae is teaching me to draw," Jaenelle said, the chill back in her voice.
"Dujae is dead."
"For centuries now."
Friall dabbed at his lips. "You study drawing with a demon?"
"Just because he's a demon doesn't make him less of an artist."
"But he's a demon."
Jaenelle shrugged dismissively. "So are Char and Titian and a number of my other friends. Who I call a friend is no business of yours, Lord Friall."
"No business," Friall sputtered. "It most certainly is the Council's business. It was a show of faith that the Council allowed something like the High Lord to keep a young girl in the first place-"
"Something like the High Lord?"
"-and to soil a young girl's sensibilities by forcing her to consort with demons-"
"He never forces me. No one forces me."
"-and submit to his own lustful attentions- "
The room exploded.
There was no time to think, no time to protect himself from the spiraling fury rising out the abyss. Karla could feel Saetan drawing everything he could from his Black Jewels, Saetan threw himself on Jaenelle as she lunged for Friall. Wild, vicious sounds erupted from her as she fought to break free and reach the Warlord, who stared at her in shock while windows shattered, paintings crashed to the floor, plaster cracked as psychic lightning scored the walls, and the furniture was ripped to pieces.
Karla flung herself into the fray. Saetan could shatter the Black at this rate. He was hanging onto grimly, letting the room go, using his strength to shield the other men, using himself as a buffer between Jaenelle's rage and flesh. She wasn't trying to hurt him. Karla could feel that. That was the terrifying irony. Jaenelle was simply trying to get past the barriers he was placing between her and Friall. Karla wrapped shield after shield around Magstrom, hoping that he would be spared. Even through Saetan’s shields, she felt the relentless push of the Black as Jaenelle threw everything she had at Friall. Karla spared no concern for him. Let the bastard burn for what he was insinuating.
*Please, witch-child. Please!* Saetan didn’t even have the control to narrow the thread. It was broadcast for everyone to hear.
Rising up from an impossible distance, Jaenelle came at him with frightening speed, cocooned him in black mist, and then brought him up to the depth of the Red Jewel before she turned and glided back down into the comfortable sanctuary of the abyss.
Silence.
Stillness.
Karla’s head throbbed mercilessly. Her tongue hurt. She must have bitten it-her mouth was full of blood. She felt too brittle to move. But she had to. Saetan had a moment of brief clarity-Karla could feel a pleasant thought ripple through his psychic scent-and then surrendered to oblivion. Both Magstrom and Frial were also unconscious; Friall’s nose and lip were bleeding. Karla wished there was more. If she’d had her way, Friall wouldn’t wake up at all.
Well, no. She probably wouldn’t kill him even if she had the opportunity. But she’d hurt him for what he’d said.
Witch looked at Karla for a moment with ancient, sapphire eyes, then glanced down at the unconscious males. Her eyes gentled when she looked at Saetan but froze again when she glanced Friall’s way. Without a word, she turned and glided from the room.
Exhausted and sore, Karla limped after her. Beale was standing at attention in the doorway and Karla could see Andulvar striding down the hallway towards the room. “Take care of Uncle Saetan,” Karla croaked. “Then see to them.” Eyes hard and jaw set, Beale nodded once, sending out a wave of orders to the household staff on physic threads.
Karla didn’t stay to watch the clean-up. She had a best friend to find.
***
They talked over a table of herbs. Jaenelle was brewing a soothing tonic for when Saetan woke up. She looked haggard; her face pinched and pale. What had happened in the drawing room was disturbing her more than she liked. She handed Karla a glass. "Drink this. Let me know how it is."
She took a sip and then another. It tasted of moonlight, summer heat, and cool water. "This is wonderful, Jaenelle!” Karla exclaimed, immediately taking another sip. “You should have a glass yourself."
"I've already poured one." Jaenelle tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it. She fluffed her hair and bit her lower lip.
"Karla, I don't like what happened today. I don't like what. . . almost happened today."
Karla drained the glass before answering, set it on the table, and reached for her hand. "I'm glad. Killing should never be easy, Jaenelle. It should leave a scar on your soul."
Jaenelle looked at her. “You’ve killed.”
Karla nodded, glancing away. “Three times now. And I can feel every death, like a rough spot on my soul. It hurts, even when you know that it’s the right thing to do. One of my teachers had promised to teach me to become a killer. I agreed, thinking that it was what I wanted, what I needed. Now, I’m not so sure I made the best decision.”
"They'd come here to condemn him, to hurt him. They had no right."
“Of course they had no right!” Karla flared. “But do you honestly think Saetan would want you to kill someone because of something they said, even as hurtful, as disgusting, as wrong as those statements were?”
It was Jaenelle’s turn to look away. “No,” she admitted. “It feels wrong to even think of it.”
“Course it does,” Karla said. “We’re Queens. We’re Healers. We’re sworn to life, not death. The time may come when we have to kill--” or kill again, in her case, “-but it shouldn’t ever be our first option. Not if there’s another way.”
Jaenelle came to the other side of the table to embrace Karla and kiss her cheek. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For being there. For helping. For understanding.”
“This isn’t over,” Karla reminded her quietly.
The last thing Jaenelle said before she left for Saetan’s his bedroom was, "I know. But I won't let them put more scars on his soul. I will find another way."
(Part Two of Two. NFB, NFI, OOC=pie. Adapted from chapter eight of Anne Bishop's Heir to the Shadows.)