SEVEN
A week after No Face had been destroyed, Saetan
walked into the sitting room where Sylvia was reading, and sat down
in a ladderback chair next to her wheeled chair.
“It’s time for us to
talk,” he said.
She marked the page
in her book and set it aside. She’d known this was coming, but she
hadn’t expected it to come this soon. Even with the heartache and
worry about her sons, there had been comfort in his presence. She
felt the drag of daylight as soon as the sun rose, and went to bed
to avoid the drain in her power. She would wake for a moment when
he joined her later in the morning, and then sleep again, cradled
in his arms, until they both rose at sunset.
“It’s hard for the
living to let go of the dead, and it’s hard for the dead to let go
of the living. That’s why my rules about interaction between the
living and the demon-dead are so strict, and that’s why I’m so
harsh when those rules are broken.”
“Did you live by your
own rules, Saetan?” She knew the man, so she already guessed the
answer.
“Everything has a
price,” he said softly. “When I became a Guardian, I made a choice.
It wasn’t prudent to let some things, like Dhemlan Kaeleer, leave
my control, but the personal things ...” He sighed. “I never met
Mephis’s wife. I never knew his children. I never held them or
played with them or read them stories. I straddled the line between
living and dead, so I didn’t belong with them. I had contact with
Mephis only here at the Keep. He was a grown man, and it was
necessary because we were all waiting for the promised dream to
become flesh. But I kept my distance from his family, asking no
less of myself than I required of the other citizens of
Hell.”
“But you know
Daemonar,” she said.
He let out a pained
laugh. “Yes. Well, Lucivar is not Mephis. When I gave Mephis an
order, he obeyed it. When I give Lucivar an order, half the time he
ignores it and pisses on my foot. When Daemonar was born, Lucivar
told me he didn’t give a damn about my rules. The boy was going to
know his grandfather.” He paused, then added, “And things changed
after Jaenelle came into our lives. The boundaries didn’t exist
with the people she touched. That’s why I know that while the rules
I’ve set for the citizens of Hell must be strictly enforced most of
the time, there can be exceptions.”
She felt a
zing that had nothing to do with her
body and everything to do with her heart. “I can see my boys one
more time?”
“If that’s what you
want,” he replied. He leaned forward and took her hands, rubbing
his thumbs over her knuckles. “Prince Sadi denied your father
custody of your sons.”
“Why?”
“For one thing, your
father doesn’t feel it’s appropriate for the boys to see you
anymore. You’re dead. They need to accept that and rebuild their
lives without you. Normally I would agree with him, but not this
time. You are strong enough to let them go—and they will go,
Sylvia. The day will come when they need you to be nothing more
than a good memory. But for now, Daemon and I are willing to
sanction, and chaperon, a visit twice a month here at the Keep in
Kaeleer. You, Beron, and Mikal can spend the evening together.
You’ll have the reassurance that they’re being taken care
of.”
By whom? she wondered. “Everything has a
price.”
“And this is no
exception.”
“What is your price,
High Lord?”
“I want to show you
something.”
Using Craft, he
floated her above the chair. She straightened her legs so that her
long skirt just brushed the floor. Linking her arm through his, she
floated beside him as he made his way through the Keep’s corridors
until they reached the Dark Altar. After he opened the Gate, he led
her to a landing web, wrapped a shield around her, and caught the
Black Winds.
When they dropped
from the Winds to another landing web, she looked around. “This is
SaDiablo Hall, but it’s . . .”
“In the Dark Realm.
At one time, I ruled in all three Realms, so I built the Hall in
all three Realms.”
“Mother Night.” She
couldn’t imagine what it had cost to build one of the Halls, let alone three.
She’d expected the
place to be empty. It was a hive of activity. She saw caution in
every eye when the demon-dead spotted the High Lord, but there were
also smiles and pleasantries. He held what was left of their lives
in his hands, and they didn’t forget that.
Just as he now held
hers.
“Most of the
demon-dead remain near the Gate closest to where they lived,”
Saetan said quietly. “Some go to specific territories that have
been claimed by a particular group, like the Harpies or the
cildru dyathe. And some have unfinished
business—the novel they never found time to write or the dream of
learning to paint that they gave up out of duty to family. Some
want to learn to play a musical instrument. Unfinished business.
Not with the living; with themselves. I provide a place for them to
live, a modest amount of yarbarah for sustenance, and the materials
they need. In turn, they take care of this place, and the stronger
look after the weaker when it’s needed.”
“It’s a community of
artists,” she said, wishing he would slow down so she could get a
better look at the paintings. Some were hung out of kindness.
Others were stunning and beautiful.
“This is what I
wanted you to see.” He opened a door and guided her
inside.
The room was divided
in half. There were scribbles and colored handprints and primitive
drawings covering the set of folding panels that separated the
room.
*It’s less
frustrating than trying to clean the walls all the time,* Saetan
said.
Since he was clearly
moving to keep them out of sight of whoever was on the other side
of the panels, she stifled a laugh.
“It’s a pretty nice
place,” a young male voice said. “There are toys and games and lots
of books to read for fun. There are also chores and studies, but
those are interesting too. Some of the time.”
Sylvia smiled. That
sounded so much like Mikal.
Saetan slipped his
arm out of hers. After making sure she was steady, he stepped back.
*Go ahead. Take a look.*
Taking hold of the
edge of the panel, she eased herself into a position to see the
room.
Thirty children, if
not more. None of them had reached adolescence, whatever their
race. Among them was a Dhemlan boy sitting on the floor, hugging a
stuffed toy.
Sylvia looked back at
Saetan. *Is that . . . ?*
*Haeze’s brother?
Yes.*
She listened for a
minute as the boy in charge explained the rules everyone had to
follow in order to be a resident of the Hall.
Pushing against the
panel, she floated back to Saetan. *Who is the Keeper of the
Rules?*
*The first
cildru dyathe to choose to live here
instead of on their island. Daemon rescued him from the spooky
house several years ago and brought him to me. In his way, he’s
made the same choice another cildru
dyathe made long ago—to be the leader of this band of
children and help the others adjust and survive and let go when
they’re ready.*
She caught something
the boy said, and looked more closely at the man. *You can’t help
the ones who don’t trust adults enough to accept help, but you help
these children, don’t you? You’re the one who comes to read them
stories or listen to them or give them a hug. Aren’t
you?*
*Some came from
loving homes. Others never knew the comfort of a hug. Not from a
father or a mother.*
Everything has a
price. Suddenly she knew what he was asking of her in exchange for
spending time with her own sons—to be a maternal presence for the
children who had never known any. To help them with their
unfinished business. To give them a sense of family. With
him.
Linking her arm with
his, she tipped her head toward the door. He took them out of the
room, then waited for her to indicate a direction. Instead she just
looked at him.
“I asked you once,
and I understand better now why you gave me the answer you did,”
she said. “But everything has changed, so I’m going to ask again.
Will you marry me, Saetan?”
She saw shock in his
eyes, swiftly followed by joy, which was just as swiftly followed
by caution.
“Can you promise me
that you won’t stay one day longer than you truly want to?” he
asked.
“I promise you
that.”
“Then I will be
honored to be your husband for all the days that come before that
day.”
She threw her arms
around him and held him as tightly as he held her.
“What kind of wedding
would you like?” he asked.
She eased back enough
to look at him. “A fast one.”