Dreams Made Flesh

life. He was a strong man. He would carry that weight. But nothing would be the same because of it. He would never be the same because of it.
    He turned and looked at Andulvar, noting how the Eyrien tensed and had to fight to keep from taking a step back.
    "Are you afraid of me, Andulvar?"
    A long pause. "Yes. I'm afraid of you." Another pause. "I'm still your friend. We've been friends too long for it to be otherwise. But what happened to Zuulaman has changed things. I need… some time."
    "I understand." Saetan forced his lips to curve into a smile. "Prince Yaslana."
    Andulvar didn't try to return the smile. "High Lord."
    Saetan listened to Andulvar's retreating footsteps before he turned back to study the web.
    Yes, they'd been friends too long to break completely. Centuries ago, they'd first met in a court, two Red-Jeweled Warlord Princes who came from cultures that had nothing in common. Despite that, or because of it, they had become friends. It wasn't the first time they'd parted on uneasy terms. It wouldn't be the last. But this time, it was different.
    Are you afraid of me, Andulvar?
    Yes. I'm afraid of you.
    "So am I, my friend," Saetan whispered. "So am I."
    Two hours later, after cleaning the workroom, locking away the tools of the Black Widows' Craft, and scrubbing himself while he silently wept, he opened the door to the playroom.
    "Papa!"
    Mephis and Peyton rushed toward him, then skidded to a stop. His heart broke when they hesitated to come near him.
    Then Mephis said, "You should sit down."
    Since his legs were shaking, that sounded like a good idea. Moving carefully, he made his way to the large stuffed chair near the hearth. As soon as he was settled, Peyton climbed into his lap. Mephis, always more cautious, leaned against the side of the chair, then brushed a hand against his shoulder.
    "Were you sick?" Mephis asked.
    "I… wasn't well," he replied.
    "Was that why Uncle Andulvar took us to stay with him?" Peyton asked.
    Wondering how long it would be before he and Andulvar sat at a table together to talk and argue as they'd done for so many years, he swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "Yes, that's why."
    "Are you better now?" Mephis asked.
    He reached up and curled his fingers around his son's hand. "Yes, I'm better now."
    Mephis's hand tightened to hold on to his, surprising him.
    They had been the beacons he'd followed to find his way out of the Twisted Kingdom. He hadn't wanted to leave. There had been peace there after the baby stopped crying. There had been an absence of pain he knew he wouldn't find in the sane world. But he'd made the journey back because he needed to be with them, needed to be here for them.
    His little Warlord Princes. The day would come when they realized who… and what… their father was. And things would change between them. But until that day came, they were his boys, his sons, his joy. He would protect them, no matter the price.
    "Papa?" Peyton said. "Would you read us a story?"
    He pressed his lips to Peyton's forehead, savoring the contact, just as he savored the feel of Mephis's hand in his. "Yes, my darlings. I'll read you a story."
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    Kaeleer's Heart
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    This story takes place after the events in Queen of the Darkness
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    One
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    1
    Rage filled him. Love drove him. He and Witch hit the Green web. He rolled, but he didn 't have Lucivar's skill. They broke through close to the middle of the web. He kept rolling so that when they hit the Sapphire, they were close to the edge. He rolled the other way, wrapping her in the web's power.
    They broke through the Sapphire, but they weren't falling as fast now. He had a little more time to brace, to plan, to pour the strength of his Black jewels into fighting the fall.
    They hit the Red, rolled, clung for a second before falling to the Gray. Only half the Gray strands broke immediately. He strained back as hard as he could. When the other half broke, he rolled them upward while the web swung them down toward the Ebon-gray. He pulled against the swing, slowing it, slowing it.
    When the other side of the Gray broke, they sailed down to the Ebon-gray. The web sagged when they landed, then stretched, then stretched a little more before the strands began to break.
    His Black jewels were almost drained, but he held on, held on, held on as they floated onto the Black