Heir to the Shadows

she mimicked bitterly. "It's always 'Karla.' Karla's the one who's out of control. Karla's the one who's becoming emotionally unstable because of her apprenticeship in the Hourglass coven. Karla's the one who's become too excitable, too hostile, too intractable. Karla's the one who's cast aside all those delightful simpering manners that males find appealing."
    "Males don't find that—"
    "And Karla's the one who will gut the next son of a whoring bitch who tries to shove his hand or anything else between her legs!"
    "What?"
    Karla turned her back to Morton. Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. She hadn't meant to say that.
    "Is that why you cut your hair like that after Uncle Hobart insisted that you come back to the family estate to live? Is that why you burned all your dresses and started wearing my old clothes?" Morton grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him. "Is it?"
    Tears filled Karla's eyes. "A broken witch is a complacent witch," she said softly. "Isn't that true, Morton?"
    Morton shook his head. "You wear Birthright Sapphire.
    There aren't any males in Glacia who wear a Jewel darker than the Green."
    "A Blood male can get around a witch's strength if he waits for the right moment and has help."
    Morton swore softly, viciously.
    "What if that's the reason Jaenelle doesn't come to visit anymore? What if he's done to her what Uncle Hobart wants to do to me?"
    Morton stepped away from her. "I'm surprised you even tolerate me being near you."
    She could almost see the wounds the truth had left on his heart. There was nothing she could do now about the truth, but there was something she could do about the wounds. "You're family."
    "I'm male."
    "You're Morton. The exception to the rule."
    Morton hesitated, then opened his arms. "Want a hug?"
    Stepping into his arms, Karla held him as fiercely as he held her.
    "Listen," he said hoarsely. "Write a letter to the High Lord and ask him if Jaenelle could come for a visit. Ask for a return reply."
    "The Old Fart will never let me send a courier to SaDiablo Hall," Karla muttered into his shoulder.
    "Uncle Hobart isn't going to know." Morton took a deep breath. "I'll deliver the letter personally and wait for an answer."
    Before Morton could offer his handkerchief, Karla stepped back, sniffed, and wiped her face on the shirt she'd taken from his wardrobe. She sniffed again and was done with paltry emotions.
    "Karla," Morton said, eyeing her nervously. "You will write a polite letter, won't you?"
    "I'll be a polite as I can be," Karla assured him.
    Morton groaned.
    Oh, yes. She would write to the High Lord. And, one way or another, she would get the answer she wanted.
    Please. Sweet Darkness, please be my friend again. I miss you. I need you. Drawing on the strength of her Sapphire Jewels, Karla flung one word into the Darkness. *Jaenelle!*
    "Karla?" Morton said, touching her arm. "The banquet is about to start. We need to put in an appearance, if only for a little while."
    Karla froze, not even daring to breathe. *Jaenelle?*
    Seconds passed.
    "Karla?" Morton said.
    Karla took a deep breath and exhaled her disappointment. She took the arm Morton offered and went back into the banquet hall.
    He stayed close to her for the rest of the evening, and she was grateful for his company. But she would have traded his caring and protection in an instant if that faint but so very dark psychic touch she'd imagined had been   real.

2 / Kaeleer
     
    When Andulvar Yaslana settled in the chair in front of the blackwood desk in Saetan's public study, Saetan looked up from the letter he'd been staring at for the past half hour. "Read this," he said, handing it to Andulvar.
    While Andulvar read the letter, Saetan looked wearily at the stacks of papers on his desk. It had been months since he'd set foot in the Hall, even longer since he'd granted audiences to the Queens who ruled the Provinces and Districts in his Territory. His eldest son, Mephis, had dealt with as much of the official business of Dhemlan as he could, as he had been doing for centuries, but the rest of it ...
    "Blood-sucking corpse?" Andulvar sputtered.
    Saetan watched with a touch of amusement as Andulvar snarled through the rest of the letter. He hadn't been amused during his first reading, but the signature and the adolescent handwriting had soothed his temper—and added another layer to his sorrow.
    Andulvar flung the letter onto the desk. "Who is Karla, and how does she dare write