Heir to the Shadows

they?"
    Saetan raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised any of you know the word, let alone what it means." He hugged her. "I wouldn't worry about it. I think Lucivar's about as subservient as he's going to get."
    Jaenelle leaned against him and groaned. Then she perked up a bit. "Well, that's one good thing about forming the court. At least I found something for him to do that'll keep him from being underfoot and badgering me all the
    time."
    Saetan started to reply, then thought better of it. She was entitled to a few illusions—especially since they wouldn't last long.
    Jaenelle yawned. "I'm going in. I'm telling the bedtime story tonight." She kissed his cheek. "Good night, Papa."
    "Good night, witch-child." He waited until she'd gone inside before heading for the far end of the garden.
    "The waif turned in early?" Andulvar asked, falling
    into step.
    "She's doing the bedtime story and howl-along," Saetan replied.
    "She'll be a good Queen, SaDiablo." "The best we've ever had." They walked in silence for a couple of minutes. "The bitch has gone to ground again?" Andulvar nodded. "Plenty of indications that she's got her hooks firmly into the Dark Council, but no sign of her. Hekatah was always good at staying out of the nastiness once she got it started. It still surprises me that she managed to get herself killed in the last war between the Realms." He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "It must be biting Hekatah's ass that the waif's got the kind of power over a Realm that she's always wanted." "Yes, it must be. So stay sharp, all right?" "We should warn all the boyos before they return to their own Territories so they know what to look for in case she tries to come in from another direction."
    "Agreed. But if the Darkness is kind, we'll have some time for these youngsters to get some ground under their feet before we have to deal with another of Hekatah's
    schemes."
    "If the Darkness is kind." Andulvar cleared his throat.
    "I know why you've wanted to wait, and I know who you've been waiting for, but, Saetan, Jaenelle's a grown woman and she's the Queen now. The triangle should be complete. She should have a Consort."
    Saetan rested his arms on the top of the garden's stone wall. A soft, night wind sang through the pines beyond the garden. "She already has a Consort," he said quietly, firmly. "As First Escort, Lucivar can stand in for most of a Consort's duties and be the third side of the triangle until . . ." His voice faded.
    "If ever, SaDiablo," Andulvar said with gentle roughness. "Until someone wears the Consort's ring, every ambitious buck in the Realm—and not a few of them being straight from Terreille—is going to be trying to slip into her bed for the power and prestige he'll gain by being her Consort. She needs a good man, Saetan, not a memory. She needs a strong, flesh-and-blood man who'll warm her bed at night because he cares about her."
    Saetan stared at the land beyond the garden. "She has a Consort."
    "Does she?" When Saetan didn't answer, Andulvar patted his shoulder and walked away.
    Saetan stayed there a long time, listening to the night wind's song. "She has a Consort," he whispered. "Doesn't she?"
    The night wind didn't answer.
    6 / The Twisted Kingdom
    He climbed.
    The land wasn't as twisted here or as steep, but the mist-wisps that filled the hollows sometimes covered the trail, leaving him with the unsettling feeling that nothing existed below his knees.
    As time passed, he realized the place felt familiar, that he had explored these roads before when he had been strong and whole. He had entered the borderland that separated sanity from the Twisted Kingdom.
    The air held a dew-fresh softness. The light was gentle,
    like early morning. Somewhere nearby, birds chirped and twittered the day awake, and in the distance was the sound of heavy surf.
    His crystal chalice was almost intact. During the long climb, the fragments had fit into place, one by one. There were a few slivers, a few memories missing. One in particular. He couldn't remember what he had done the night Jaenelle had been brought to Cassandra's Altar.
    As he passed between two large stones that stood like sentinels, one on either side of the trail, the mist rose up around him.
    Ahead of him were the water, the birds, the smell of rich earth, the warmth of the sun—and her promise that she would be waiting for him.
    Ahead of him was sanity.
    But there was also knowledge there, pain there. He could feel it.
    Daemon.
    A