Heir to the Shadows

isn't time!" Saetan tried to yell. It came out an infuriating croak. "Jaenelle's still close enough to reach."
    "What?"
    The next thing he knew he was sitting up with Andulvar supporting him and Char kneeling in front of him. He focused on the boy. "How did you summon her?"
    "I don't know," Char wailed. "I don't know. I was just trying to keep Hekatah busy until you came. She kept demanding to see Jaenelle, so I thought . . . Jaenelle and I used to play 'chase me, find me' and that was the sound we used to make. I didn't know she would answer, High Lord. I've called like that lots of times since she went away, and she's never answered."
    "Until now," Saetan said quietly. Why now? He finally noticed he was in a familiar bedroom. "We're at the Keep in Kaeleer?"
    "Draca insisted on bringing you here," Andulvar said.
    The Keep's Seneschal had given him a bedroom near the Queen's suite. Which meant he wasn't more than a few yards away from Jaenelle's body. Just chance? Or could Draca also feel Jaenelle's presence?
    "Help me," Saetan whispered.
    Andulvar half carried him the few yards down the corridor to the door where Draca waited.
    "You will drink a cup of fressh blood when you return," Draca said.
    // / return, Saetan thought grimly, as Andulvar helped him to the bed that held Jaenelle's frail body. There might not be another chance. He would bring her back or destroy himself trying.
    As soon as he was alone with her, he took Jaenelle's head between his hands, drew every drop of power he had left in his Jewels, and made a quick descent into the abyss until he reached the level of the Black.
    Jaenelle!*
    She continued her slow spiral glide deeper into the abyss. He didn't know if she was ignoring him or just couldn't hear him.
    Jaenelle! Witch-child!*
    His strength was draining too quickly. The abyss pushed against his mind, the pressure quickly turning to pain.
    *You're safe, witch-child! Come back! You're safe!*
    She slipped farther and farther away from him. But little eddies of power washed back up to him, and he could taste the rage in them.
    Chase me, find me. A child's game. He had been sending a message of love and safety into the abyss for two years. Char had been sending an invitation to play during that same time.
    Silence.
    In another moment, he would have to ascend or he would shatter.
    Stillness.
    Chase me, find me. Hadn't he really been playing the same game?
    He waited, fighting for each second. * Witch-child.*
    She slammed into him without warning. Caught in her spiralling fury, he didn't know if they were rising or descending.
    He heard glass shatter in the physical world, heard someone scream. He felt something hit his chest, just below his heart, hard enough to take his breath away.
    Not knowing what else to do, he opened his inner barriers fully, a gesture of complete surrender. He expected her to crash through him, rip him apart. Instead, he felt a startled curiosity and a feather-light touch that barely brushed against him.
    Then she tossed him out of the abyss.
    The abrupt return to the physical world left him dizzy, his senses scrambled. That had to be why he thought he saw a tiny spiral horn in the centre of her forehead. That had to be why her ears looked delicately pointed, why she had a golden mane that looked like a cross between fur and human hair. That had to be why his heart felt as if it were beating frantically against someone's hand.
    He closed his eyes, fighting the dizziness. When he opened them a moment later, all the changes in Jaenelle's appearance were gone, but there was still that odd feeling in his chest.
    Gasping, he looked down as he felt fingers curl around his heart.
    Jaenelle's hand was embedded in his chest. When she withdrew her hand, she would pull his heart out with it. No matter. It had been hers long before he'd ever met her. And it gave him an odd feeling of pride, remembering the frustration and delight he'd felt when he'd tried to teach her how to pass one solid object through another.
    The fingers curled tighter.
    Her eyes opened. They were fathomless sapphire pools that held no recognition, that held nothing but deep, inhuman rage.
    Then she blinked. Her eyes clouded, hiding so many things. She blinked again and looked at him. "Saetan?" she said in a rusty voice.
    His eyes filled with tears. "Witch-child," he whispered hoarsely.
    He gasped when she moved her hand slightly.
    She stared at his chest and frowned. "Oh." She slowly uncurled her fingers and withdrew