Heir to the Shadows

at message stones, the piles of rocks just inside a Territory's border where travelers or traders could leave a message requesting a meeting. He had no idea how messages left in those places reached
    the intended person, and he doubted those children would be here this afternoon. He didn't know what to expect from the children in the accessible Territories. He only hoped Andulvar was right and that little witch from Glacia would be here, stepping on his toes.
    Taking a deep breath that still came out as a sigh, Saetan left his suite to join the rest of the family and Cassandra in the great hall.
    Everyone was there except Jaenelle and Sylvia. Halaway's Queen had been delighted when he'd told her about the party and had used her considerable enthusiasm to browbeat Jaenelle into a shopping trip for a new outfit. They didn't come back with a dress, but he'd had to admit, grudgingly, that the soft, full, sapphire pants and long, flowing jacket were very feminine-looking, even if the skimpy gold-and-silver top worn beneath the jacket. ... As a man, he approved of the top; as a father, it made him grind his teeth.
    As soon as she saw him, Cassandra took his arm and led him away from the other men. "Do you think it's wise for everyone to be out here?" she asked quietly. "Won't it be too intimidating?"
    "And whom would you ask to leave?" Saetan replied, knowing full well he was one of the people she thought should be absent.
    After receiving his note, Cassandra had arrived to help with the preparations, but she'd acted too forcedly cheerful, as if she were really preparing for the moment when Jaenelle would face an empty drawing room. Sylvia, on the other hand, had thrown herself into the preparations and had bristled at anyone who dared to express a doubt.
    A wise man would have locked himself in his study and stayed there. Only a fool would have left two witches alone when they were constantly circling and spitting at each other like angry cats.
    When Cassandra didn't answer his question, Saetan took his place in the great hall. Andulvar was one step behind him on his left. Mephis and Prothvar were on Andulvar's left and a little to the side so that they weren't part of the official greetings. Cassandra stood on Saetan's right, one
    step behind. By rights she should have stood beside him, Black with Black, and he was only too aware of why she was using an option of Protocol to distance herself from him.
    Saetan turned toward the sound of feet racing down the staircase in the informal drawing room.
    Sylvia burst into the great hall, looking a little too lovely with her golden eyes shining and her cheeks flushed. "The wolf pups hid Jaenelle's shoes and it took a while to find them," she said breathlessly. "She's on her way down, but I didn't want to be late."
    Saetan smiled at her. "You're not—"
    A clock struck three times.
    Cassandra made a quiet, unhappy sound and stepped away from him.
    For the first time since he'd told her about the party, Sylvia's eyes filled with concern.
    They all stood in the great hall, silently waiting, while Beale stood woodenly by the front door and the footmen who would take the outer garments stared straight ahead.
    The minutes ticked past.
    Sylvia rubbed her forehead and sighed. "I'd better go up—"
    "We don't need any more of your kind of help," Cassandra said coldly as she brushed past Sylvia. "You set her up . for this."
    Sylvia grabbed Cassandra's arm and spun her around. "Maybe I was too enthusiastic, but you did everything but say outright that she would never have a friend for the rest of her life!"
    "Ladies," Saetan warned, stepping toward them.
    "What could you possibly know about wearing the Black?" Cassandra snapped. "I lived with that isolation—"
    "La—"
    BOOM!
    "Hell's fire," Andulvar muttered.
    BOOM!
    Beale leaped to open the front door while it was still intact.
    She swept into the great hall, stopping where the sunlight
    coming from the lead glass window above the double doors produced a natural spotlight. Tall and slim, she wore severely tailored, dark blue trousers, a loose jacket, and heeled boots. Her white-blond hair rose in spiky peaks above her head like sculptured ice. Darkened eyebrows and lashes framed ice-blue eyes.
    "Sisters," she said, giving Sylvia and Cassandra a perfunctory nod that couldn't quite be called insolent. Then her eyes raked over Saetan from head to toe.
    Saetan held his breath. Even if Lord Morton hadn't slunk in behind her, he would have bet