Heir to the Shadows

watched Lord Magstrom tactfully look over the room and knew the man was as pleased with the tasteful decorations as he was.
    "It's a delightful room, High Lord," Lord Magstrom said as he accepted a seat. "Do you use it often?"
    Saetan shoved his hands into his sweater pockets. "No," he said after a slight but noticeable hesitation. "We don't have many formal guests." He turned toward a movement in the doorway. "Ah, Beale."
    The butler stood in the doorway, empty-handed.
    Saetan raised an eyebrow. "Refreshments for our guests?"
    "They'll be ready momentarily, High Lord." Beale bowed and retreated, leaving the door open.
    Saetan was tempted to close the door but decided against it. No point forcing Beale to demean himself by listening at the keyhole.
    "Have we come at an awkward time?" Lord Friall asked, looking pointedly at Saetan's casual attire while he continued to pat his lips with the scented handkerchief.
    Perfume won't help what's troubling you, Lord Friall, Saetan thought coldly. My psychic scent permeates the very stones of the Hall. Saetan glanced down at the white cotton shirt unbuttoned low enough so that the Black Jewel around his neck wasn't completely hidden, the black cotton trousers that were already rumpled, and the sweater. "I
    gather you were expecting a more formal meeting. However, since I had understood that the Council wanted some indication of our usual living arrangements, those two expectations are incompatible."
    "Surely—" Friall began, but he was cut off by Beale bringing in the refreshment tray.
    Saetan studied the tray. It was sparse by Mrs. Beale's usual standards. There were plenty of sandwiches but none of the nut cakes or spiced tarts. "I don't suppose Mrs. Beale would—"
    Beale set the tray on a table with an almost-inaudible thump.
    "No," Saetan said dryly, "I don't suppose she would." He poured the coffee and offered the sandwiches while he tried to ignore the twinkle in Lord Magstrom's eyes. Settling into a corner of the couch where he could keep an eye on the door, he smiled at Lord Friall and wondered if his clenched teeth would survive the .afternoon. "You were saying?"
    "Surely—"
    The front door slammed.
    Catching the psychic scent and the emotional undercurrents, Saetan whistled a sharp command and resigned himself to disaster.
    A moment later, Karla stuck her head around the corner. "Kiss kiss," she said, doing her best to look innocent.
    Having already dealt with several of the coven's spells that had gone awry, Karla trying to look innocent scared him silly. But, if he was lucky, he might never have to know what she'd been up to.
    Karla pointed toward the ceiling. "I'm late for my art lesson."
    Saetan groaned softly and massaged his temple. Had he remembered to tell Dujae not to come today? "Please ask Jaenelle to come down. These gentlemen would like to see her."
    Karla's ice-blue eyes swept over Magstrom and Friall. "Why?" She jerked her chin toward Lord Magstrom. "The grandfather looks harmless enough, but why would she want to talk to a fribble?"
    Friall sputtered.
    Lord Magstrom raised his cup to hide his smile.
    Saetan was sure half his teeth were going to shatter. "Now."
    "Oh, all right. Kiss kiss," Karla said, and was gone.
    "Lady Karla is a friend of your ward?" Lord Magstrom asked mildly.
    "Yes." Saetan's lips twitched. "She and Jaenelle's other friends are staying with us for the summer—if I survive it."
    Lord Magstrom blinked.
    "She's a little bitch," Friall sputtered, dabbing his lips with his handkerchief. "Hardly a suitable companion for your ward."
    "Karla's a Queen and a natural Black Widow," Saetan said coldly, "as well as a Healer. She's an exuberant—but formidable—young lady. Like my daughter."
    He caught Lord Magstrom's arrested look. Hadn't the Council checked the register at the Keep? As soon as Jaenelle had returned to them, he and Geoffrey had prepared the listing for her. They had agreed not to include the Territory—or Realm—where she had been born, or anything else that could lead someone back to her Chaillot relatives, but they had included that the Black was her Birthright Jewel. Didn't the Council know who, and what, they were dealing with? Or had the Tribunal chosen not to tell these men?
    Lord Magstrom accepted another cup of coffee. "Your . . . daughter ... is a Black Widow Queen? And a Healer as well?"
    "Yes," Saetan replied. "Didn't the Council mention it?"
    Lord Magstrom looked troubled. "No, they didn't. Perhaps—"
    A