Heir to the Shadows

Magstrom would like to ask you a few questions." Hopefully the older Warlord felt the emotional currents in the room and would tread carefully.
    "Before the interrogation begins, may I ask you something?"
    Lord Magstrom fiddled with his cup. "This isn't an interrogation, Lady," he said gently.
    "Really?" she said in her midnight voice.
    Magstrom shivered. His hand shook as he set his cup on the table.
    Hoping to divert her, Saetan groaned theatrically. "What do you want to ask?"
    Her sapphire eyes studied him. Concern faded to exasperated amusement. "It isn't that bad."
    "That's what you said the last time."
    Jaenelle gave him her best unsure-but-game smile. "Dujae wants to know if we can have a wall."
    He tried not to panic. "A wall? Dujae wants one of my walls?"
    "Yes."
    Saetan pressed his fingertips against his temple. Something was clogging his throat. He wasn't sure if it was a shriek or a laugh. "Why does Dujae want a wall?"
    "We're going to paint it." She pondered this for a moment. "Well, I guess saying we're going to paint it isn't quite accurate. We're going to draw on it. Dujae says we need to think more expansively and the only way to do
     
    that is to have an expansive canvas to work on and the only thing big enough is a wall."
    Uh-huh. "I see." Saetan looked around the tastefully decorated room and sighed. "There are lots of empty rooms here. Why don't you pick one in the same wing as the rumpus room."
    Jaenelle frowned. "We don't have a rumpus room."
    Saetan tweaked one of her braids. "You wouldn't say that if you'd ever been in the room under it while you were all doing . . . whatever."
    Jaenelle gave him a look of amused tolerance. "Thank you, Papa." She bussed his cheek and bounded off the couch.
    Saetan grabbed the back of her overalls and pulled her down beside him. "Dujae can wait a bit. Lord Magstrom has a few questions."
    The cold fire was back in her eyes, but she settled against him on the couch, her hands demurely in her lap, and gave the two men a look of polite impatience.
    Saetan nodded at Lord Magstrom.
    His hands loosely clasped on the arms of the chair, Lord Magstrom smiled at Jaenelle. "Is art a favorite study of yours, Lady Angelline?" he asked politely. "I have a granddaughter about your age who enjoys 'mucking about with colors,' as she puts it."
    At the mention of a granddaughter, Jaenelle looked at Lord Magstrom with interest. "I enjoy drawing, but not as much as music," she said after a moment's thought. "Much more than mathematics." She wrinkled her nose. "But then, anything's better than mathematics."
    "Arnora holds mathematics in the same high regard," Lord Magstrom said seriously, but his blue eyes twinkled.
    Jaenelle's lips twitched. "Does she? A sensible witch."
    "What other subjects do you enjoy?"
    "Learning about plants and gardening and healing and weaponry and equitation is fun . . . and languages. And dancing. Dancing's wonderful, don't you think? And of course there's Craft, but that's not really a lesson, is it?"
    "Not really a lesson?" Lord Magstrom looked startled.
    He accepted another cup of coffee. "With so much studying, you don't have much time to socialize," he said slowly.
    Jaenelle frowned and looked at Saetan.
    "I believe Lord Magstrom is referring to dances and other public gatherings," he said carefully.
    Her frown deepened. "Why do we need to go out for dancing? We've got enough people here who play instruments and we dance whenever we want to. Besides, I promised Morghann I'd spend a few days in Scelt with her when they have the harvest dances, and Kalush's family invited me to go to the theater with them, and Gabrielle—"
    "Dujae," Friall said tightly. "Dujae is teaching you to draw?"
    Saetan squeezed Jaenelle's shoulder but she shrugged away from him.
    "Yes, Dujae is teaching me to draw," Jaenelle said, the chill back in her voice.
    "Dujae is dead."
    "For centuries now."
    Friall dabbed at his lips. "You study drawing with a demon?"
    "Just because he's a demon doesn't make him less of an artist."
    "But he's a demon"
    Jaenelle shrugged dismissively. "So are Char and Titian and a number of my other friends. Who I call a friend is no business of yours, Lord Friall."
    "No business," Friall sputtered. "It most certainly is the Council's business. It was a show of faith that the Council allowed something like the High Lord to keep a young girl in the first place—"
    "Something like the High Lord?"
    "—and to soil a young girl's sensibilities by forcing