Heir to the Shadows

sun wasn't going to rise."
    Saetan closed his eyes. He was the Black-Jeweled High Lord of Hell, the Prince of the Darkness. He wasn't sure that was a sufficient match for these children. "You're not afraid of her, are you?"
    Chaosti looked startled. "Afraid of Jaenelle? Why should I be? She's my friend, my Sister, and my cousin. And she's the Queen." He tipped his head. "Are you?"
    "Sometimes. Sometimes I'm very afraid of what she might do."
    "Being afraid of what she might do isn't the same as being afraid of Jaenelle." Chaosti hesitated, then added, "She loves you, High Lord. You are her father, by her choice. Did you really think she'd let you go unless that's what you wanted?"
    Saetan waited until Chaosti joined the others before answering.
    Yes. May the Darkness help him, yes. He'd let his feelings tangle up his intellect. He'd been prepared to destroy the Council in order to keep her. He should have remem-
     
    bered what she'd said about not letting the Council put more scars on his soul.
    She had stopped the Council, and she had stopped him.
    It shamed him that he hadn't understood what Karla, Gabrielle, Chaosti, and the others had known as soon as they heard the phrasing she'd used. Loving her as he did, living with her while she stretched daily toward the Queen she'd become, he should have known.
    Feeling better, he headed for the breakfast room.
    There was just one thing that still troubled him, still produced a nagging twinge between his shoulder blades.
    How in the name of Hell had Jaenelle done it?
    3 / Hell
    Hekatah stared out the window at the sere landscape. Like the other Realms, Hell followed the seasons, but even in summer, it was still a cold, forever-twilight land.
    It had gone wrong again. Somehow, it had gone wrong.
    She'd counted on the Council's being able to separate Saetan and Jaenelle. She hadn't foreseen the girl resisting in such a spectacular, frightening way.
    The girl. So much power waiting to be tapped. There had to be a way to reach her, had to be some kind of bait with which to entice her.
    As the thought took shape, Hekatah began to smile.
    Love. A young man's ardor pitted against a father's affection. For all her power, the girl was a softhearted idiot. Torn between her own desires and another's needs—needs she could safely accommodate since she'd already been opened—she'd comply. Wouldn't she? If the male was skilled and attractive? After a while, with the help of an addictive aphrodisiac, she'd need the mounting far more than she'd need a father. Rejection would be all the discipline required if she balked at something her beloved wanted. All that dark, lovely power offered to a cock and balls who would, of course, be controlled by Hekatah. -
    Hekatah nibbled on her thumbnail.
    This game required patience. If she was frightened of
    sexual overtures and repelled all advances. . . . No need to worry about that. Saetan would never tolerate it, would never permit her to become frigid. He strongly believed in sexual pleasure—as strongly as he believed in fidelity. The latter had been a nuisance. The former guaranteed his little darling would be ripe for the picking in a year or two.
    Smiling, Hekatah turned away from the window.
    At least that gutter son of a whore was good for something.
    4 / Kaeleer
    Saetan handed Lord Magstrom a glass of brandy before settling into the chair behind his blackwood desk. It was barely afternoon, but after three "days" of unyielding night, he doubted many men were going to quibble about when they tossed back the first glass.
    Saetan steepled his fingers. At least the fools in the Council had the sense to send Lord Magstrom. He wouldn't have granted an audience to anyone else. But he didn't like the Warlord's haggard appearance, and he hoped the elderly man would fully recover from the strain of the past three days. He'd spent most of his long life living between sunset and sunrise, and even he found this unnatural darkness a strain on his nerves. "You wanted to see me, Lord Magstrom?"
    Lord Magstrom's hand shook as he sipped the brandy. "The Council is very upset. They don't like being held hostage this way, but they've asked me to put a proposal before you."
    "I'm not the one you have to negotiate with, Warlord. Jaenelle set the terms, not me."
    Lord Magstrom looked shocked. "We assumed—"
    "You assumed wrong. Even I don't have the power to do this."
    Lord Magstrom closed his eyes. His breathing was too rapid, too shallow. "Do you know where