Queen of the Darkness

yet.
    And he wondered how many loved ones he would have to assist through the transition to becoming demon-dead this time—and how many would disappear without a trace. Like Andulvar's son, Ravenar. Like his own son, his second son, Peyton.
    "Father?" Daemon said quietly.
    He realized they were both watching him intently, but it was Daemon he focused on. The son who was a mirror, who was his true heir. The son he understood the best— and the least.
    Before he could start to tell them about the other attacks, Beale knocked on the study door and walked in.
    "Forgive the intrusion, High Lord," Beale said, "but there's a Warlord here to see you. He has a letter."
    "Then take the letter. I don't want to be disturbed at the moment."
    "I suggested that, High Lord. He said he needs to deliver it in person."
    Saetan waited a moment. "Very well."
    Lucivar sprang out of his chair and positioned himself so that he would flank anyone standing near the desk. Daemon rose and resettled himself on a corner of the desk.
    The intense warrior and the indolent male. Saetan imagined they had played these roles before—and played them well. With Lucivar's temper so close to the surface, the attention would be on him—but the death blow would come from Daemon.
    The Warlord who entered the study was pale, nervous, and sweating. He paled even more when he saw Lucivar and Daemon.
    Saetan walked around the desk. "You have a letter for me?"
    The Warlord swallowed hard. "Yes, sir." He extended an envelope, the ink a little smeared from his hands.
    Saetan probed the envelope. Found nothing. No trace of a spell. No trace of poison. He took it and looked at the Warlord.
    "I found that in the guest room desk this morning," the man said hurriedly. "I didn't know it was there."
    Saetan looked at the envelope. There was nothing on it except his name. "So you found it this morning. Is that significant?"
    "I hope not. I mean—" The man took a deep breath, made an effort to steady himself. "Lord Magstrom is— was—my wife's grandfather. He came to visit us last fall, just before... Well, before. He seemed disturbed about something, but we weren't paying much attention. My wife... We had just found out for sure that she was pregnant. She'd had a miscarriage the year before, and we were concerned that it might happen again. The Healer says she has to be careful."
    Why was the man pleading with him? "Is your wife well?"
    "Yes, thank you, she is, but she's had to be careful. Grandfather Magstrom didn't mention the letter. At least, I don't remember him mentioning it, and then, after he... was killed..." The man's hands trembled. "I hope it wasn't something urgent. As soon as I found it, I knew I had to come right away. I hope it wasn't urgent."
    "I'm sure it's not," Saetan replied gently. "I expect it's just the usual information Lord Magstrom sent me after a service fair—a confirmation more than anything else."
    The man's relief was visible.
    Saetan glanced at the Warlord's Yellow Jewel. "May I offer you the use of a Coach to take you home?"
    "Oh, I don't want to put you through any bother."
    "It's no bother—and with a driver who can ride the darker Winds, you'll be home in time to have dinner with your Lady."
    The Warlord hesitated a moment longer. "Thank you. I—don't like to be away from her too long." He looked a little sheepish. "She says I fuss."
    Saetan smiled. "You're going to become a father. You're entitled to fuss." He led the man out of the study, gave Beale instructions about the Coach, and returned to Daemon and Lucivar. Using the letter opener on his desk, he carefully slit the envelope. He called in his half-moon glasses, opened the letter, and began to read.
    "You got reports from Magstrom about the service fair?" Lucivar asked, accepting the glass of brandy Daemon poured for him.
    "No." And the more he read, the less he liked receiving this one. As he read the letter a second time, he barely listened to Daemon's and Lucivar's conversation—until Daemon said something that caught his attention. "What did you say?"
    "I said Lord Magstrom had indicated that he was going to send letters to some of the Queens outside of Little Terreille," Daemon repeated, swirling the brandy in his glass. "But after Jorval took over handling my immigration, I was told that the Queens outside of Little Terreille wouldn't consider a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince."
    Lucivar snorted. "Jorval probably arranged for the letters not to be sent. Hell's fire,