Queen of the Darkness

too aware that any sudden movement might unleash the violence still raging inside him, Saetan leaned against his blackwood desk.
    Keeping his own movements equally controlled, Daemon poured himself another brandy. "Do you think the Queen will give her consent?"
    "No. Since her relatives inflicted harm on her and not someone else, she'll oppose the execution. But I'll still make the request."
    Daemon gently swirled the brandy in his glass. "If, for some reason, she doesn't oppose it, may I watch?"
    Saetan's smile was sweet and vicious. "My darling Prince, if Jaenelle actually gives her consent, you can do more than watch."
----
    9 / Kaeleer
    Lord Magstrom sighed as he laid his stack of files on the large table already filled with stacks of files. He sighed again when his elbow jostled a corner stack and the top bulging file spilled on the floor. Going down on one knee, he began collecting the papers.
    Thank the Darkness claiming day had ended and the autumn service fair was officially over. Perhaps he should decline to work the service fair next spring. The grueling hours were taxing for a man his age, but it was the heartbreaking hope and desperation on the immigrants' faces that wrung him dry. How could he look at a woman no older than his youngest granddaughter and not want to help her find a place to live where the fear lurking at the back of her eyes would be replaced by happiness? How could he talk to a courteous, well-spoken man who had been horrifically scarred by repeated attempts to "teach him obedience" and not want to send him to some quiet village where he could regain his self-respect and not have to wonder what was going to happen to him every time the Lady who ruled there looked in his direction?
    There weren't places like that in Little Terreille. Not anymore. But it was the Queens in this Territory that continued to offer contracts and stuff their courts with immigrants. The other Queens in Kaeleer, in the Territories that answered to the Queen of Ebon Askavi, were more cautious and far more selective. So he did his best to find the immigrants who had a skill or a dream or something that might buy them a contract outside of Little Terreille, and he brought those people to the attention of the males in Jaenelle Angelline's First Circle when they came to the service fair. As for the others, he filled out the contracts and wished them luck and good life—and wondered if their new life in Little Terreille would really be any different than the life they had tried to escape.
    And he tried not to think at all about the ones who hadn't been fortunate enough to receive some kind of contract and were sent back to Terreille.
    Magstrom shook his head as he shuffled the papers into some kind of order. Such sloppy work, stuffing the immigration entry lists into the same file as the service lists and the lists of those who were returning to Terreille. How could the clerks be expected to—
    His hand tightened on a sheet of paper. The Hayllian entry list. But he had been in charge of the Hayllian list— until the end of the third day, when Jorval had decided to oversee that particular list. There had been twenty names on the list he'd given Jorval. Now there were only twelve. Had someone recopied the list and only put down the names of the people who had been accepted into service? No, because Daemon Sadi's name wasn't there.
    Magstrom quickly shuffled through the papers for the Hayllian list of people returning to Terreille which the guards would use to make sure no one tried to slip away and go into hiding. Four names listed. Since Sadi was now in Dhemlan, that left three people unaccounted for who had been on the entry list he had given to Jorval.
    When he heard footsteps approaching, he stuffed the papers back into the file, grunted softly as he stood up, and hurriedly placed the file on a stack where it wouldn't just spill back onto the floor.
    The footsteps stopped at the door, then continued on.
    Magstrom listened for a moment, then used Craft to probe the area. No one there. But a shiver of uneasiness rippled down his back.
    Pushed by that uneasiness, he left the building and hurried to the inn where he had been staying during the service fair. As soon as he reached his room, he began to pack.
    By rights, he should have sought out other Council members and mentioned the disparities in the Hayllian lists. Maybe it was a simple clerical error—too many names, too much work rushed through. But who would