Tangled Webs

the cellar and the ghost cat that’s seen from one of the upstairs windows…”
    “They nipped at you until you gave in, didn’t they?”
    “Badgered. There were no teeth involved. Mine or theirs.”
    Oh, the sour note in Jaenelle’s voice.
    Marian turned away to hide a grin. The powerful men in Jaenelle’s life didn’t often win an argument with her. On the other hand, she seldom won an argument with Ladvarian. Did it annoy Lucivar, Daemon, and Saetan to see a dog that didn’t come up to their knees cornering Jaenelle into agreeing to things when they couldn’t get her to budge, or were they grateful that someone could successfully herd their darling Queen when herding was required?
    “All right,” Jaenelle said briskly. “We have one more room that needs significant work.” She left the dining room and led the way to the room that must have been a parlor. “This will be the scariest room in the house.”
    Marian looked at the furniture and wallpaper and thought the room qualified without their doing anything to it. “What’s going to be in here?”
    Oh, the look in Jaenelle’s eyes as she said softly, “A promise.”

    Entering one of the small parlors that were in Witch’s private section of the Keep, Daemon used Craft to move another cushioned footstool next to the one that held Saetan’s socked feet. Then he sat down and studied his father as Saetan closed the book he was reading and took off the half-moon glasses.
    “Nice sweater,” Daemon said dryly, eyeing the long black sweater Saetan was wearing over a white silk shirt.
    “Nice shirt,” Saetan replied just as dryly, confirming Daemon’s suspicion that Saetan owned the sweater for the same reason he now owned this shirt. “The gold looks good on you.”
    “I have other clothes besides white shirts and black trousers,” Daemon grumbled.
    “If you don’t, you will.” Saetan smiled. “Have any of your silk shirts found their way into your Lady’s closet?”
    “No.” Daemon felt amusement bubble up. “My shoulders are broader than yours, so my shirts don’t fit as well as yours did. I gathered this was a disappointment. In terms of the shirts, not the shoulders.”
    “Lucky you.”
    He grinned at the sour note he heard in Saetan’s voice. Then his amusement faded as he called in a packet of letters tied with a rose-colored ribbon. “Sylvia wrote these,” he said softly. “There are a couple from the boys as well. I told her I would offer them, but you don’t have to take them.” Especially now when he could see the pain gathering in his father’s gold eyes. “I can keep them, or destroy them, or read them if you feel someone needs to know the contents. I will do with them whatever you want me to do.”
    “I can’t take them,” Saetan said, his voice strained. “It’s selfish, I know that, but…”
    Daemon vanished the packet and rested a hand on Saetan’s ankle. “You’re entitled to make that choice.”
    “There are reasons why the demon-dead have their own Realm. There are reasons for the dead to step back from the living. And those same reasons apply to Guardians.”
    Step back from whomever you must, Daemon thought. Except me. Except Lucivar.
    “You and Lucivar…” Saetan smiled that dry smile. “When I first told the two of you I was retiring from the living Realms, I heard the unspoken warning about what you’d do if I tried to shut myself too far away from all of you. And I wouldn’t have tried to shut you out. Not my children. Not you or Lucivar or Jaenelle. Not from the coven or the boyos, since they, too, are my children in a way.”
    “They’ve taken the lessons and the love and gone on with their lives. They aren’t placing any demands on you. Just small expectations, when there are any at all.”
    Saetan hesitated. “At this point, my darling, you and the others are fine entertainment most of the time. Not just for me. For Geoffrey and Draca as well. Even Lorn. Once a week, I go down to visit and read him the letters from the coven. The Darkness only knows what the legendary Prince of the Dragons thinks of the content.” Another smile, there and gone. “But it’s not the same with Sylvia.”
    “No, it’s not the same.” It could never be the same with a lover who truly touched a man’s heart. He gave his father’s ankle a friendly squeeze, then sat back on the footstool. “There are going to be some changes in her household. That may not be easier for her initially, but it