Twilight's Dawn

giving them what peace he could in the process.
    It wasn’t his place to interfere or step in. He had held that line for thousands of years—at least most of the time. But that last mutilated child had come from Dhemlan, and he didn’t consider it interfering to inform the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan about that boy—not when the Prince was his own son.
    *Saetan?*
    A whisper of thought on a psychic thread, barely strong enough to reach him. But no matter how weak, he knew that voice, had loved that woman. *Sylvia? Where are you?*
    *Landing web. Keep. Not sure which one.*
    He left the Dark Altar and moved swiftly, straining the muscles in his bad leg as he moved through the corridors in the Keep.
    *Draca,* Saetan called. *Sylvia is here. Something is wrong. We need to find her quickly.*
    *I will inform Geoffrey,* Draca said. *We will look.*
    It wouldn’t be just the Keep’s Seneschal and historian/librarian who would look. What guarded the Keep would be aware of Sylvia and would inform Draca. Meanwhile, he headed for the landing web most often used by people who didn’t live in Ebon Rih.
    *Saetan?* Sylvia called again, her voice fading.
    He found her sprawled on the landing web, trying to push herself to an upright position and too weak to do it.
    He rushed over to her and dropped to his knees, lifting her enough to hold her against him. “Sylvia, what . . . ?”
    Demon-dead. He knew the scent, knew the feel. How could he not know after ruling Hell for so many years? She was demon-dead and fading. Both of her Jewels, the Purple Dusk and her Birthright Summer-sky, hung around her neck and she wore both her rings. Only a drop or two of power left in each of them.
    “Saetan.” Her voice was barely audible, but she still found enough strength to grab a fistful of his jacket. “I know how you feel about interfering with the living, but I’m begging you. Help me save my boys.”
    He didn’t ask questions. He simply called in a small vial, flipped off the top, and closed his hand around it to give the contents a moment’s warmth. Then he pressed the vial against her lips and said, “Drink.”
    She swallowed once, then tried to get away from him. He held her tight, and held the vial away from her to prevent her from knocking it out of his hand.
    “Hell’s fire,” she gasped. “What is that?”
    “A vial of Jaenelle’s undiluted blood,” he replied dryly. “If you think it’s bad now, you should have tried it when she wore Ebony. A couple drops of that used to feel like you swallowed lightning.”
    “You’re a mean bastard.”
    “And you want my help, so stop being a whiny girl. Just hold your nose and take your medicine.”
    “I am not whining, you—”
    He poured the rest of the blood down her throat. Since he and Geoffrey usually split one of those vials, he knew exactly what he’d done to the woman he loved—which was why he let her swear at him until she wound down enough to sound sane again.
    He vanished the vial. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Then we can . . .”
    That was when he realized what was wrong with her legs.
    Using Craft to take part of her weight, he picked her up and headed for a guest room located near his own suite of rooms.
    *Lucivar!* he called on a spear thread.
    *Father?*
    Jolting Lucivar awake would hone the sharp edge of an always-sharp temper, but he’d deal with that when he had to. *I need your Healer at the Keep. It’s urgent.*
    *We’ll be there.* Lucivar broke the link.
    Draca waited for him at the doorway of the guest room. When she saw Sylvia, she looked into the room. A marble slab appeared, heavily padded and floating on air.
    *It iss more practical,* Draca said.
    Nodding, he went into the room and laid Sylvia on the padding.
    “All right,” he said, winding a soothing spell through his voice. “Let’s take a look at you.”
    “No,” Sylvia said.
    He ignored her, pulled aside the torn coat and shirt, and stared at the knife wound that had killed her. He vanished the coat and shirt, then hesitated over the brassiere. It shouldn’t matter now, but it would, so he didn’t remove it. Instead, he called in a blanket and wrapped it around her so she wouldn’t feel embarrassed when Lucivar thundered into the room.
    Which Lucivar did a minute later, followed by Nurian.
    “Mother Night,” Nurian said as she rushed over to the slab. She reached out, her hands hovering over Sylvia’s ruined legs. “What happened?”
    Saetan put his arms around Sylvia,