Saetan leaned heavily on a silver-headed cane, his golden eyes glittering with rage. There was more silver in the thick black hair, and his face was tight with exhaustion. He looked . . . worn-out.
And he was only wearing his Birthright Red Jewel.
She didn't even take the time for a fast descent to gather her full strength. She just raised her hand and unleashed the power in her Red-Jeweled ring at his weak leg.
His cry of pain as he fell was the most satisfying sound she'd heard in years.
"Seize him!" she screamed at her demons.
A cold, soft wind sighed across the island.
The guards hesitated for a moment, but when Saetan tried to get up and failed, they drew their knives and ran toward him.
The ground trembled slightly. Mist swirled around the rocks, around the barren earth.
Hekatah also ran toward Saetan, wanting to watch the knives cut deep, wanting to watch his blood run. A Guardian's blood! The richness, the strength in it! She would feast on him before dealing with that upstart little demon.
A howl rose from the abyss, a sound full of joy and pain, rage and celebration.
Then a tidal wave of dark power flooded thecildru dyathe's island. Psychic lightning set Hell's twilight sky on fire. Thunder shook the land. The howling went on and on.
Hekatah fell to the ground and curled up as tight as she could.
Her demons screamed in nerve-shattering agony.
Go away,Hekatah pleaded silently.Whatever you are, go away.
Something icy and terrible brushed against her inner barriers, and Hekatah blanked her mind.
By the time it faded away, the witch storm had faded with it.
Hekatah pushed herself into a sitting position. Her throat worked convulsively when she saw what was left of her demons.
There was no sign of Saetan or Char.
Hekatah slowly got to her feet. Was that Jaenelle—or what was left of Jaenelle? Maybe shewasn't cildru dyathe. Maybe she had faded from demon to ghost and all that was left was that bodiless power.
It was just as well the girl was dead, Hekatah thought as she caught a White Wind and rode back to the stone building she claimed as her own. It was just as well that whatever was left of Jaenelle would be confined to the Dark Realm. Trying to control that savage power. ... It was just as well the girl was dead.
Pain surrounded him, filled him. His head felt like it was stuffed with blankets. He clawed his way through, desperate to reach the muffled voices he heard around him: Andulvar's angry rumble, Char's distress.
Hell's fire! Why were they just sitting there? For the first time in two years, Jaenelle had responded to someone's call. Why weren't they trying to keep her within reach?
Because Jaenelle was gliding through the abyss too deep for anyone but him to feel her presence. But he couldn't just descend to the level of the Black and summon her. He had to be near her physically, he had to be with her to coax her into remaining with her body.
"Why did the witch storm hit him so bad?" Char asked fearfully.
"Because he's an ass," Andulvar growled in reply.
He redoubled his efforts to break through the muffling layers just so he could snarl at Andulvar. Maybe hehad been channelling too much of the Black strength without giving his body a chance to recover. Maybe hehad been foolish when he'd refused to drink fresh blood to maintain his strength. But that didn't give an Eyrien warrior the right to act like a stubborn, nagging Healer.
Jaenelle would have cornered him until he'd given in.
Jaenelle. So close. He might never have another chance.
He struggled harder.Help me. I have to reach her. Help — "me."
"High Lord!"
"Hell's fire, SaDiablo!"
Saetan grabbed Andulvar's arm and tried to pull himself into a sitting position. "Help me. Before it's too late."
"You need rest," Andulvar said.
"There isn't time!" Saetan tried to yell. It came out an infuriating croak. "Jaenelle's still close enough to reach."
"What?"
The next thing he knew he was sitting up with Andulvar supporting him and Char kneeling in front of him. He focused on the boy. "How did you summon her?"
"I don't know," Char wailed. "I don't know. I was just trying to keep Hekatah busy until you came. She kept demanding to see Jaenelle, so I thought . . . Jaenelle and I used to play 'chase me, find me' and that was the sound we used to make. I didn't know she would answer, High Lord. I've called like that lots of times since she went away, and she's never answered."
"Until now," Saetan said quietly. Why now? He finally noticed he was in a familiar bedroom. "We're at the Keep in Kaeleer?"
"Draca insisted on bringing you here," Andulvar said.
The Keep's Seneschal had given him a bedroom near the Queen's suite. Which meant he wasn't more than a few yards away from Jaenelle's body. Just chance? Or could Draca also feel Jaenelle's presence?
"Help me," Saetan whispered.
Andulvar half carried him the few yards down the corridor to the door where Draca waited.
"You will drink a cup of fressh blood when you return," Draca said.
// /return, Saetan thought grimly, as Andulvar helped him to the bed that held Jaenelle's frail body. There might not be another chance. He would bring her back or destroy himself trying.
As soon as he was alone with her, he took Jaenelle's head between his hands, drew every drop of power he had left in his Jewels, and made a quick descent into the abyss until he reached the level of the Black.
Jaenelle!"
She continued her slow spiral glide deeper into the abyss. He didn't know if she was ignoring him or just couldn't hear him.
Jaenelle! Witch-child!"
His strength was draining too quickly. The abyss pushed against his mind, the pressure quickly turning to pain.
"You're safe, witch-child! Come back! You're safe!"
She slipped farther and farther away from him. But little eddies of power washed back up to him, and he could taste the rage in them.
Chase me, find me.A child's game. He had been sending a message of love and safety into the abyss for two years. Char had been sending an invitation to play during that same time.
Silence.
In another moment, he would have to ascend or he would shatter.
Stillness.
Chase me, find me.Hadn't he really been playing the same game?
He waited, fighting for each second. " Witch-child."
She slammed into him without warning. Caught in her spiralling fury, he didn't know if they were rising or descending.
He heard glass shatter in the physical world, heard someone scream. He felt something hit his chest, just below his heart, hard enough to take his breath away.
Not knowing what else to do, he opened his inner barriers fully, a gesture of complete surrender. He expected her to crash through him, rip him apart. Instead, he felt a startled curiosity and a feather-light touch that barely brushed against him.
Then she tossed him out of the abyss.
The abrupt return to the physical world left him dizzy, his senses scrambled. That had to be why he thought he saw a tiny spiral horn in the centre of her forehead. That had to be why her ears looked delicately pointed, why she had a golden mane that looked like a cross between fur and human hair. That had to be why his heart felt as if it were beating frantically against someone's hand.
He closed his eyes, fighting the dizziness. When he opened them a moment later, all the changes in Jaenelle's appearance were gone, but there was still that odd feeling in his chest.
Gasping, he looked down as he felt fingers curl around his heart.
Jaenelle's hand was embedded in his chest. When she withdrew her hand, she would pull his heart out with it. No matter. It had been hers long before he'd ever met her. And it gave him an odd feeling of pride, remembering the frustration and delight he'd felt when he'd tried to teach her how to pass one solid object through another.
The fingers curled tighter.
Her eyes opened. They were fathomless sapphire pools that held no recognition, that held nothing but deep, inhuman rage.
Then she blinked. Her eyes clouded, hiding so many things. She blinked again and looked at him. "Saetan?" she said in a rusty voice.
His eyes filled with tears. "Witch-child," he whispered hoarsely.
He gasped when she moved her hand slightly.
She stared at his chest and frowned. "Oh." She slowly uncurled her fingers and withdrew her hand.
He expected her hand to be bloody, but it was clean. A quick internal check told him he would feel bruised for a few days, but she hadn't done any damage. He leaned forward until his forehead rested against hers.
"Witch-child," he whispered.
"Saetan? Are you crying?"
"Yes. No. I don't know."
"You should lie down. You feel kind of peaky."
Shifting his body until it was beside hers exhausted him. When she turned and snuggled against him, he wrapped his arms around her and held on. "I tried to reach you, witch-child," he murmured as he rested his cheek against her head.
"I know," she said sleepily. "I heard you sometimes, but I had to find all the pieces so I could put the crystal chalice back together."
"Did you put it back together?" he asked, hardly daring to breathe.
Jaenelle nodded. "Some of the pieces are cloudy and don't fit quite right yet." She paused. "Saetan? What happened?"
Dread filled him, and he didn't have the courage to answer that question honestly. What would she do if he told her what had happened? If she severed the link with her body and fled into the abyss again, he wasn't sure he would ever be able to convince her to return.
"You were hurt, sweetheart." His arms tightened around her. "But you're going to be fine. I'll help you. Nothing can hurt you, witch-child. You have to remember that. You're safe here."
Jaenelle frowned. "Where is here?"
"We're at the Keep. In Kaeleer."
"Oh." Her eyelids fluttered and closed.
