The Queen's Price

FIVE

A few days of discreet inquiries provided no answers. There wasn’t a girl at the sanctuary named Wilhelmina Benedict. There was no Benedict family in the village. Jillian had the vaguest recollection of hearing the name but couldn’t remember where.

That left Saetien with two other choices for information. Her father’s letters held warmth but were written with almost painful care. Daemon Sadi didn’t mention any of the youngsters who were currently in residence at SaDiablo Hall, including her cousins Titian and Daemonar. He wrote about Mikal, who was his legal ward. He wrote about the gardens and bits and pieces of gossip about the people in Halaway, the village adjoining the family seat. But he didn’t say much about himself beyond what books he was currently reading. She didn’t know if that was because something was wrong and he wasn’t going to tell her or if he believed she wouldn’t care.

Of course, her letters to him were just as carefully written, because anything that sounded like whining was met with a chilly response, and some days it was hard not to feel sorry for herself and blame everyone else for her Birthright Jewel being stripped down to Purple Dusk instead of being in the range of power that had been in Twilight’s Dawn, and for her being banned from Amdarh and Askavi for two years, and for her ending up living here.

And she wanted to blame Witch most of all, for condemning her to nightly visits to Briarwood during which she had to walk through the place and listen to the screaming and crying and pleading, and see things that shouldn’t be seen by anyone, even in the worst nightmares.

She saw the pattern. She wasn’t stupid. She noticed on the days when she was petulant or bitchy about having to do chores around the sanctuary beyond keeping her room tidy, when she complained about the quarterly allowance her father gave her being a portion of what it used to be, when she pushed at Jillian because the Eyrien woman was part of the family that didn’t want her anymore, that she saw more of Briarwood, saw things too awful to bear. And somewhere there would be words painted in blood on a wall: You dream about this. We lived this.

A harsh reminder that usually had Shelby nudging her awake because she was crying in her sleep.

No, she couldn’t ask her father about someone who might not even exist, since Teresa was the one who gave her the name and then had no recollection of who it was or what the name meant. That left her with one other choice.

Saetien waited until Surreal SaDiablo arrived for her weekly appointment with the sanctuary’s administrator and instructors. Before Surreal completed her business and left for her next appointment, Saetien sent a request to see the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan’s second-in-command.

Her mother but no longer a mother. Saetien had obliterated that bond between them with deliberate, well-aimed words. She could say now that she hadn’t meant what she’d said, but that was like someone saying, The knife slipped; I didn’t mean to kill my friend, just hurt her a little. She’d killed something inside Surreal, something that may have been vulnerable all along, and they both lived with the scars and the consequences.

She met Surreal outside, having hurried because it had taken her longer than she’d expected to get Shelby to agree that he shouldn’t come with her.

“Problem?” Surreal asked, her voice suggesting she would be helpful but impersonal.

“I need help finding someone,” Saetien said.

“You could write to the historian/librarian at the Keep and request information. Geoffrey would know if anyone does,” Surreal replied.

“I’m not sure the person is real.” She called in the paper with the drawing and name and handed it to Surreal.

Surreal stared at it for a long time. “Where did you get this?”

“Teresa drew it for me. It’s sort of a portrait of who I was and who I am now.” Saetien shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “She says this person tastes of sadness and truth and can tell me some things I need to know.”

“I don’t know if she can,” Surreal said quietly. “Not anymore. And I don’t know that you really want to find out about her.”

“Why?” Something in Surreal’s reluctance made Saetien uneasy. “Who is Wilhelmina Benedict?”

Surreal sighed. “She was Jaenelle Angelline’s sister.”