4 / Kaeleer

“Witch-child, since a list of your friends would be as long as you are tall, you can’t possibly give each of them a Winsol gift. It’s not expected. You don’t expect gifts from all of them, do you?”

“Of course not,” Jaenelle replied hotly. She slumped in the chair. “But they’re my friends, Saetan.”

And you are the best gift they could have in a hundred lifetimes.

“Winsol is the celebration of Witch, the Blood’s remembrance of what we are. Gifts are condiments for the meat, and that’s all.”

Jaenelle eyed him skeptically—and well she should. How many times over the past few days had he caught himself daydreaming of what it would be like to celebrate Winsol with her? To be with her at sunset when the gifts were opened? To share a tiny cup of hot blooded rum with her? To dance, as the Blood danced at no other time of the year, for the glory of Witch? The daydreams were bittersweet. As he walked through the corridors of the Kaeleer Hall watching the staff decorate the rooms, laughing and whispering secrets; as he and Mephis prepared the benefaction list for the staff and all the villagers whose work directly or indirectly served the Hall; as he did all the things a good Prince did for the people who served him, a thought rubbed at him, rubbed and rubbed: She would be spending that special day with her family in Terreille, away from those who were truly her own.

The one small drop of comfort was that she would also be with Daemon.

“What should I do?”

Jaenelle’s question brought him back to the present. He lightly rubbed his steepled fingers against his lips. “I think you should select one or two of your friends who, for whatever reason, might be left out of the celebrations and festivities and give gifts to them. A small gesture to one who otherwise will have nothing will be worth a great deal more than another gift among many.”

Jaenelle fluffed her hair and then smiled. “Yes,” she said softly, “I know exactly the ones who need it most.”

“It’s settled, then.” A paper-wrapped parcel lifted from the corner of his desk and came to rest in front of Jaenelle. “As you requested.”

Jaenelle’s smile widened as she took the parcel and carefully unwrapped it. The soft glow in her eyes melted century upon century of loneliness. “You look splendid, Saetan.”

He smiled tenderly. “I do my best to serve, Lady.” He shifted in his chair. “By the way, the stone you gave me to sell—”

“Was it enough?” Jaenelle asked anxiously. “If it wasn’t—”

“More than enough, witch-child.” Remembering the expression on the jeweler’s face when he brought it in, it was hard not to laugh at her concern. “There were, in fact, a good number of gold marks left over. I took the liberty of opening an account in your name with the remainder. So anytime you want to purchase something in Kaeleer, you need only sign for it, have the store’s proprietor send the bill to me at the Hall, and I’ll deduct it from your account. Fair enough?”