He took his time reaching that rocky place that was as close to a shelter as the children would condone. As he reached the final bend in the twisting path and mentally prepared himself to watch them flee from him, he heard laughter—innocent, delighted laughter. He wrapped his cape tightly around him, hoping to blend into the rocks and remain unnoticed for a moment. To hear them laugh that way…

Saetan eased around the last rock and gasped.

In the center of their open “council” area stood a magnificent evergreen, its color undimmed by Hell’s forever-twilight. Throughout the branches, little points of color winked in and out like a rainbow of fireflies performing a merry dance. Char and the other children were hanging icicles—real icicles—from the branches. Little silver and gold bells tinkled as they brushed against the branches. There was laughter and purpose, an animation and sparkle in their young faces that he’d never seen before.

Then they saw him and froze, small animals caught in the light. In another moment, they would have run, but Char turned at that instant, his eyes bright. He stepped toward Saetan, holding out his hands in an ancient gesture of welcome.

“High Lord.” Char’s voice rang with pride. “Come see our tree.”

Saetan came forward slowly and placed his hands over Char’s. He studied the tree. A single tear slipped down his cheek, and his lips trembled. “Ah, children,” he said huskily, “it’s truly a magnificent tree. And your decorations are wonderful.”

They smiled at him, shyly, tentatively.

Without thinking, Saetan put his arm around Char’s shoulders and hugged him close. The boy jerked back, caught himself, and then hesitantly put his arms around Saetan and hugged him in return.

“You know who gave us the tree, don’t you?” Char whispered.

“Yes, I know.”

“I’ve never…most of us have never…”

“I know, Char.” Saetan squeezed Char’s shoulder once more. He cleared his throat. “They seem a bit…dull…compared with this, but there are gifts for you to put beneath the tree.”

Char rubbed his hand across his face. “She said it would only last the thirteen days of Winsol, but that’s all they ever last, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s all they ever last.”

“High Lord.” Char hesitated. “How?”

Saetan smiled tenderly at the boy. “I don’t know. She’s magic. I’m only a Warlord Prince. You can’t expect me to explain magic.”

Char smiled in return, a smile from one man to another.

Saetan called in the six boxes. “I’ll leave these in your keeping.” One finger gently stroked Char’s burned, blackened cheek. “Happy Winsol, Warlord.” He turned and glided quickly toward the path. As he passed the first bend, a sound came from a smattering of voices. When it was repeated, it was a full chorus.

“Happy Winsol, High Lord.”

Saetan choked back a sob and hurried back to the Hall.

7 / Hell

“You did tell me to give a Winsol gift to someone who might not get one, so…well…” Jaenelle nervously brushed her fingers along the edge of Saetan’s blackwood desk.