“Then perhaps your Lady would like to oversee the redecorating.”

Saetan looked at her with horrified amusement. “No doubt she would. However, my Lady will be twelve in four months, and I’d much prefer that she live in a suite I’ve decorated on her behalf than that I live in a Hall decorated with her somewhat…eclectic…tastes.”

Helene stared at him for a moment but refrained from asking the question he saw in her eyes. “I could have some swatch books brought up to the Hall for you to choose from.”

“An excellent idea, my dear. Do you think you can have this place presentable in four months?”

“The staff is rather small, High Lord,” Helene said hesitantly.

“Then hire the help you need.” Saetan strolled to the door that opened onto the great hall. “I’ll meet you again at the end of the week. Is that sufficient time?”

“Yes, High Lord.” She curtsied again.

Having been born in the slums of Draega, Hayll’s capital, as the son of an indifferent whore, he’d never expected or wanted servants to grovel in his presence. He didn’t mention this to Helene because, if he read her right, that was the last curtsy he would ever receive.

At the end of the great hall, he hesitated before opening the door of his public study. He walked around the room, lightly touching the covered furniture, grimacing slightly at his dusty fingertips.

He’d once ruled Dhemlan Kaeleer from this room. Still ruled, he reminded himself. He’d given Dhemlan Terreille to Mephis when he became a Guardian, but not her sister land in the Shadow Realm.

Ah, Kaeleer. It had always been a sweet wine for him, with its deeper magic and its mysteries. Now those mysteries were coming out of the mist once more, and the magic was still strong. Strand by strand, Jaenelle was rebuilding the web, calling them all to the dance.

He hoped she’d be pleased to have the use of this place. He hoped he’d be invited when she established her own court. He wanted to see who she selected for her First Circle, wanted to see the faces attached to that list of names. Did they know about each other? Or him?

Saetan shook his head and smiled.

Whether she’d intended to or not, his fair-haired daughter of the soul had certainly thrown him back among the living.

2 / Terreille

Surreal switched the basket of groceries from one hand to the other and fished her keys out of her trouser pocket as she climbed the stairs to her third-floor apartment. When she reached the landing and saw the dark shape curled up against her door, the keys vanished, replaced by her favorite stiletto.

The woman pushed the matted black hair from her face and staggered to her feet.

“Tersa,” Surreal whispered, vanishing the stiletto as she leaped toward the swaying woman.

“You must tell him,” Tersa muttered.

Surreal dropped the basket and wrapped her arm around Tersa’s waist. After calling in her keys and unlocking the door, she half-carried the muttering woman to the sofa, swearing under her breath at the condition Tersa was in.