Author's Note: Yeah, most of my fanfiction is for X/1999 but I've been rereading the Black Jewels Trilogy lately and remember how much I loved those books... as such this intriguing little idea came to mind and demanded that I write it...

.

.

"Bring back the Black Widows."

Philip sighed, rubbing his face. His back ached and his hands were cramped from writing but he still had hours of paperwork left to do. Running a territory had never been an easy task, that much he had known from observing and supporting Alexandra all these years but now that she was gone, Chaillot had fallen completely into his hands. There were no more Queens strong enough in the territory to take control, Dorothea had seen to that, and Philip had heard that Dena Nehele had gone to Jaenelle for help and advice and received a queen who despite rocky beginnings, had managed to restore much of the territory. He had visited once briefly a few weeks ago and was completely shocked to find businesses a little shaky but slowly blooming, a stark contrast to only a few years ago when the downtrodden people faced poverty and famine. If only he could do the same.

Unfortunately, he had been exiled from Kaeleer years ago by the Queen of Ebon Askavi, no longer allowed to set foot there under penalty of death. A letter might have gotten through but he highly doubted it would even be opened much less responded to.

So here he was, struggling to keep together a territory whose occupants were skittish at best. At worst, they were ruthless. Desperation lead to crime and crime led to poverty which led right back to desperation. It was as though Chaillot were chasing its own tail and the only reward for success would be the pain of the bite.

They had been so strong once… a small but proud territory. Alexandra had held her own against Dorothea for so long, never quite allowing the taint of the rest of Terreille to completely poison their own land although her influence could still be felt. Even after the purging of the blood, old wounds would never be forgotten and scars still marred both the land and the people. It still surprised him actually, that after everything that had been revealed about Alexandra's failure as a Queen to prevent that taint, that the people had allowed him to take over. Of course, there was no one else within the territory who could and he bitterly supposed that an evil they knew was better than one they didn't. Their private, closed nature had been all that had kept them from being almost entirely wiped out the way most other territories in Terreille had been so it stood to reason that they would cling to that as their last remaining strength.

Who knew. Maybe it really would help them in the long run but for the time being, it left Philip trapped in a position he did not particularly want to be in, serving people who considered him merely the lesser of two evils and regarded him with cold disdain. His resentment toward them was curbed only by the haunted looks in their eyes on the rare occasions that he went out and an instinctive love and loyalty for his home. He wanted to help. He really did. But what could he do?

He had voiced his concerns to Alexandra, even as the woman had succumbed to madness in her last days. The breaking of her jewels left her feebler than he had remembered her and while she had tried to adjust to the complete loss of power, the guilt and the grief had twisted in her until it ate away at her sanity, pushing her further and further into the Twisted Kingdom. He had tried to save her, tried to keep her from allowing her body to waste away with her crumbling mind, but she had stubbornly refused him, forcing him to watch helpless as the Queen he had once held in such high regard and admiration became nothing more than a dying shell. It was on her deathbed that he had tried once more to plead with her, begging her to consider her people who still so desperately needed guidance from someone with no Queens left to them.

She had smiled weakly at him and in a rusted voice whispered to him, "Bring back the Black Widows."

The advice had confused him immensely. Black Widows did not rule; they wove dreams and illusions and dealt with the mind and spirit.

Alexandra had nodded weakly at this, her bones cracking under the strain of even that small motion. She claimed that she had woven her last tangled web and the advice in the scattered dream she had seen was just as she had told him. Bring back the Black Widows.

He had pressed further, wondering how she could have possibly woven a tangled web. Certainly, he had known her secret, that she had once been in training as a Black Widow, had had the aptitude for it, but ceased her studies as Dorothea's purging of witches of power drove those who were not killed into hiding. He knew that she had still on rare occasion made use of her knowledge while she ruled Chaillot. But that was all before she had been broken. Surely with no power to tap, she couldn't have possibly woven a tangled web.

He had been ready to dismiss her tale as the result of an ordinary dream addled by madness and the perpetual grief at the loss of her former abilities, but Alexandra had insisted, pouring every last bit of strength she had into eliciting a promise from him that he would do as she had asked.

In honor of his Queen, Philip had made that promise, even as her eyes had closed for the last time and now he felt compelled to fulfill it. The problem however was the same as that which he faced with the Queens. There were no fully trained Black Widows. Hell, there weren't even any partially trained ones, not in Chaillot. He had put out a formal address, granting anyone with any training full sanctuary if they came forward willing to teach their craft. At first, he had naively hoped that maybe there had been some sort of intuitive wisdom behind Alexandra's last request. Months later, he had given up the last of that hope as not one person had responded and now he was left in the same position he had been before, with only more despair settling upon his shoulders.

So he ploughed through the paperwork, struggling to address every complaint, every cry for help with the most compassion that he could, knowing all the while that there was nothing he could do for most of them.

It was upon reading one more letter from a man who had been searching for his missing daughter for months with little to no aid from authorities that Philip choked and had to lay the letter down to rest his head in his hands, fighting back tears of frustration.

At the sound of a knock on the door he quickly straightened up and dried his eyes before resuming a cool demeanor. "Enter."

His butler opened the door with an oddly bewildered look. "Um, sir. There is a young woman here to see you."

Philip gripped his pen so hard that it nearly snapped. "Did she say what she wanted?"

"She said…" the butler coughed. "and I quote, 'Tell that lousy excuse for a Prince that his Black Widow is here so he should get his ass out here'."

Philip's hackles raised. "And the exact wording was necessary because…"

The butler gulped. "Because the rest of the phrasing was 'and use those exact words or I'll rip your balls off'."

"I see."

"Should I um…" the butler gulped again. "send her away sir?"

Philip rubbed his temples. "No. I'll be right out." The insolence sawed away at his temper but they desperately needed a Black Widow… If the girl really was one…

He straightened up his jacket, drew himself up and arranged the chain around his neck so that the green jewel would be prominent and unmistakable. At the very least he could remind her that this "lousy prince" was not to be taken lightly when it came to power. Even without the gray, he was far from weak.

He walked to the receiving room to find her not seated politely in one of the chairs, but rather stretching her arms as she studied the painting on the wall. It was a bland painting, he had always felt. Fruits sitting in a bowl was never particularly interesting to look at whether in real life or on canvas but when he was younger he had so enjoyed the art itself that he had bore the lackluster lessons just for a chance to play with the paints. He had loved the blending of colors and the way they could change in different lights but never could get his instructors to allow him to work with any subject matter beyond what was considered "classic". That had chafed at his sensibilities until he reached his majority and quit the study altogether. Still he had held onto that piece as a reminder of what he had once loved.

The girl glanced over her shoulder at him as he entered, her boyishly cropped hair brushing her cheek as she did so. "Not very good is it?" she asked, nodding at the painting.

He balked. "What makes you say that?"

"Fruit? Really?" She rolled her eyes then turned to face it again.

He frowned at her back, clenching his fists in defense.

"But the colors… it's like the artist had potential and just wasted it on this…" She snorted in derision. "Probably in the name of 'tradition'."

Philip coughed. "So why are you here again, Lady?"

She finally turned around to face him and raked her eyes down him in fast appraisal, leaving him with plenty of room for doubt that her opinion was in the least bit approving. "You wanted a Black Widow right?"

Philip frowned in similar disapproval at the breeches she sported. "Yes, I put out a call for one-" His eyes landed on the jewel resting just above her breast and his muscles tensed. Green. She wore the same jewels as him. He cleared his throat, hoping that her eyes narrowing was not her catching his surprise and thinking of ways to use it against him. If ever there was a clash of power it would be like against like and victory would most likely go simply to whoever was more persistent and determined.

He had a feeling from the intensity in her matching green eyes that it would be her.

"I did call for a Black Widow, yes." He replied cautiously.

"Well here I am." The girl spread her arms triumphantly as though she were some sort of messiah. He wondered if this was his cue to applaud and instead raised an eyebrow at her.

"Well let's start with something basic shall we?"

"Sure. Need me to cast an illusion for you or something? I could-"

"No, I meant what is your name?"

"Oh. Sara. Sara Matthews."

"And where are you from Lady Sara?"

She put her hands on her hips and flashed him a smile full of unbridled pride. "I'm from Chaillot, born and raised."

Philip bristled. How? He hadn't known of any women left in Chaillot over the age of three or so at this point that wore darker jewels. Was she lying? Was this some kind of ruse by remnants of Dorothea's lot to bring them down?

"I see. And are you a fully trained Black Widow?"

Her brash smile faltered slightly. "No. I'm only partially trained." She withdrew the small hourglass pendant that had been tucked under her shirt and showed it to him, revealing that the sand was divided between the top and bottom halves.

"Ah. Well that will be a problem then won't it?"

"Hey." Anger flashed in her eyes. "You said it didn't matter, you just wanted someone who had had any training at all."

"I did, but this will still be a slight inconvenience, you must realize. I would prefer to find someone who could finish your training in another territory before you return and begin to spread the knowledge. You won't mind giving me a few days to work out such arrangements will you?"

The girl frowned as she fingered the pendant. "You want to send me away?"

"Is that a problem?" Philip clenched his teeth. This was sounding more and more bizarre. And the more he examined her the more the edges of his senses tingled as if there was some kind of spell on her. An illusion spell, or something like it. It didn't quite hide her but it masked… something… He strained to detect what.

"Can I… have a few days to think about that then? Once you figure out where you would want to send me?"

"Of course." He stiffly agreed. "Is there some place I could contact you at once I sort this out?"

She gave him a mistrustful look. "I'd rather just come back here."

He mentally swore. As suspicious as this whole thing was he was desperate and the damn girl knew it. He couldn't just turn her away at this point. "Fine. Be back here ten days from now."

She gave him a mocking salute. "Sure thing."

He watched his butler escort her out before calling in another servant. "Martin." He nodded at the window where the girl was striding off of the estate. "Follow that girl for a few days and find out everything you can about her."

He nodded and left the room without a sound as Philip kept his eyes trained on the girl's lanky stride.

"Sara Matthews from Chaillot huh? We'll see about that."