A/N: Okay, so I'm breaking rotation to update this one for one more chapter (but Jazen's Tale is next, I swear).

The problems came quickly for Saetan, not that he didn't expect them to. He made it very clear to his staff that he wasn't taking audiences and that if someone wanted to say something to him they could write him a letter… but that they were not allowed to step foot onto his property. He made this exceedingly clear to a fledgling staff that wasn't used to having a master, and they respected his rules. Letters came first from the Stewards of Dorothea SaDiablo and Prythian, telling him that he had stolen their property and they expected him to return it. He sent a politely worded answer that he knew would have them floundering over their own feet to figure out how to counteract his words.

What they had expected was for him to stick to his honor, they had counted on that as they tortured his boys… and now they'd have to wonder if he wouldn't come after them. Let them wonder. They deserved the fear after what they'd done to his boys. They didn't understand that there were times when a man could not stick to his honor and still be true to who he was. He'd had a choice to make: the lives of his sons, or his honor. Now that he stood on the other side of the choice, he wondered why he'd taken so long to cross that line.

The second wave of trouble came from the Dark Council, inquiring into Dorothea's insistence that he'd broken blood law. He sent Andulvar to handle it, or at least to hold the wolves off for a while. He needed time, as much time as he could get. He didn't want to present his sons to the council if he could help it, but he was well aware that the time could come. Luthvian had denied him paternity, though she would admit to her mistake now (she had admitted it before). Dorothea had denied him paternity, never Tersa. But he was their father, and they'd stopped being raised by anyone a long time ago. They abused his sons. They weren't getting him back. He would destroy two of the long lived races to get that point across if he had to… though he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Things weren't any better with Lucivar and Daemon than they had been when they first arrived. They'd both staked claim to their rooms and the things inside. Daemon, at least, understood to not upset the servants and to allow them into his room to clean. Lucivar did not. None of the servants had spoken to Saetan about it… yet. He couldn't exactly lecture Lucivar, though. Lucivar didn't believe almost anything he said. Daemon seemed to believe everything he said, but didn't trust him at all. He wasn't sure which was worst.

The one good thing was that Lucivar and Daemon seemed to bed getting along. He'd caught them sitting in the garden together… or better to say he'd caught Daemon walking past and then Lucivar following shortly afterward, looking defiant but nervous. Saetan couldn't be sure, but he thought that Lucivar was practicing Eryien drills. Andulvar had told him that he'd caught the young Eryien watching him perform his own drills.

Saetan sighed heavily. He was encouraged that Daemon seemed protecting of Lucivar, but he wished one of them would trust him just a little bit, just enough so he could really help them where they needed it… but…

Prothvar entered Saetan's study after the sun had set. The hall was dark enough that Guardians and the Demon Dead didn't have to rest during the day, which was why Saetan found the timing to be odd. It became clear from Prothvar's nerves that he'd simply stalled coming until he couldn't put it off any longer. "Yes?" Saetan asked, wondering if he'd have to go the long way around to get the information out of Prothvar.

It turned out that one word was all he needed, though. "Your son is a Black Widow," Prothvar said.

Saetan leaned back in his chair. No need to ask which one. He was just more stunned that he hadn't caught himself earlier. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"He smells like you," Prothvar said.

"He's my son," Saetan pointed out.

"Yes, but there's this hint of something that you have that he does too," Prothvar said.

"And?" Saetan prodded.

"I overheard a servant talking about how she had learned some Black Widow craft before she decided to be a servant here," he said. "She had that same smell, lighter, much lighter, but also feminine. It just hit me because it reminded me of you… and you're the only Black Widow I actually know," Prothvar explained.

Saetan had the distinct feeling that the explaining was really for him and not to assure Prothvar that he was right. Eryiens, as warriors, had to know their enemy. Sometimes they only had seconds to judge. Andulvar had an amazing sense of smell, but Prothvar had always bested him on that front. Saetan didn't need to have his sense be that sharp, but an Eryien, a warrior did. Prothvar had identified something in a Warlord Prince, a Warlord Prince who could easily attack him at any minute and matched him in jewel strength, the same way he would identify an enemy. Prothvar was sure… and he was probably the most able to identify Daemon as a Black Widow because of who and what he was.

"Alright," Saetan said, wondering just how many people would have picked up on that. Saetan liked to think he would have figured it out eventually. But probably no witch, even Dorothea, would be able to identify Daemon for what he was… which meant that it was a secret, he was probably untrained, and they were going to have to have a very, very uncomfortable discussion. "Locate my son, and bring him here. We need to talk."

Lucivar sat on Daemon's bed, watching Daemon read. He didn't get the allure of books, and Daemon couldn't explain it in a way that made any sense. That he can go to a new place through a book is bullshit, Lucivar thought. Of course, whenever Lucivar expressed such sentiments Daemon would point out that he didn't get why Lucivar liked the Eyrien drills so much either. Lucivar didn't see how he didn't get it. Learning to fight was practical. He'd pushed Daemon into learning the times they'd met before they'd been brought to Kaeleer. He didn't know why, but he'd felt a need to push, annoy, and protect the Haylian boy.

"You really think they're telling the truth?" Lucivar asked.

"I don't think, I know," Daemon said, not looking up from his book.

"How can you know?" Lucivar scoffed.

"They just feel different, so much strong, besides, how many other Eryiens wear Red? None," Daemon said, closing his book to look at Lucivar. "You believe that we're brothers," he said.

"Yes, well that part makes sense," Lucivar said. And it did. It just fit. Not that what the High Lord said about him being his father didn't fit… it seemed right, but that didn't mean a damn thing.

"But you don't believe that they are Anulvar Yaslana, and his grandson, and the High Lord," Daemon said.

"It doesn't seem right," Lucivar said.

"They are far, far stronger than us, stronger than Gray, who else could it be? And they're Demon Dead, or something else," Daemon said. He wasn't sure what Saetan was, but he felt… different from the others and he couldn't place why, not yet.

"Yeah, okay," Lucivar said. It wasn't that Daemon didn't make sense… but it didn't make sense. Why if they were really that powerful did they not come sooner? He wasn't sure that even if they were who they said they were that they weren't actually just like the other people who had hurt him and Daemon. If Andulvar Yaslana, his hero, was like the witches he'd been living with then he was sure he'd just die. He wouldn't be able to stand it. It was easier to think they weren't who they said they were.

There was a rather heavy knock, and the person on the other side waited. Daemon's eyes flicked up to the door and it opened. It wouldn't take a lot of power, but it pushed the edges of what a slave could do. It had been shocking to them both to realize that they no longer wore the Ring of Obedience. It gave Lucivar a bit of hope, but hope was far too dangerous to have. Daemon pushed the boundaries a lot, though neither of then used much more than basic craft still.

Prothvar stood in the door way, but didn't enter. "Daemon, your father wants to speak with you." Lucivar snarled, not wanting Daemon to go alone. "He'll be fine," Prothvar said. "Though I suppose you can follow if you feel like it puppy. No one's going to hurt him," Prothvar said, nearly rolling his eyes.

Prothvar, at least, was easy to get along with. He didn't tippy-toe around either of them, not that Andulvar did either; he just wasn't around. Lucivar was sure that Andulvar had known he was watching him train… but he hadn't stopped, just kept going, as if allowing Lucivar to try and memorize his moves. They weren't that different from what Lucivar had learned, but there was an edge to them… and it made it feel like everything he'd learned was just a bad imitation of how he saw the man move… he wanted Andulvar to be real so badly.

Daemon stood, rising gracefully. Lucivar stood to, not near so graceful, but he wasn't trying to be. He was being protective. He was shielded and wished Daemon was too. Lucivar had shielded the second that the knock came. Daemon hadn't, and it would be too much of an insult for him to do it now. Shielding was how Lucivar pushed the edges.

Prothvar led them both out down the hall. It took some walking to get to their destination, but not that much. Prothvar knocked and then entered. The two young men followed. The room was shaped like a reversed L and lined with bookshelves. Lucivar didn't have to look at Daemon to know that his eyes probably lit up at that. They hadn't explored much, but they had found the library, which if where Daemon had pilfered about three dozen books from.

Lucivar's eyes were drawn to the desk and the man sitting behind it… standing next to Daemon it was hard not to see the resemblance. This man is his father, he thought before feeling a pang of jealousy. He still couldn't, or simply wouldn't believe that this man was his father… but he was jealous that Daemon had someone when he didn't yet.

"When I said bring my son, I only meant one of them," the High Lord said, glancing at Prothvar who shrugged.

"Lucivar wasn't going to let me leave without him," the older Eryien said, shrugging. His fanned out his wings in one, lazy motion that made Lucivar's jealousy spike. Clearly this man had never been in a place where he wasn't allowed to not make such a natural movement.

"I understand," Saetan said, looking Lucivar in the eyes. Lucivar returned his gaze defiantly, as if asking him to say he was wrong, to punish him for not following orders, to drop his façade. "But this is to be a private conversation. I don't think Daemon will want you to hear it. You can Prothvar can wait by the door if you want… though it maybe go rather long, I'm not sure," he said.

Lucivar snarled, not liking how that sounded at all. He was about to protest when Daemon's voice, still young, still not like the adult voice he would have, but still deep and cultured, stopped him. "It will be okay," Daemon said. He didn't need to say more. Lucivar wasn't happy but he turned and walked out. He did stand by the door. He'd be damned if he wasn't close by, just in case.

Daemon waited until the Eryiens had left before taking a seat in front of the High Lord's desk. "You're not going to hurt Lucivar," he said.

"No, I'm not," Saetan said. "He's Eryien, He's a Warlord Prince, He's your brother, He's worried about you, and I'm a stranger. He has every right to act like that," Saetan said. "But, we're not here to discuss Lucivar, we're here to talk about you."

Daemon's eyes narrowed. "How may I serve you, High Lord?" he asked boredly.

"You're a Black Widow," Saetan said.

Daemon jumped, looked scared for a moment and then covered it with a glare, trying to force his heart to stop hammering so loud he was sure the other man could hear it. "What makes you say that?" he crooned.

"Prothvar identified it," Saetan said. Daemon partially turned back to look at the door, trying not to snarl. He'd guarded the secret since he'd hit puberty. How had the Eryien figured it out? If he was going to be beaten for this he was damn well going to make sure that the Eryien went down to.

"How did he know?" Daemon asked, trying not to snarl.

Saetan sighed and rose, limping around the desk, using the desk for support until he stood in front of Daemon. He held his right hand out, palm up, and flexed his ring finger. The snake tooth slid out. He wasn't watching his hand, though, he was watching his son's face and saw his eyes widen. "Because, I'm afraid it's a trait you inherited from me," Saetan said.

Daemon looked up at him and for just a moment Saetan could almost feel Daemon want for a bond, want for someone who understood him. Then the moment passed and Daemon's cold mask fell back into place. Saetan couldn't help it, he sighed.

"So?" Daemon asked, not sure what this meant for him. He didn't think that Saetan was going to maim him like Dorothea would have. He considered that maybe Saetan would dispose of him to get rid of a potential rival, like Dorothea did. But when he thought of that he couldn't get rid of the image he had in his mind of the man reading him and Lucivar a story, or the memories of being held… being loved. Those memories hurt worse than any others because he knew how it ended.

"So, would you like to be trained as a Black Widow?" Saetan asked.

Daemon felt a jolt go through his body. The only training he'd received since he'd worn the ring was the training he'd received to service the Black Widow Coven, and no more. Everything else he'd learned on his own, gleaned on his own so painstakingly… and it wasn't enough, not nearly enough. "Can I?" Daemon asked, hating how weak his voice sounded, how much he sounded like he really wanted it… but he did really, truly want it.

Saetan smiled sadly and nodded. "Yes," he said. "I'll teach you anything you want," he told him.

"Anything?" Daemon pressed, not sure he believed it… but a chance to learn more craft.

"Anything I know… I've been around for 50,000 years. I'm sure I know something you want to know," he said.

"Craft lessons, real ones?" Daemon pressed. The boy part of him had taken over, the one that craved love and affection, the one that he hid behind his cold mask.

"Yes Boyo, craft lessons, and Black Widow lessons," Saetan said.

"What about Lucivar?" Daemon asked.

"Yes, him too… though I doubt he'll want Black Widow lessons," he shrugged. "Then again, I wasn't a natural Black Widow either, so you never know." He shrugged again. "Though… I think he'd rather have fighting lessons with Andulvar," he said.

Daemon went silent, thinking. Lucivar had wanted to practice a lot recently. It made sense… Andulvar Yaslana, Lucivar would love to learn from him, or to be able to impress him with his skills, anything to get his attention. "Yes, I think he would."

"Then I think you should quietly suggest that Lucivar actually speak to Andulvar the next time he'd spying on him while he's doing his work out," Saetan said. Daemon nearly laughed, nearly smiled, it was in his eyes for a moment, but he got control of himself. He could easily imagine Lucivar spying on the Demon Prince. In fact he knew that Lucivar had, but it was funny to know that Lucivar had gotten caught.

"I will," Daemon said, becoming thoughtful. "When can I start?" he asked suddenly.

"Now if you want," Saetan said. He turned and reached behind him, picking up three books. "I picked these out earlier because I imagined that you'd want to study outside of what I teach you," he said, handing the books to Daemon, who took them, stunned to see real books about Black Widow craft. "we won't start with webs yet, but we'll start with the basics," he said, going around behind his desk. "Drag you chair over here," he said.

Daemon stood and did as he was told, coming to sit next to the High Lord, clutching his books to his chest. He wasn't thinking about all the pain he'd suffered. He thought about being a boy and comforting himself by pretending that Saetan SaDiablo, the High Lord of Hell, was his father and that he'd come and take him away from all his pain… and here that fantasy was true. He thought about his father holding him, telling him stories, singing witchsongs to him in old tongue. And he thought how much of a dream come true it was to be able to learn craft from the High Lord… to be able to learn from his father.

"We'll only work for thirty minutes today, or else Lucivar will probably burst in again," Saetan said, watching his son nod. He opened a forth book to their first page. It was just diagrams, just a teaching tool. "Now, let's talk about your snake tooth," he said.

A/N: Aw! Sweet things! Yes, there will be real problems, but I wanted to write some healing. Neither Daemon nor Lucivar are going to get all better, they can't… but they can heal as much as they can, but it will take time.

Something fun I keep forgetting to say somewhere: I never got the bit with Eryien male names ending with 'ar'. I figured out that Dhemlan and Eryien names are Scandinavian based while Hayllian are Greek. This made sense because of how the three races are set up: two of the three don't have wings; two of the three have darker skin; two of the three have Scandinavian names. The author works well with symbolism, including the Trinity. But when I was looking into Eryien names for The Pride I noticed something about the translation. 'Ar' at the end of the names means 'warrior'. Anne Bishop, I tip my hat to you!