Chapter 10
Saetan was awoken by the shrill wail of a two year old. Too comfortable in the warm, dark bedroom, inhaling the musty smell the hanging draperies created, Saetan couldn´t muster the energy to get up, as he often did, to attend to his son. A few seconds later he heard the comforting coos of Manny the wetnurse in the adjacent room and rolled onto his back to get to sleep.
He felt a stab of guilt permeate his thoughts, however, and it wouldn´t go away. The first year was quite a happy time, and he was more than happy to get up in the middle of the night to soothe the baby. Sometimes, if Tersa, peaceful next to him, also found she couldn´t get much sleep they would make love, without the worry of an accidental conception. But as Daemon´s first birthday had drawn to a close, those nights got less and less frequent until they ceased completely. Tersa was slipping further and further into herself, until the moments where Saetan saw that strong, red-jewelled witch emerge were pitifully infrequent. It hurt him every day to see it, but even as a Black Widow he couldn´t do anything when she kept refusing help. She kept saying that she had to let herself go. That the Twisted Kingdom was beckoning. That she had to be the messenger.
The more time had passed, the more cryptic her words had become. She kept saying she had to be the messenger, the announcer of when She came. Something in her eyes when she said it made Saetan sure this was no ordinary "she."
Saetan sighed as, naturally, his chronological recounting brought him to the point when Tersa´s speech became disjointed and difficult to express. She had looked at him with such wisdom, such understanding when she asked him to let her go. So he had. She had settled into her own cottage, with a helper, both of which Saetan had purchased.
He had only begun to be able to sleep in that empty bed last month.
Sometimes at night he would let Daemon cry for a minute more than necessary before he arrived to hush him, just to feel that he still had this precious thing with him, under his roof, adding joy to his days.
Throwing the covers off himself, Saetan stood up. Sleep had eluded him yet again. He walked to stand at the window, noticing from the faint purplish haze on the horizon that it was still an hour or so until dawn. Slipping on a black shirt over his naked torso he sat at his desk, preoccupied.
It took him longer than usual to realize something was… not right.
There was a smell in the room which wasn´t supposed to be there. Then he noticed the thin, black envelope on his desk which hadn´t been there yesterday. The seal on the cover was of the Hourglass Coven.
How could I have missed this… Saetan chastised himself. He knew his killing edge and reflexes were at their prime and they could never be dulled; it was in a Warlord Prince´s blood. But still, something isn´t right if I didn´t notice this, he thought. Full nights of sleep should be paying off.
Reluctantly he broke the seal. His strong, dark brows lowered into a gaze that could have burned right through the paper.
Prince Saetan SaDiablo, High Priest of the Hourglass:
A Black Widow sister of the Hourglass Coven urgently requires your presense at her home tomorrow evening at dusk. Enclosed is the message she requested we include within this official correspondance.
Sincerely,
The Sisters of the Hourglass
Saetan felt anger stir within him. "Required"? "Official correspondance?" Saetan was well-versed in Blood protocol and the subtle tone of this letter was too commandeering to be tolerated. He leashed his distaste and continued to read the enclosed letter.
Saetan,
I know it's been a while, and I doubt you even remember me, but there are some things that I cannot keep from you any longer. Please come tomorrow so we can talk.
Luthvian
Although still seething at the abrupt letters that disregarded protocol in so many ways, Saetan excused Luthvian because of the urgent tone of her letter. He couldn't imagine what that troubled young Black Widow would want with him, especially after more than a year of no contact.
He finally stood and rubbed his temples, stripping and lying back down on the bed as a faint tinge of red ringed the horizon. His head was pounding, out of an odd mixture of melancholy, exhaustion, irritation and distaste. Couldn't he be left alone to raise his son and mourn his lost partner? There was always some buisness with Dhemlan to conclude, a dispute in Hell to settle, a dozen parties and none-too-subtle invitations from Territory Queens to turn down. And now, this.
Saetan was on the cusp of sleep when a jarring realisation chased rest away for another hour. Through the infallible Warlord instinct, he knew. Luthvian had lied to him.