Chapter 11

Saetan arrived by carriage at Luthvian's cottage, dropping from the Purple Dusk winds. He stepped out fluidly, lifting his heavy black cape clear of the carriage door and straightening to his full height. The demanding tone of the letter had annoyed him, particularly when he had re-read it the next morning with a clear head. There had been an underlying superiority, a lack of recognition of his rank in the wording.

So for this meeting he had decked himself out in his formal clothing as High Priest. The Hourglass may chose to disregard his High Lordship of Hell, his leadership of Dhemlan and his jewel rank - but no one who beheld Saetan now could deny he was of their coven.

He walked down the short path that led to the cottage door. The first two buttons of the pristine black shirt were open, revealing a glimpse of the taut, smooth skin at his throat, as well as a glimpse of a black jewel on a chain. A second chain hung from his neck, but this one outside his shirt, which held the symbol of the coven, bejewelled to represented his rank as High Priest.

The perfectly tailored pair of black trousers, and the black coat with the Hourglass symbol stitched in gold on the sleeve, he had had his manservant find in his closet for the first time in the Darkness knew how many years. A ring with a Black jewel and another with his Birthright Red glinted on his black-nailed fingers.

A Tiger-Eye jewelled Healer opened the cottage door, and was struck dumb momentarily.

"I am here upon Lady Luthvian's summons." Saetan couldn't hide the soft thunder in his voice, try as he might.

"Follow me, please, H-High Priest."

Saetan stooped slightly to enter through the door, then followed her down the corridor, wondering why Luthvian was living with a Healer instead of a servant or apprentice. Then a particular scent hit his finely-honed Warlord Prince senses. This woman was lactating. Saetan reasoned that probably she had recently had a baby of her own but had to return to Healing work soon after.

As he turned the corner to step into the room the Healer gestured to, ready to reflect his annoyance onto Luthvian, all thoughts flew from his mind.

She looked up in fearful uncertainty from the simple, wooden cradle she had been leaning down towards. Her features were as they were when he last saw them, though her expression was strained. Her dark hair with its white streak was tumbling downwards, and a small strand was being clasped playfully by a tiny hand that extended upwards from the cradle.

She winced slightly as the little hand didn't let go of her hair when she attempted to straighten. Prying it gently from the baby's grasp, Luthvian finally turned to face the full brunt of Saetan's facial expression.

Anger at her deception was prominent in his gaze. Saetan knew, the moment he was aware of the baby's presence, that it was his. The hint of his own psychic scent in the child was unmistakable. So was the slight smugness, the sense of expectation, which he was picking up from the mother.

"Saetan, I - "

"Luthvian," Saetan's low voice struck through the room like a whip of velvet, cutting her off. "I do not appreciate being lied to."

"I never - "

"Oh but you did. You told me you had taken the necessary precautions."

"I had - "

"Luthvian," Saetan's voice became considerably more softer and more terrifying in tone. "You're doing it again."

She swallowed visibly and perched on the edge of the bed, like twitchy prey that nevertheless hopes to evade its predator by pretending defeat.

"Saetan, I was scared. You - you don't know what it was like for me, on the run and hunted by Dorothea's butchers... I didn't... I didn't think - "

"Precisely. You didn't think. You didn't think of me, and most importantly of all you didn't think of this child." He gestured towards the cradle, from which an odd flapping sound was coming. Like curtains whooshing in the wind. Saetan's anger was dispelled slightly by surprise. He took a step towards the cradle to see.

Luthvian practically flung herself in front of it, blocking Saetan's path. Her expression was a mixture of fear and shame. "You're right, Saetan, I - I should've..." she began a hurried apology as a distraction, but was silenced completely by Saetan's gaze.

"Stand aside, Luthvian. I want to see my child." Whatever it was in that voice made her recoil. She reluctantly stepped aside to let him pass.

Saetan looked down to see a baby, more or less one year old, with the Hayllian colouring of brown skin, dark hair, and golden eyes. But he had wings. Small, perfect Eyrien wings. Though he was too young to take flight, he was nevertheless beating them enthusiastically, looking up at Saetan with a curious interest.

Saetan's annoyance, anger, and distaste towards Luthvian melted away, only to leave the inexplicably fierce need to love, cherish, protect him. Watch him walk unsteadily. See his face as he first manages to carry his own weight with his wings. Swell with pride at his Birthright ceremony. Be a part of his life.

Luthvian, after waiting in silence for a few moments, shakily spoke. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I didn't know. I didn't know it would skip a generation... the things... they're... I didn't think I had enough Eyrien blood to..."

"Why, Lady, are you apologising to me for his heritage?"

"Those... those things..."

"They are called wings."

Luthvian winced slightly. "I - I don't want him growing up as one. He will have to leave us, he will have needs we cannot understand or accomodate..." her voice grew a little more determined. "I don't want a vulgar and rough child, as they all turn out to be at those Eyrien camps..."

Saetan simply looked at her. Her voice eventually trailed away, but there was an unmistakable hardness and determination in her eyes. "He... he looks Hayllian, doesn't he? Would look perfectly like you and I if it weren't for the wings..." she added.

Saetan's piercing gold eyes looked at her as if he could see right through her ambiguous words and into her mind. "If our son will be such a burden to you, Lady, I will be more than happy to take him off your hands."

Luthvian's face had softened when Saetan had said "our son." She stood languidly, looking at Saetan with that smug expectation again. "Saetan... I was sorry to hear, last year, about Lady Tersa. I realise this last year may not have been easy for you... I was lonely too..."

She edged towards Saetan, in a way that was undeniably sexual. She stopped a hand span away from him, and looked up into his face. "I... I had no one but you ever since... Because I wanted no one but you. I knew no man could make me feel as you made me feel." Her hand lifted to touch the side of his cheek. Saetan froze utterly.

"Could - could I not make you happy? Happier than a broken witch could ever make you? We could raise him together. We could be a family, Saetan, after we've taken care of those... those wings..." she was just about to stroke his cheek when Saetan swiftly grabbed both of her thin wrists in an iron grip and thrust her away from him. Luthvian wailed in protest.

"'Take care' of his wings, Luthvian?" he said, his voice a shard of ice. "'Family?' You dare speak of family, of my happiness, of Tersa to me?" Luthvian was sobbing softly. He let her go with a push, swung his cape behind him and strode to the door.

Turning to face her angry, tear-streaked face from the doorway, he said, with eyes glazed and voice soft, "I will return in two days to collect my son. He will live with me at SaDiablo Hall until I can be sure his mother has rid herself of her illusions and can come visit him without triggering my temper."

"B- But-"

The room's temperature dropped. Saetan pierced Luthvian's eyes with his. "If you cut so much as a strand of his hair, believe me, I shall know." The threat that didn't need to be voiced hung in the air.