"I don't know what's got you in such a snit this morning," Jaenelle
said as she came up beside him, "but whatever it is…" She stopped. Looked. "Oh. Oh, Lucivar."
He watched her follow the same path, watched her touch Marian's shoulder. And he felt a sharp stab in the gut when Marian turned and he saw tears in her eyes.
"You did well, Prince," Saetan said quietly.
Lucivar turned his back on the two women now holding each other. "Yeah. I did so well, I made her cry."
"Underneath her quiet nature, she is a woman of strong emotions. You gave her a gift that means something. Did you expect her to respond with a polite 'thank you'?"
"I didn't expect her to cry," Lucivar muttered. Since he didn't want to deal with weepy females, he studied the man. The pride, and approval, in Saetan's eyes went a long way toward easing his nerves.
As Saetan walked to the other side of the courtyard to look at the walled yard and borders Tarl and the other men had planted, Lucivar noticed the slight limp that marred his father's normally smooth stride. Which meant Saetan's bad leg was bothering him…something it only did when he worked it too hard.
"Why are you here?" Lucivar asked.
"To complete my escort duties," Saetan replied.
Lucivar frowned. "Why were you doing escort duties?"
Turning back to look at him, Saetan said dryly, "Because I'm your father." He gestured toward the eyrie's open front door. "Why don't we give the ladies a few more minutes while we take care of the rest?"
The rest?Lucivar wondered as he followed his father into the eyrie. "The rest of what?"
"The furniture."
"What furniture?"
Saetan just looked at him, his expression equal parts pity and amused irritation. "What, exactly, did you ask your sister to do?"
Lucivar resisted the urge to squirm. "Get Marian out of Ebon Rih for two days."
"And Jaenelle was to accomplish this by… ?"
He didn't know where this was leading, but he was certain he wasn't
going to like it. He shrugged, trying to find the arrogance that came naturally to an Eyrien male. That he couldn't quite find it while his father stared at him worried him. A lot. But he finally remembered what he'd told Jaenelle when she'd asked him what excuse she should use for commanding Marian's time for two days. "I told her to buy a carpet or a piece of furniture, something that would interest a hearth witch."
"A carpet," Saetan said slowly. "A piece of furniture. I see." He sighed and raised his hand.
The room was suddenly filled with furniture, with barely enough room between the pieces for someone to squeeze by.
Lucivar stared. "What is this?"
"The furniture your sister purchased on your behalf. At your request."
"But…"
"I'll put the dining table and chairs in the dining room," Saetan said, walking down the narrow corridor he'd left open.
"Table? Chairs?" Lucivar hurried after his father. By the time he reached the room, a table and eight chairs were tucked against one wall.
Saetan frowned. "Probably best to leave the carpets in here, too."
"Carpets?"
A stack of rolled carpets appeared, filling half the room.
The prick of disappointment surprised him. While he'd had no real desire to endure the miserable task of looking at furniture, he'd wanted to buy his own so that the eyrie would feel like a home that reflected who he was instead of living in a place someone else had created. Not that he actually knew how to achieve that, but still…
"You did want to choose for yourself, didn't you?" Saetan asked with too much understanding.
Lucivar shrugged. Jaenelle had spent the past two days doing this for him…and had dragged Saetan into it as well…so he would never say anything that would dim her pleasure.
"If it helps at all," Saetan said, "Marian selected most of it, and what she didn't select herself wasn't purchased without her approval. With one exception."
The prick of disappointment changed into a hum of interest as Lucivar returned to the front room and studied the furniture more carefully.
Marian had chosen these things. Which meant she'd be comfortable living with them. If she was pleased, that was enough to satisfy him. Then he remembered the last thing Saetan had said. "What's the
exception?"
"Ah," Saetan said. "You're going to have to dig in your heels about
this one."
They retreated to an empty room. When Saetan called in the last piece of furniture, Lucivar just studied it, trying to figure out why this was different from the rest.
"What is it?" he finally asked.
Saetan lifted a finger. Doors and drawers opened. "It's a sewing cabinet. To store supplies. Marian enjoys weaving in her free time, and she's used to sewing most of her own clothes. She wanted this but couldn't afford it—"
"She can buy anything she damn well wants to," Lucivar growled. Saetan nodded. "You know that, I know that, and Jaenelle knows that. Marian hasn't figured it out yet, and I think her status as a lowly housekeeper is being reinforced on a regular basis."
His growl deepened, and he turned on his father. "She isn't a lowlyanything. She's a warm, caring woman with her own talents and her own skills and just because she earns a wage for using those skills—"
The chilling anger in Saetan's eyes stopped him. Something had pricked the High Lord's temper in the last two days. It simmered below the surface, tightly leashed, but it was going to explode. Soon.
His mind raced, thinking of the way Marian retreated from him some days, using the position of housekeeper as a wall between them. Saetan must have brushed against that same wall, but the High Lord, who had a far keener understanding of women than his son did, had realized what reinforced that wall. Since she lived in Ebon Rih, who would keep telling Marian she was nothing but a lowly…
His eyes locked with Saetan's, and seeing the answer, he swore softly, viciously, while his temper soared.
"I'll take care of it," Saetan said too softly. "You shouldn't tangle with your mother over this."
"Why not?" Lucivar snapped. "She loves me because I'm her son and
hates me because I'm an Eyrien warrior, so we're not exactly cordial with each other." And that love, he remembered bitterly, had been skewed enough that she'd given him away and he'd grown up believing he was a half-breed bastard, fighting, always fighting, for a place within Eyrien society.