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what you've come to say." Leaning heavily on his cane, he limped to the blackwood desk, settled himself on one corner, and waited.
    Titian came in slowly, her anger swirling like a winter storm. She stood at the other end of the room, facing him, fearless in her fury, a demon-dead Black Widow Queen of the Dea al Mon. Once more the bowstring was drawn back, the arrow aimed at Saetan's heart.
    His patience, already frayed from the unrelenting months, snapped. "Put that thing down before I do something we'll both regret."
    Titian didn't waver. "Haven't you already done something you regret, High Lord? Or are you so filled with the pus of jealousy you have no room for regret?"
    The walls of the Hall rumbled. "Titian," he said too softly, "I won't warn you again."
    Reluctantly, Titian vanished the bow and arrow.
    Saetan crossed his arms. "Actually, your forbearance surprises me, Lady. I expected to have this conversation long before now."
    Titian hissed. "Then it's true? She walks among the cildru dyathe!"
    Saetan watched the tension building in her. "And if it is?"
    Titian looked at him for one awful moment, then threw back her head and keened.
    Saetan stared at her, shaken. He had known the rumor would drift through Hell. He had expected that Titian, like Char, the leader of the cildru dyathe, would seek him out. He had expected their fury. Their fury he could face. Their hatred he could accept. But not this.
    "Titian," he said, his voice unsteady. "Titian, come here."
    Titian continued to keen.
    Saetan limped over to her. She didn't seem to notice when he took her in his arms and held her tightly against him. He stroked her long silver hair, and murmured words of sorrow in the Old Tongue.
    "Titian," he said gently when the keening faded to a whimper, "I'm truly sorry for the pain I've caused you, but it couldn't be helped."
    Titian buried her fist in his belly and sent him sprawling.
    "You're sorry," she snarled as she stormed around the room. "Well, so am I. I'm sorry it was only my fist and not a knife just then. You deserve to be gutted for this! Jealous old man. Beast! Couldn't you let her enjoy an innocent romance without tearing her apart out of spite?"
    Finally able to catch his breath, Saetan propped himself up on one elbow. "Witch doesn't become cildru dyathe, Titian," he said coldly. "Witch doesn't become one of the demon-dead. So tell me which you prefer: that I say she walks among the cildru dyathe, or that I leave a vulnerable young girl open to further enemy attacks?"
    Titian stopped, an arrested look in her large blue eyes. She leaned over Saetan, searching his face. "Witch can't become demon-dead?"
    "No. But you and Char are the only others in Hell who know that."
    "I suppose," she said slowly, "that the most convincing way to fool an enemy would be to fool a friend." She considered this for a moment more and offered him a hand up. She retrieved his cane and looked him in the eye. "A Harpy is a Harpy because of the way she died. That made it easy to believe the rumors."
    That was more of an apology than he'd thought to get from Titian.
    Saetan took the cane from her, grateful for the support. "I'll tell you the same thing I told Char," he said. "If you're still a friend and want to help, there is something you can do."
    "What is that, High Lord?"
    "Stay angry."
    A fire kindled in Titian's eyes. A smile brushed her lips and was gone. "An arrow that just misses would be highly convincing."
    Saetan raised one eyebrow and clucked his tongue. "A Dea al Mon witch missing a target?"
    Titian shrugged. "Even the Dea al Mon don't always succeed."
    "Just in case you miss missing, try not to aim for anything terribly vital," Saetan said dryly.
    Titian blinked. The smile brushed her lips again. "There's only one part of a male's anatomy a Harpy aims for, High Lord. How terribly vital do you consider it?"
    "Go," Saetan said.
    Titian bowed and left.
    Saetan stared at the study door for a moment before limping to a chair. He