Page 9 of Garden of Poisoned Delights

She colored slightly, which she almost never did, and gave him a rueful smile. “I should have known you’d have figured out there were two.”

“Yes. Sariel knew. Do babies need spoons, then?” He frowned. “I can’t remember if I’ve ever even seen a baby.” He was the duke, but he’d been a second son with no younger siblings.

She gave a soft laugh. “No. But there’s an old superstition where I’m from, about placing a silver spoon in the baby’s mouth on the first full moon after they’re born. It’s supposed to keep them from wanting for anything. I suppose you shall likely think it’s silly of me to want to bother with it.”

Sebastien stared at her. “Clara, I harbor a demon that dwells in my spirit and there’s a portal to some otherworldly dimension in our home.”

That is not what it is, Host, Sariel clicked at him.

Sebastien waved a hand. “Also, I used to murder people because my demon asked it of me. You think I shall be bothered by some old ritual involving silverware I did not even know we had?”

“When you put it that way,” she said, and grabbed a third spoon, though this one was slightly larger. “One for Polly. Joaquin wants to adopt her, if that’s acceptable.”

Sariel made a rumbling sound, and not hearing any stringent protests, Sebastien just shrugged. “She lives here, and I care not for the silver service or who has it.”

Clara laughed, but Sebastien wasn’t sure why, as he hadn’t been joking. He was just about to tell her to take all of it when there was a soft sound, and the hair on the back of his neck prickled.

The sound turned into a woof, and a dog appeared, pushing through the stone of the cellar door as she bounded over toward them. She sat in front of Sebastien and started to whine, ears flat, head tilted.

Deep within, he felt his demon stir. Sariel hissed, clicked, and Sebastien heard himself making strange sounds as Sariel tried communicating with the hellhound. Duchess barked and whined again, turning in circles, and Sebastien was dimly aware of Clara murmuring, “Is everything all right, Your Grace?”

Duchess barked, and Sariel hissed one word, Beloved, in a tone that meant, no, things were not all right. Sebastien shook his head, and his voice was not his own as he answered her, overlaid with Sariel’s odd, bell-like tone. “No,” they said, as one. “But it will be.”

* * *

As Sebastien headed out to look for Devon, he ran into a nervous-looking Polly in the hallway.

Polly had come to the Abbey on the day Devon had been abducted by the king’s men, and had thrown a jar of jam in an attempt to save him. It hadn’t worked, but Sebastien had been inclined to let her stay when Clara asked it of him, simply for trying. She was more often than not found with Joaquin, a miniature version of him in overalls and dirt from the garden on her face. She must have been dragged off to bathe by Clara, though, as she was now racing about the hallway with her hair damp, barefoot and looking worried.

She gave a sloppy curtsy when she saw Sebastien, then said hurriedly, “I’m so sorry, m’lord, I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to!”

“Ah,” Sebastien said, while Duchess whined and pawed at the floor, though she stopped to let Polly pat her anxiously on the head. “I’m not quite sure what you are referring to. What did you not know you weren’t supposed to do?”

“I gave him the letter!” she wailed, sniffling. “Mister Jack said I should have asked first, but it was addressed to Devon! I didn’t know he might not want it!”

Sebastien blinked at her. “You gave a letter to Devon? From whom?”

“I don’t know,” she said, sounding miserable. “It came in the post so I took it to him. I was trying to be helpful.”

“Why on earth is that—” He stopped, remembering that Joaquin and Clara both had been quite protective of Devon when the prince and his friend had shown up on Sebastien’s birthday. “If the letter is for Devon, why would it be a problem that you gave it to him?”

“Joaquin said I was supposed to show you, first, on account of it might be something bad, like those brutes tried to take him away. I found Devon and I gave him the letter, but then his face went all funny, m’lord, and I think maybe I should’ve shown you first and I’m sorry!”

Sebastien didn’t know what to say. He was distracted by the idea of a letter coming for Devon, what it might mean—but Polly was crying, and he was too much of a gentleman to let that go without some sort of response. Unfortunately, his experience with people crying was limited to the dark room and the men he used to take there, for his demon to feed off their fear and pain. He’d never been trying to comfort them.

Sebastien patted Polly on the shoulder, very awkwardly. “It’s all right. Letters should, ah, go to whom they are addressed.”

She glanced up at him, pushing her dark, wet hair off her face. As odd as it seemed, given they weren’t related, she looked a bit like Clara. “But he had this look, like before, with those men who came to take him away!”

“I shall take care of it. You did nothing wrong,” Sebastien assured her, and that seemed to work like magic. She brightened, bobbed another curtsey, and patted Duchess one last time before racing off, half-slipping on the floor in her bare feet.

He glanced down at the dog, who woofed again and then headed toward the grand staircase. Sebastien followed her up the wide stairs, sure she must be leading him to Devon. He wondered if he should have told Polly to fetch Clara or Joaquin, in case men followed in the letter’s wake, men who wanted to try and take Devon away.

Beloved is ours, Sariel hissed, softly.

“Yes, he is,” Sebastien agreed. “Let us go and find him, then. Where is he?”

Sariel clicked at him and hissed slightly, but didn’t answer outright. Sebastien followed Duchess up past the black double doors, which were closed for the moment, and even further, up to the east tower, which Sebastien had almost forgotten existed. He glanced at the dog, who had chosen not to simply walk through the door, and said softly, “Are you quite certain he’s in here?”

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