Daemon and Lucivar circled, circled, circled.
Daemonar saw desperate calculation in Cara’s eyes as she looked at the other students. The bitch was going to try to blame someone else—or at least claim she wasn’t the only one helping Dinah.
Crack!
Cara shrieked as part of her skirt hung from a slice made by the whip.
“That’s for thinking you could lie,” Lucivar said. “You’ll earn a stroke for every lie you tell, regardless of which punishment you choose.”
Cara scrambled away from Lucivar, but that brought her closer to Daemon.
Daemonar didn’t see Daemon’s hand move, but Cara leaped away from him as another slice appeared in her skirt, courtesy of the High Lord’s lethally sharp nails.
“Tell us why,” Daemon said too softly.
“The Queens gave the orders,” Cara cried, pointing at the girls standing behind Daemonar. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Is she saying it’s not wrong to whip someone for no reason?” Lucivar asked.
“It sounds that way,” Daemon replied.
Lucivar shrugged. “All right.”
Crack!
The lower part of the skirt fell to the floor, exposing Cara’s legs.
“Last chance to choose before we choose for you,” Daemon said.
Daemonar watched the way his father and uncle circled Cara. Circled and circled. There was something wrong with them. Something very wrong. It was like they were somewhere else, had slipped into some other time in their lives when they would have killed . . .
*Beale,* Daemonar called on a psychic thread. *Stop them. For their sakes, stop them.*
Beale looked at him, then took a step toward the circling men. “Gentlemen. That is enough.”
They stopped circling and turned toward Beale. Glazed eyes that warned of hot fury in one man and cold rage in the other. Both of them riding the killing edge.
One wrong word, one wrong move, and Cara would suffer a brutal death.
If it came to that, they would be lucky if she was the only person who died.
“Is it enough, Lord Beale?” the Sadist asked too softly.
“The Lady would not want you to do more,” Beale replied. “Banish the girl for the trouble she caused. Report her conduct to the Province and District Queens so that they will think long and hard before welcoming her into one of their courts. That mark on her reputation and honor will last as long as a scar on her back—and she will receive no sympathy for it.”
Daemonar held his breath. Please, he thought. Please. Whatever happened to the two of you once because some girl played this kind of game, please listen to Beale now.
Daemon looked at Lucivar.
Lucivar released a breath. “Her will is our life.”
Yes! As long as Daemon and Lucivar were thinking of what Witch would expect from them, they could step away from the scourge of memories.
“Very well.” Daemon exhaled slowly and looked at Cara. “You are banished from the Hall for your part in the harm done to other students. As recommended, I will send a report of your conduct to all the District and Province Queens in Dhemlan and make it clear that I will not look favorably on any Queen who allows you to serve in her First Circle. Lord Holt, Prince Liath, please escort Lady Cara to her room. Helene will help her pack. She leaves in two hours.”
“That’s it,” Jhett whispered, peering over Raeth’s shoulder as Cara was removed from the great hall.
Not yet, Daemonar thought as he watched his uncle.
“As for the rest of you,” Daemon said.
Everyone tensed.
“Every one of you should have come to me to question those orders,” he continued. “The fact that you didn’t makes me wonder if you’re ready for training that isn’t conventional. Therefore, the rest of you will leave after the midday meal. I don’t want to see or hear from any of you for a week. At the end of that time, you may choose to return and resume your training—or you can choose to study elsewhere. Malice isn’t always big and grand, children. Not when it begins. You all saw something wrong and accepted it without question, without challenge. And more than that, you did everything you could to keep it hidden.” He paused, then added, “I expected better from all of you. You disappoint me.”
Daemonar didn’t know what to think or what to say when Daemon walked across the great hall, then used Craft to nudge him out of the way in order to reach the study. The door opened and closed. The locks clicked into place. And the weight of the Black’s silence was hard to bear.
Lucivar vanished the whip and looked at Beale. “Tossing all of them out the door was different.” He studied the butler. “Wasn’t it?”
“Your father sent all the youngsters home at one point because they had done something that disappointed him,” Beale replied. “Since the staff didn’t have to clean up a mess or call in people to do repairs, I don’t know what the coven and boyos did to provoke that decision. But that temporary banishment never happened again.”
“Huh. Well, I’d better gather up my three and the kitten.”
Beale’s expression indicated interest. “Three?”
“Three,” Lucivar confirmed as he headed out of the great hall. “And the kitten.”
He didn’t know why the youngsters thought he’d be sympathetic, but they all wanted to cling to him like burs in fur, hoping he could somehow convince Daemon to let them stay.
How were they supposed to explain being sent home to their parents and the District Queens?
How in the name of Hell should he know? Admit to being stupid, take the scolding, and study the lessons. Then come back and be smarter.
His three didn’t have to worry about a District Queen, although he was certain that Marian would have a few things to say about this—and he figured Daemonar would want to have a chat with his auntie J.
“Why can’t Zoey come and stay with us?” Titian asked tearfully when he stopped at her room to make sure she was starting to pack.
“Because she has to discuss her actions with her grandmother,” Lucivar replied. “This isn’t a reward, witchling. It’s a reprimand. Zoey goes home.”
He found Daemonar with Grizande in her room. The girl was curled up on the floor with the kitten pushing at her hip while Daemonar knelt by her head.
“Father . . . ,” Daemonar began.
Lucivar knelt beside the girl. “You sick, witchling?”
“No,” she whispered. “I being punished?”
“Well, you can decide that once you find out what chores Marian assigns to you while you’re staying with us in Ebon Rih.”
Grizande stared at him. “Ebon Rih?”
“I told you nobody would make you go back to Tigrelan,” Daemonar said, sounding exasperated.
Lucivar wondered how many times the boy had said it since the children left the great hall. “Yes. You’re coming home with us. Jaalan is coming too.”
She uncurled. Daemonar gave her a brotherly shove to a sitting position.
“Now, pack up your things, including your lesson books.” He looked at her, then at Daemonar. “Both of you.”
“Yes, sir.” The words sounded solemn. The boy’s eyes danced with amusement. Then the amusement faded because Daemonar, unlike the other youngsters, understood what could have happened if the High Lord—or the Sadist—hadn’t already known the enemies’ names. What would have happened if Beale hadn’t reminded Daemon and Lucivar that they answered to Witch.