“You danced on a knife’s edge, and you danced well,” Daemon said when Daemonar finally stopped talking. The boy had done everything right, so why was there still this distress?
Daemonar rested his head on Daemon’s shoulder. “Titian is mad at me.”
Ah. That explained the boy’s lack of interest in breakfast. “Every girl can be a bitch some days. Every boy can be a bastard or a prick. We are not sweet and even-tempered all the time.”
Daemonar snorted.
“We’ve been summoned to the Keep. We’ll leave in an hour.”
Daemonar raised his head and stepped back. “Summoned? By Witch or Auntie J.?”
Daemon swallowed a laugh. “I think most of us will be dealing with Witch. You? No guarantee which side of her you’re going to be dealing with.”
“Hell’s fire.”
“And may the Darkness be merciful.” Daemon kissed the boy’s forehead. “Why don’t I arrange for scrambled eggs and toast to be brought to your room? You should have something under your belt before you get a scolding from your auntie J.”
“I guess I should.” Then, “Is Father going to be at the Keep too?”
Oh, I’ll make sure Lucivar’s there, Daemon thought as he stopped at the auxiliary kitchen to request that a plate be brought to Daemonar’s room.
One more chat before he met with Holt, Helene, Nadene, and Beale to receive their reports.
He found Zoey and Titian in the sitting area of Zoey’s room. The plates on the small table held nothing but crumbs. That they could dismiss what happened yesterday easily enough to enjoy breakfast while Daemonar struggled pissed him off, so he gave them a cold smile.
“Lady Zoela.”
“Prince Sadi.” Zoela lifted her chin. “I want to—”
“You disappoint me.” He watched her crumple under the lash of those words. “We’ve been summoned to the Keep. We leave in one hour. Be down in the great hall by then. You, too, Titian.”
“I’ve been summoned to the Keep?” Titian squeaked.
“No, but I expect your father is going to want to have a little chat with you.”
He walked away. He didn’t need to say more. Neither girl had any comprehension of the fury waiting for them at Ebon Askavi.
But they would learn.
Standing with Beale and Holt, Surreal watched the combatants gather in the great hall. Zoey and Titian. The Tigre witch and the tiger Warlord Prince. And Daemonar, looking like he’d flown through a storm, standing alone—and standing exactly halfway between the two pairs, seeming to take no sides.
But you took a side, Surreal thought as she watched him. You just never imagined you would need to side against your sister, or that she would turn on you, and that hurts you.
But Hell’s fire, a girl who already wore Sapphire had the potential to wear Ebon-gray when she made the Offering to the Darkness. What had the Tigre Queens been thinking to condone any kind of abuse, let alone torture?
Daemon walked into the great hall with Liath. The Sceltie eyed the groups, seemed satisfied with the arrangement, and trotted off to perform his other self-appointed herding duties.
Sadi looked at her, Beale, and Holt. He gave them a nod, said, “Let’s go,” and walked toward the front door. A footman sprang to open the door for the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan—or the High Lord. Surreal wasn’t sure which level of Sadi’s temper was currently leading. Not the Sadist, thank the Darkness.
Zoey and Titian followed Sadi out the door. Daemonar stepped forward, offered Grizande a smile, and walked out of the Hall with her and the kitten.
The footman closed the door.
Surreal turned to Beale and Holt. “So. Tell me the reason for the bitch drama-trauma.”
Beale blinked. Holt choked on a laugh before sobering abruptly.
“Jealousy,” Beale said.
“Resentment that Zoey is Prince Sadi’s favorite,” Holt said.
“I would have thought that was Titian, at least among the girls,” Surreal said.
“Titian is family,” Beale replied. “A relationship that gives her an acknowledged advantage when it comes to receiving the Prince’s time and attention. That’s the perception, but Titian has to request an audience with her uncle the same as any other girl.”
“But he will go out with Zoey and Titian for an early morning ride,” Holt added. “He doesn’t invite them to join him every time he goes riding, and he does go out riding with other groups of youngsters, but the other girls, especially some of the other Queens, are of the opinion that Zoey receives special treatment, and they were expressing their . . . opinions . . . about it yesterday.”
“Which provoked Zoey into trying to prove she deserves special treatment?” Surreal guessed. She called in a small stoppered bottle and held it out to Beale. “Please ask Mrs. Beale to fill this with a thick dark liquid. Something that tastes bitter and has a scent that stings. She could ask Nadene to assist. A Healer would know how to brew up something like that.”
Beale took the bottle. “When do you need it?”
“As soon as possible.” Surreal gave the men a knife-sharp smile. “The Ladies and I are going to have a chat before they all start their formal lessons this morning.”
Zoey and Titian sat in the front seats of the Coach. Grizande and Jaalan sat in the back seats. Since Uncle Daemon was driving the Coach on the Black Winds, Daemonar took the middle ground—a physical barrier of pissed-off male that discouraged any discussion. Time enough to discuss things when they arrived at the Keep.
Sitting in a chair that faced three rows of chairs that had been curved and spaced so that everyone could see the instructor, Surreal watched nineteen witches file into the room and hesitate when they saw her.
She hadn’t been at the Hall much since the youngsters arrived a few weeks ago. Even when she stayed at the Hall overnight to talk to Sadi about Dhemlan’s business or keep him informed about the sanctuary she ran for witches who had been broken, she had kept to the family wing, preferring to eat in her suite rather than deal with adolescent girls.
She accepted that what had been broken inside her would never fully heal, but the wounds her daughter had inflicted were still too raw for her to want to be sociable with girls that age.
She wasn’t sitting in this room to be sociable.
“Queens in the front row,” she said, holding up the stoppered bottle of dark liquid and tilting it one way, then the other. “Black Widows and Healers in the second row. The rest of you in the third row.”
Yes. The seeds of five courts. She watched the girls. She recognized Jhett and Arlene, who were friends of Zoey’s, as well as the other three girls who had been at the house party that had given Sadi the proof he needed to destroy the coven of malice—and had cost her family so much in so many ways.
“In case some of you don’t know who I am, I am Surreal SaDiablo,” she said pleasantly, tilting the bottle back and forth, drawing the girls’ eyes to what she held. “In case you haven’t heard about me, when I lived in Terreille centuries ago, I was one of the highest-paid whores in that Realm. I was also one of the highest-paid assassins in that Realm. I retired from whoring before I came to Kaeleer.” She gave them a sharp smile and let silence tell them a truth about her other profession.
The girls shifted in their chairs and looked longingly toward the door.
“You want to play the bitch, do it somewhere else,” Surreal continued. “Sadi has a cold hatred for bitches, and he has good reason for that hate. You continue that way and come to the age when you can set up a court? If you try to play the bitch with him then, the High Lord of Hell will declare war on your court. That war will be swift, it will be messy, and he will leave no survivors.” She watched every girl in the room turn pale—and she noted the one Queen who, despite turning pale, wasn’t sufficiently alarmed by that statement. “I understand there was some bitchy drama going on yesterday between all the Queens, and the squabbling extended to the rest of you. Here and now, I’m giving you a chance to voice all your complaints and concerns without penalty. What you say to me, here and now, will go no further. After today?” She shrugged. “You’ll take your chances with cold rage.”