“If you’re having any doubts about the Warlord I chose being able to see you safely through your Virgin Night, or if he doesn’t appeal to you for any reason, I can interview a couple more men who also provide this service for aristo families,” Surreal said.
“He seems like a very nice man,” Jillian replied, wondering if her voice sounded thin and shaky to anyone else. “And he seems to know what he’s doing.”
“But . . . ?”
Jillian took a deep breath and let the words out like a flood breaking through a dam. “But I have some concerns, and I’d like to talk to Brenda about them.”
Surreal studied her. Jillian wasn’t sure if she was being studied by Surreal the wife of Daemon Sadi, Surreal the second-in-command to the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, or Surreal the assassin.
Sweet Darkness, please don’t let it be the assassin.
“I do have some experience, sugar,” Surreal said. “You can talk to me.”
“I know I can, and about many other things I would, but I really need to talk to Brenda about this particular thing.”
“She’ll be coming to Amdarh for the party, but I could ask her to come to the city the morning of—”
“Before then,” Jillian interrupted. “I need to talk to her as soon as I can.”
“Very well.”
Judging by the tone of Surreal’s voice, “very well” meant “I’ll sharpen my knives.”
Since she couldn’t change anything now, Jillian went up to the bedroom she’d been assigned and hoped Brenda, who had been bewilderingly dismissive about something so important to every Blood female, could help her.
“Do you understand the phrase ‘fox in the henhouse?’ ” Brenda asked once the argument with the maid about who would unpack the trunk and put Brenda’s clothes in the proper bureau drawers had reached its conclusion and compromise—the maid unpacked the trunk and handed the clothes to Brenda to hang up or tuck into drawers. “I have the impression that you’ve stirred things up good and proper.”
The maid left the room, muttering about aristos who wouldn’t let her do her job.
“I don’t mind having someone else put cleaned clothes in the drawers once I have everything put away to my liking.” Brenda raised her voice enough for the maid to hear. “But I don’t want to have to open every drawer in order to find something because someone else thinks an item should be stored somewhere else.” She closed the door and smiled at Jillian. “You needed to see me, and I’m here now, with everything properly tucked away. I gather there was something about the Virgin Night that concerns you? Something you didn’t want to discuss with Lady SaDiablo?”
“I’m in trouble.” When Brenda’s eyes went to her belly, Jillian added, “Not that kind of trouble.”
“It wouldn’t be impossible if you were skin to skin with a man and the juice was flowing, so to speak. Not likely, but not impossible. Or so I’m told.”
Jillian stared. She had already lived centuries compared to Brenda’s twenty-some years, but she’d never met anyone who was this blunt. Well, Lucivar was, but even he wouldn’t talk to a daughter about this in that way.
“So what kind of trouble are you in?” Brenda asked.
“I need help figuring out how to tell Daemon and Lucivar that I’ve already had my Virgin Night and didn’t tell them.”
Now it was Brenda’s turn to stare. “Hell’s fire, girl, you really are in trouble.” She went to the window and looked out. “I haven’t been around either of them that long, but I’ve taken their measure. This will be hard for them to swallow, mostly because they didn’t have a chance to pound the male into pulp if anything had gone the least little bit wrong. I’m assuming nothing went wrong?”
“Everything went just fine, but Lucivar’s and Daemon’s probable reaction was exactly why I did it that way. I didn’t want a man torn into pieces and pulped because I broke a nail or got a paper cut while I was in the room with him! And do you really think ‘the juice is going to flow’ if either of them is in the same city, let alone the same building, as the man who is expected to perform?”
“Good points, and I don’t disagree with you. On the other hand, they’re going to be here in Amdarh and so are you, and you didn’t voice any objections.”
“Because the man Surreal selected wasn’t going to have to do anything! But they’ve all decided that I need to go through a Virgin Night because . . .” Jillian faltered.
Brenda glanced at Jillian before returning her gaze to whatever was outside the window. “Because you’ve met someone you want as a lover, and you don’t want him . . .”
“Stomped on and pulped and tossed in a vat to be cooked with the grapes for his wine. But if Stefan and I . . . before Lucivar knows about . . .”
Brenda nodded. “How long has it been since you had this secret Virgin Night?”
Jillian cringed. “A few months.” A beat of silence. “Or more. And it wasn’t so much a secret as it was private.”
Brenda turned away from the window. “Do you have any proof you can show them that doesn’t require a Healer?”
“A letter signed by the current Queen of Little Weeble and the former Queen, who serves as a consultant.” Jillian swallowed hard. Did Brenda know anything about Little Weeble and what it meant to have a letter from the current and former Queens?
“I can work with that.” Brenda walked out of the bedroom, her voice as brisk as her stride. “Come along now. We’ll request the men’s presence. The sooner this is done, the better. You show them that letter at the end of this. That might soothe them a bit.”
Hurrying after Brenda, Jillian said, “End of what?”
Daemon stood on the sidewalk outside the SaDiablo town house. First Surreal sent a message to the Hall saying Brenda’s presence was required at the town house now. Brenda was packed and gone within the hour, even though it was a couple of days ahead of when everyone was gathering for Jillian’s Virgin Night.
By the clock on his desk, less than an hour after Brenda arrived in Amdarh, Surreal sent a message to him on a Gray psychic thread saying he was required in Amdarh as soon as he could get there.
Maybe one request had nothing to do with the other. Maybe Brenda, being closer to Jillian’s equivalent age, was holding a friend’s hand—although Jillian never struck him as a nervous sort of girl. Still, her life as a strong witch was at risk, and something could go wrong. And Surreal thought he should be here because . . .
Daemon turned in a slow circle, letting the Black flow through the square where the town house was located.
Nothing unusual. Nothing anyone would summon him to deal with. The only turmoil he could sense was in Surreal’s side of their town house, but the one thing that would have confirmed that this was something about Jillian . . .
Daemon felt the Ebon-gray’s presence in the city moments before Lucivar dropped from the Winds and almost landed on top of him.
“You were summoned?” Lucivar asked.
“I was. You too?”
“Yeah. Any idea why?”
Daemon stared at the town house. “Surreal indicated there was something Jillian needed to discuss with us. My second-in-command sounded . . . odd.”