“Forgive me, High Lord,” came the ragged, whispery answer. “I could not do it.”

For a flickering second before he turned to face Marjong the Executioner, Saetan wasn’t sure if he felt annoyed or relieved. He leaned against his blackwood desk and studied the giant man. It was impossible to read Marjong’s expressions because his head and shoulders were always covered with a black hood.

“He is in that misted city, High Lord,” Marjong apologized, shifting the huge, double-headed ax from one hand to the other. “I could not reach him to carry out your request.”

So. Daemon was in Beldon Mor.

“I can wait, High Lord. If he travels out of the misted city, I—”

“No.” Saetan took a slow, steadying breath. “No. Do nothing more unless I specifically request it. Understood?”

Marjong bowed and left the study.

With a weary sigh, Saetan sank into his chair and slowly spun the letter opener around and around. He picked it up and studied the thin ravenglass blade and the beautifully sculpted silver handle. “An effective tool,” he said quietly, balancing it on his fingertips. “Elegant, efficient. But if one isn’t careful…” He pressed one finger against the point and watched a drop of blood well up on the finger pad. “Like you, namesake. Like you. The dance is ours now. Just between us.”

6 / Terreille

Daemon’s days settled into a routine. Every morning he rose early, exercised, showered, and shared breakfast with Cook in the kitchen. He liked the Angellines’ cook, a brisk, warm woman who reminded him of Manny—and who had been as appalled as Manny would have been when he’d asked her consent to have the first meal of the day in the kitchen instead of in the breakfast room with the family. She’d relented when she realized he was going hungry while dancing attendance to Leland’s endless stream of nervous requests. Since he joined the family for breakfast anyway, Daemon wryly noted that his breakfast in the kitchen was usually better fare than what was served in the breakfast room.

After breakfast, he met with Philip in the steward’s office, where he was grudgingly handed the list of activities for the day. After that was a half hour walk through the gardens with Wilhelmina.

Alexandra had decided that Wilhelmina needed some light exercise before beginning her Craft lessons with Lady Graff, an unspeakably harsh woman whom Daemon had taken an instant dislike to—as she had to him, more because he had ignored her coquettish suggestions than for any other reason. Leland then suggested that Daemon accompany the girl, since Wilhelmina had an unreasonable fear of men and exposure to a Ringed male who couldn’t be a threat to her might help relieve her fear. So when the weather permitted, he escorted Wilhelmina around the grounds.

The first few days he attempted conversation, tried to find out her interests, but she skittered away from his attempts while still trying to be a polite young lady. It struck him one morning, when a silence had stretched beyond expected comfort, that this was probably one of the rare times in the day when she had the luxury of her own thoughts. Since she spent most of her time in Graff’s steely presence, she wasn’t allowed to “moon about”—a phrase he’d heard Graff use one day in a tone that implied it was a usual scold. So he stopped trying to talk to her, letting her have her solitary half hour while he walked respectfully on her left, hands in his pockets, enjoying the same luxury of having time for his own thoughts.