As she neared the fence, she sent the private signal Daemon had taught her so many years ago, the signal that told him she needed him. Then she turned away and continued exploring the smaller paths nearby.

Maybe he wasn’t at the house. Maybe he was but couldn’t get away. Maybe he wouldn’t answer the signal. She hadn’t dared use it since the night she pushed him into showing her Hayll’s Whore.

She felt him before she saw him, coming up a path behind her. Turning, she headed toward him, pausing now and then to admire a late-blooming flower. The path was an offshoot, with less chance of someone seeing them, but even so, Surreal didn’t want anyone asking questions. As she passed him, she pretended to stumble and turn her foot.

“Damn,” she said as Daemon held her arm to steady her. “Hold still a minute, would you, sugar?” She put a hand on his shoulder, leaned against him, and fiddled with her shoe. “There’s someone looking for you.” She felt him tense, saw the small ring of frost around his feet.

“Oh? Why?”

Still fiddling with her shoe, Surreal couldn’t see his face, but she knew there would be nothing but a bored, slightly put-upon expression despite the silky chill in his voice.

“She thinks you’re interested in a child here, one, apparently, of great interest to her, one that Dorothea wants out of the way. If I were you, I’d watch my back. She didn’t hire me for a contract, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been interviewing others who would be willing to have a try at you.” She put her foot down and wobbled her ankle as if testing it.

“Do you know who she is?”

Surreal frowned and shook her head, still studying her shoe. “A witch staying at Cassandra’s Altar. No way to tell how long she’s been there. There are a couple of rooms fixed up. That’s about it. I’ve stayed in worse places.”

Daemon kept his head turned away from her. “Thank you for the warning. Now if you’ll ex—”

“Prince? Prince, you must come and see.”

Surreal turned toward the sound of the girl’s voice. It sounded like silk feels, she thought as the thin, golden-haired girl skipped around the bend and stopped in front of them, her smile warm, her eyes—eyes that seemed to shift color depending on the way the sunlight found its way through the leaves—full of high spirits and curiosity.

“Hello,” the girl said as she studied Surreal’s face.

“Lady,” Surreal replied, trying to sound respectful and dignified, but she’d heard Sadi’s exasperated sigh and wanted to laugh.

“We should be getting back,” Daemon said, moving to the girl’s side and trying to turn her toward the private gardens.

Surreal was about to slip away when she heard Daemon say, “Lady.” The coaxing, pleading note in his voice rooted her to the path. She’d never heard him sound like that. She looked at the girl, who had planted her feet and refused to be turned.