“Sadi.” Kartane’s eyes were filled with malicious glee. Still, he took a nervous step backward.

Daemon waited, watching Kartane pace one side of the room.

“Probably no one’s thought to tell you, so I took it upon myself to bring the news,” Kartane said.

“About what?”

“Yasi.”

The anticipation in Kartane’s eyes made Daemon’s heart pound and his mouth go dry. He shrugged. “The last time I heard anything about him, he was serving the Queen of Pruul. Zuultah, isn’t it?”

“Apparently he’s served her better than he’s ever served anyone,” Kartane said maliciously.

Get to the point, you little bastard.

Kartane paced. “The story’s a bit muddled, you understand, but it appears that, while under the influence of a substantial dose of safframate, Yasi went berserk and bit Zuultah.” Kartane let out a high-pitched, nervous laugh.

Daemon sighed. Lucivar’s temper in the bedroom was legendary. At the best of times, he was unpredictable and violent. Under the influence of safframate…“So he bit her. She’s not the first.”

Kartane laughed again. It was almost a hysterical giggle. “Well, actually, shaved might be a better way to describe it. Anything she mounts now won’t be for her pleasure.”

No, Lucivar, no. By the Darkness, no. “They killed him,” Daemon said flatly.

“He wasn’t that lucky. Zuultah wanted to, when she finally came to her senses and realized what he’d done. He also killed ten of her best guards while they were trying to subdue him.” Kartane wiped nervous sweat from his forehead. “Prythian intervened as soon as she found out. For some insane reason, she still thinks she can eventually tame him and breed him. However, Zuultah wasn’t going to let him get away without some kind of punishment.” Kartane waited, but Daemon didn’t rise to the bait. “She put him in the salt mines.”

“Then she’s killed him.” Daemon opened the door. “You were right,” he said too gently, turning to look at Kartane. “No one else would have dared tell me that.”

He closed the door with a silence that made the whole house shake.

All the tears were gone now, and Daemon felt as dry and empty as the Arava Desert.

Lucivar was Eyrien. He would never survive in the salt mines of Pruul. In those tunnels with all the salt and the heat, no room for him to stretch his wings, no air to dry the sweat. There were a dozen different molds that could infect that membranous skin and eat it away. And without wings…An Eyrien warrior was nothing without his wings. Lucivar had once said he’d rather lose his balls than his wings, and he’d meant it.

Oh, Lucivar, Lucivar, his brave, arrogant, foolish brother. If he’d accepted that offer, Lucivar would be hunting in Askavi right now, gliding through the dusk, searching for prey. But they had known it might come to this. The wisest thing for Lucivar to do would be to end it quickly while his strength was intact. He would be welcome in the Dark Realm. Daemon was sure he would be.