“In and out since she was five,” Daemon said in a trembling voice.

“No,” Surreal wailed, hiding her face against his chest, grateful for his arms around her. Suddenly she pushed away from him, brushing the tears off her cheeks, her eyes gold-green chips of stone. “You have to get her out of here. You have to keep her away from them.”

“I know,” Daemon said, straightening his jacket. “I know. Come on, I’ll take you back in.”

“Don’t you realize what they’ll do to her? What—” Surreal ran her hands through her hair, never noticing the combs that fell and broke on the stone terrace. “They can’t have taken her all the way yet. She doesn’t act like she’s been broken yet.” She grabbed Daemon’s arms and tried to shake him. It was like trying to shake the building. “You’ve got to get her away from here. She’s special, Sadi. She’s—”

“Shh,” Daemon said, brushing his fingers over her lips. His hands ran through her hair, coaxing it back into some semblance of the style she was wearing. “Calm yourself, Surreal.”

“How—”

“Calm yourself.”

She hadn’t known him this long without knowing an order when she heard it. Calm. Yes. Outsiders weren’t supposed to know about the extra little party that was going to take place.

Daemon led her back to the main hall, his hand lightly resting on her shoulder. “Tell your escort you have a headache. Too much heat, too much sparkling wine. Whatever.”

“That won’t be hard.” From the doorway, Surreal scanned the crowd in the ballroom, searching for the young Warlord. Instead she saw a Hayllian Warlord standing with a group of men, quietly discussing something while they watched some of the girls having their first dance with selected partners. “Who’s that?” she asked, tilting her chin in the Hayllian’s direction. Daemon’s hand tightened on her shoulder.

“That, my dear Surreal, is Kartane SaDiablo.”

Her knife was in her hand before he’d finished speaking. Kartane! Finally to see Kartane.

Surreal tried to step forward, intending to slip through the crowd until she was close enough to be sure of the kill, but she couldn’t shake off Daemon’s vise grip.

“No, Surreal,” Daemon said quietly.

“He owes me for Titian,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

“Not here. Not in Beldon Mor.”

“He owes me, Sadi.”

The pain in her shoulder got worse.

“If you kill him now, Dorothea will start asking questions. I don’t want anyone asking any more questions. Do you understand?”

Surreal vanished the knife. It didn’t please her, but she understood. However, that didn’t mean she couldn’t study her quarry.

“Go now, Surreal.”

“I think I’ll—”

“Go.” Once again, it was an order.

Surreal left, aware that Daemon watched her. She didn’t see her Warlord escort. No matter. He was probably too drunk by now to know what he fell into bed with.

Chaillot had too many secrets, Daemon thought as he watched the party. And this particular secret was a twisted, vicious one.