He kissed her cheek. “If I promise not to tell, will you promise to go—and not come back?”

“I can’t,” Jaenelle whispered.

“Why?” Daemon said angrily. He was losing patience. They were losing precious time.

Jaenelle leaned back and looked at him with her ancient, haunted eyes. “Wilhelmina,” she said in a flat voice. “Wilhelmina’s strong, Daemon, stronger than she knows, strong enough to wear the Sapphire if she isn’t broken. I have to help her until she makes the Offering. Then she’ll be stronger than most of the males here, and they won’t be able to break her. Then I’ll go live with the Priest.”

Daemon looked away. It would be at least four years before Wilhelmina could make the Offering. Jaenelle, if she stayed in Beldon Mor, would be long dead by then.

A sharp rap on the door startled them. A woman called out, “You all right in there, missy? Hurry up, now. The girls are selecting partners for the dance.”

Daemon slowly got to his feet. He felt old, beaten. But if he could keep her safe until tomorrow, Saetan might have more persuasive weapons at his disposal. Wrapping the sight shield around himself, he opened the door and slipped out behind Jaenelle. The woman, impatiently waiting outside, took a firm hold of Jaenelle’s arm and steered her back into the ballroom.

Daemon slipped along the edge of the room silently, invisibly. It was such a small thing to stop a heart, to reach in and nick an artery. Was there any man here who wasn’t expendable, including himself? No, not when the ice whispered in his veins, not when the double-edged sword was unsheathed. He slipped up behind his cousin and heard Kartane say, “That one? She’s a whey-faced little bitch. The sister’s prettier.”

Daemon smiled. Still wrapped in the sight shield, his right hand reached out toward Kartane’s shoulder. For a moment, before his hand tightened in a malevolent grip, he felt Kartane lean against him, enjoying the sensuous, shivery caress of the long nails. Daemon enjoyed feeling the sensuous shiver change to shivery fear as his nails pierced Kartane’s jacket and shirt.

“Cousin,” Daemon whispered in his ear. “Come out to the terrace with me, cousin.”

“Get away from me,” Kartane growled out of the corner of his mouth as he tried to shrug off Daemon’s hand. “I’ve business here.”

Daemon continued to smile. Foolish of the boy to try to bluff when he could smell the fear. “You’ve business with me first.” He pivoted slowly, pulling Kartane with him.

“Bastard,” Kartane said softly, walking toward the terrace to keep from being dragged there.

“By birth and by temperament,” Daemon agreed with amiable coldness.

When they were out on the terrace, Daemon dropped the sight shield. Compared to the fiery cold he felt inside himself, the air seemed balmy. While he waited for Kartane to stop looking at the garden and face him, he absently brushed the branches of a small potted bush. He smiled as ice instantly coated them. He kept stroking the bush until the whole thing was coated. Then, with a shrug, he took his gold case from his pocket, lit a cigarette, and waited. He was between Kartane and the door. His cousin wasn’t going to leave before he was ready to let him.