When he was done, he steepled his fingers and waited. A moment later, the pulse was gone, and his thoughts were his own again. Just as well, because he couldn’t stop wondering why being touched made her so angry. “I’ll make you two promises,” he said. “I want one in return.”

Jaenelle eyed him warily. “What promise?”

“I promise, by the Jewels that I wear and all that I am, that I’ll teach you whatever you ask to the best of my ability. And I promise I’ll never lie to you.”

Jaenelle thought this over. “What do I have to promise?”

“That you’ll keep me informed of any Craft lessons you learn from others. Craft requires dedication to learn it well and discipline to handle the responsibilities that come with that kind of power. I want the assurance that anything you learn has been taught correctly. Do you understand, witch-child?”

“Then you’ll teach me?”

“Everything I know.” Saetan let her think this over. “Agreed?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Give me your hands.” He took the small, fair hands in his light-brown ones. “I’m going to touch your mind.” The anger again. “I won’t hurt you, witch-child.”

Saetan carefully reached with his mind until he stood before her inner barriers. They were the shields that protected the Blood from their own kind. Like rings within rings, the more barriers that were passed, the more personal the mental link. The first barrier protected everyday thoughts. The last barrier protected the core of the Self, the essence of a being, the inner web.

Saetan waited. As much as he wanted answers, he wouldn’t open her by force. Too much now depended on trust.

The barriers opened, and he went in.

He didn’t rummage through her thoughts or descend deeper than was necessary, despite his curiosity. That would have been a shocking betrayal of the Blood’s code of honor. And there was a strange, deep blankness to her mind that troubled him, a soft neutrality that he was sure hid something very different. He quickly found what he was looking for—the psychic thread that would vibrate in sympathy with a plucked, same-rank thread and would tell him what Jewels she wore, or would wear after her Birthright Ceremony. He began with the White, the lightest rank, and worked his way down, listening for the answering hum.

Hell’s fire! Nothing. He hadn’t expected anything until he’d reached the Red, but he’d expected a response at that depth. She had to wear Birthright Red in order to wear the Black after she made the Offering to the Darkness. Witch always wore the Black.

Without thinking, Saetan plucked the Black thread.

The hum came from below him.

Saetan released her hands, amazed that his own weren’t shaking. He swallowed to get his heart out of his throat. “Have you had the Birthright Ceremony yet?”

Jaenelle drooped.

He gently lifted her chin. “Witch-child?”

Misery filled her sapphire eyes. A tear rolled down her cheek. “I f-failed the t-test. Does that mean I have to give the Jewels back?”