“Shave him, shave him, shave him!” The room thundered with the coven’s voices.

Kartane had been to dogfights, cockfights, any number of spectacles where dumb animals were pitted against each other. He’d heard the roar of male voices urging their favorite to victory. But he’d never heard, in all those places, the glee he heard now as the coven urged their decision.

He jumped when Dorothea’s hand squeezed his knee, her cold smile letting him know she was pleased by his fear.

Dorothea raised her hand for silence. When the room was absolutely still, she said in her most melodious purr, “Shave him.” She paused a long moment, then smiled sweetly. “A full shave.”

Kartane’s head snapped around in disbelief, but before he could say anything, Daemon turned his head just enough to look at him. The look in Daemon’s eyes was more frightening than Dorothea could ever be, so Kartane swallowed the words and slumped a little farther in his chair.

The Healer and the barber entered the room and walked slowly to the table. The barber, a cadaverous man wearing a tightly cuffed black robe, had a receding hairline, pencil-line lips, and dirty yellow eyes. He bowed to Dorothea and then bowed to the coven.

The Healer, a drab woman retained to handle the servants’ ills since she wasn’t well versed enough in her Craft to attend to the Blood aristos, called in a bowl of warm water and soap. She held the bowl while the barber washed his hands.

Then the barber leisurely soaped his victim’s testicles.

*Why?* Kartane sent on a spear thread.

*Makes them slippery,* Daemon replied. *Harder to get a clean cut the first time.*

The barber picked up a small curved knife and held it up for them to see. He positioned himself behind the man.

*So everyone can see,* Daemon explained.

Kartane clenched his fists and stared at the floor.

“Watch, my dear,” Dorothea purred, “or we’ll have to do it again.”

Kartane fixed his eyes on one of the posts just as the barber pulled the knife back. A moment later, a small dark lump lay on the swiftly reddening sheets.

The Warlord tied to the posts let out a howl of agony and then clenched his teeth to stifle the sound.

Kartane’s stomach churned as a disappointed murmur swept through the room. Mother Night! They’d been hoping for a second cut!

The barber set the bloody knife on a tray and washed his hands while the Healer sealed the blood vessels. When she stepped aside, he took a straight knife and positioned himself in front of a post. He pulled the man’s organ to its full length, turned to his audience, shook his head sadly, and said, “There’s so little here, it will hardly make a difference.”

The coven laughed and applauded. Dorothea smiled.

Kartane expected a swift severing. But when the barber laid the knife on the Warlord’s organ and leisurely sawed through the flesh, each stroke of the knife accompanied by a scream, Kartane found himself mesmerized, unable to look away.