Taking the arm of the young Warlord who’d been warming her bed before the screams began, she returned to her wing of the mansion, smiling at the wail of despair that filled the hall behind her.

7 / Terreille

Dorothea hurried up the broad path to the Sanctuary, clutching at her cloak as the wind tried to whip it from her body. The old Priestess, bent and somewhat feeble-minded, opened the heavy door for her and then fought with the wind to close it.

Dorothea gave the old woman the barest nod of acknowledgment as she rushed past her, desperate to reach the meeting place.

The inner chamber was empty except for two worn chairs and a low table placed before a blazing fire. Throwing off her cloak with one hand, she carefully placed the bottle she had held tight against her body on the table and sank into one of the chairs with a moan.

Two short days ago, she had felt insolent about asking for help from the Dark Priestess, had chafed at the offerings she had to provide from her court or Hayll’s Hourglass. Now she was ready to beg.

For two days, Sadi had stalked through Draega, restlessly and relentlessly trying to blunt his rage. In that time, he’d killed a young Warlord from one of the Hundred Families—an exuberant youth who was only trying to have his pleasure with a tavern owner’s daughter. The man had dared protest because his daughter was virgin and wore a Jewel. The Warlord had dealt with the father—not fatally—and was dragging the girl to a comfortable room when Sadi appeared, took exception to the girl’s frightened cries, and savaged the young Warlord, shattering his Jewels and turning his brain into gray dust.

The grateful tavern owner gave Sadi a good meal and an ever-full glass. By morning the story was all over Draega, and then there were no tavern owners or innkeepers, Blood or landen, who didn’t have a hot meal, a full glass, or a bed waiting for him if he walked down their street.

She wasn’t sure the Ring would stop him this time, wasn’t sure he wouldn’t turn his fury on her if she tried to control him. And if he outlasted the pain…

Dorothea put her hands over her face and moaned again. She didn’t hear the door open and close.

“You’re troubled, Sister,” said the crooning girlish voice.

Dorothea looked up, trembling with relief. She sank to her knees and bowed her head. “I need your help, Dark Priestess.”

Hekatah smiled and hungrily eyed the contents of the bottle. Keeping her cloak’s hood pulled well forward to hide her face, she sat in the other chair and, with a graceful turn of her hand, drew the bottle toward her. “A gift?” she asked, feigning surprised delight. “How generous of you, Sister, to remember me.” With another turn of her hand, she called in a ravenglass goblet, filled it from the bottle, and drank deeply. She sighed with pleasure. “How sweet the blood. A young, strong witch. But only one voice to give so much.”