Tenebrae wasn’t a sadistic man, but the look on Valkyrie Cain’s face and the pain in Skulduggery Pleasant’s voice were just… delicious. He had been carrying that secret around with him for centuries, had come close to spilling it a few times before this. But he was glad he hadn’t. It was like an itch that you put off scratching – when you eventually did scratch, it was so much more satisfying.

His mood didn’t last, however. When he got to his office, Vandameer Craven wasn’t waiting for him as he had instructed.

Enough was enough. Tenebrae was sick of Craven and the ridiculous serenity that seemed to have washed over him overnight. He was sick of everyone treating the spineless worm like he was some kind of holy man with the ear of the messiah. Craven was still a Cleric, and Tenebrae was still the High Priest, and the natural order of things would be restored.

So Tenebrae sat behind his desk, his temper boiling the longer he was made to wait. When his door finally opened, he had to force himself not to jump up and throttle the man.

“Cleric Craven,” he said, “so good of you to grace me with your presence.”

“My apologies,” Craven said, bowing. “Our younger Necromancers are understandably nervous. They needed someone to reassure them that it was all going to be OK.”

Tenebrae frowned. “And that someone was you, I take it?”

Craven smiled. “I go where I am needed.”

“Take me to her,” Tenebrae said, standing up.

Craven raised an eyebrow. “Your Eminence?”

“Take me to the Death Bringer, Cleric. It’s time I spoke with her.”

“Ah, unfortunately, I cannot. She is to remain undisturbed.”

“I am the High Priest, Cleric Craven. You do not say no to me.”

Something flickered in the Cleric’s eyes, something Tenebrae had never seen in those eyes before, and then it was gone. “Of course. Once again, my deepest apologies. I will take you to her at once.”

Tenebrae stalked out of the room. Craven followed him through the corridor, struggling to match Tenebrae’s long stride. The satisfaction Tenebrae derived from robbing Craven of his newly acquired dignity was a petty kind of satisfaction, but it was satisfaction nonetheless, and it made the corners of his mouth want to lift in a smile.

Things got even better when they reached the bowels of the Temple. Tenebrae gestured to Craven to lead the way to whichever chamber held Melancholia, but if the Cleric thought this would mean that he could dictate the walking pace, he was sadly mistaken. Tenebrae walked so quickly that Craven had to virtually scamper ahead of him lest Tenebrae tread on the hem of his robe. More than once, Tenebrae managed to stand on the trailing material, and Craven’s head would jerk back with a strangled gag.