Cythera turned and forced a smile. Hazoth liked her to be cheerful when she served him. It was difficult to keep her composure when she saw what he was doing, though. On a long worktable he had the body of a minor demon pinned down and cut open. It was little more than an imp, a long-legged batrachian thing with eyes like fire opals. Hazoth had his arms up to the elbows in its viscera. When the imp turned its head to the side to look at her, she nearly dropped the tray.

The demon made a horrible gurgling noise. Cythera forced herself to ignore its obvious suffering.

“It screamed like a natural thing before I disconnected its larynx,” Hazoth assured her as she set the tray down on a nearby table, pushing aside a number of arcane instruments to make room. “This is going to take all night. I didn’t wish to be distracted by coming down to the dining room, so I decided to sup here.”

Cythera did not reply.

“Strange. There’s no digestive apparatus at all,” Hazoth mused as he pulled his hands free of the vivisection. “They devour their prey, everyone knows that, but they can’t draw sustenance from it. Unless they persist simply on the suffering and fear of their victims.”

Cythera often wondered if the same could be said of her master. She stood by, motionless, waiting to see if he required anything else.

Hazoth came over to the tray and stared down at it. Then he glanced at his hands, which were still coated in ichor. “Hmm,” he said, “I really ought to wash. No time, though.” Sneering at the slimy mess, he spoke a word that curdled in the air. Blue flames licked over his wrists and palms, consuming the gore that had coated them. Cythera did not even wince as she felt new vines and flowers blooming in the small of her back.

She watched in silence as Hazoth grabbed up the haunch and started chewing on it. She had a linen napkin tucked up the sleeve of her gown, and she removed it carefully in case he should require it.

“Oh, since you’re here—there’s something I’m sure you’ll want to know. My little trick with the book failed. That rodentine thief of yours is still alive. You know, I’m almost glad. I admit I find him more amusing by the day. Maybe we’ll have to bring him here and give him a job after all, hmm?”

It was not a question that required an answer. Cythera held her tongue.