“There’s something I have to show you,” Geoffrey said, turning toward one of the archways that led to the stacks of books that were kept separate from the rest of the Keep’s huge library.

Andulvar growled. “I don’t have time for—”

“Make time.”

He studied the man. Geoffrey had been the Keep’s historian and librarian since long before Andulvar had been born. He was a Guardian, one of the living dead. He was also the last of his race—a race he never mentioned by name, never talked about. There was nothing that could touch a man like Geoffrey when he was inside the Keep. Nothing a man like him should fear inside the walls of Ebon Askavi.

But it was fear Andulvar heard underneath the temper in Geoffrey’s voice. So he followed the Guardian through the archway and between the shelves of books until Geoffrey finally stopped walking and pointed.

“What do you see?”

Andulvar shrugged. “Empty shelves.”

“Yes,” Geoffrey said. “Empty shelves. Yesterday, those shelves held examples of Zuulaman’s literature. Stories, poems, novels. Those shelves also held examples of pottery, held copies of songs as well as a flute and drum. They’re gone now.”

“I need to talk to someone from Zuulaman,” Andulvar said, deciding against telling Geoffrey about the other stolen items that had come from Zuulaman—at least until his own business at the Keep was concluded. “Can you check the Registers and—”

“There aren’t any Registers.”

Andulvar swore. “There have to be. These people are Blood. Some of them have to be in the Registers. Even if they didn’t officially register as they should, you would have made some notation about the Blood who wear darker Jewels.”

“Yesterday, there were Registers for Zuulaman,” Geoffrey said. “Now they’re gone. As if they had never existed.”

Beads of sweat broke out on Andulvar’s forehead. “I’d like to talk to Draca.”

Geoffrey nodded. “She’s waiting for you.”

Retracing his steps, Andulvar returned to the room that held a large blackwood table where scholars and other Blood could sit and read the books Geoffrey didn’t permit to leave this part of the library.

The Keep’s Seneschal was ancient . . . and didn’t look quite human. She’d unnerved him the first time he’d met her when he came to the Keep as one of Cassandra’s First Circle Escorts. She still unnerved him.

“I need to talk to one of the Zuulaman Blood,” Andulvar said.

“They are gone,” Draca replied.

“From Terreille, yes. But there must be some who are demon-dead. You could arrange this.”

“They are gone,” she repeated. “The Dark Realm wass purged of Zuulaman Blood.”

Andulvar grabbed one of the chairs that surrounded the table to keep himself upright. “You purged Hell?”

“No.”

“Then . . . ?”