Feeling more wary by the minute, Surreal did her best to look indifferent. “No reason for him to get involved in this.” Sweet Darkness, please don’t let him think this is any business of his. “Besides, I don’t need either of them getting all snarly and protective over something that was a mutual decision.”

“So instead of mentioning this to either of them, you went to the Keep and told Saetan.”

Surreal winced. “Well, I figured I should tell someone before leaving Ebon Rih.”

“Uh-huh. So you told the High Lord of Hell, the patriarch of this family, the man from whom Daemon and Lucivar inherited the temper you were trying to avoid.” Jaenelle pushed the quilt aside and swung her legs over the side of the couch to sit up straight. “Did I miss something?”

Unable to stand still, Surreal started pacing in a circle in front of the table that held the pot of coffee, cups, and sandwiches Beale, the Hall’s butler, had brought in a few minutes after she’d knocked on Jaenelle’s door.

“I thought he’d be reasonable,” she snarled. “He’s older and less . . . excitable.” And Saetan had sounded calm and reasonable while she explained that living in an eyrie with Falonar had lost its appeal and she intended to spend a few days at the Hall before staying at the family’s town house in Amdarh for a while.

“Did he hurt you?” Saetan had asked too softly.

Surreal snorted. “Uncle Saetan, sugar, do I look hurt?”

Watching his eyes glaze, she’d realized she’d made a serious tactical error. Which was why she’d caught the Gray Wind and headed for the Hall as fast as she could, hoping Jaenelle would have some advice about dealing with the rest of the family.

Jaenelle sighed. “All right. We’ll deal with this.”

Surreal watched Jaenelle’s arm tremble as she lifted the coffeepot and poured two cups. When she reached for the cream and sugar, Surreal stepped forward.

“Want some help?”

“No.”

Wondering about the whiplash of anger under the word, Surreal hesitated.

“Take your coffee and a sandwich,” Jaenelle said, grabbing a sandwich off the plate and taking a bite.

“What’s going on?” Surreal asked cautiously.

“You want Falonar to walk away from this intact?” Jaenelle countered. “Then take a sandwich. And hold on to that wall of sass and indifference you’ve erected in front of what you’re really feeling.”

Before Surreal could ask what coffee and sandwiches had to do with what she was, or wasn’t, feeling, she felt the wash of dark power roll through the Hall. Ebon-gray and Black—immediately answered by another Black.

Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. All three of them—and all of them pissed off.

Grabbing a sandwich, Surreal took a bite and hoped she wouldn’t choke.

“Come over here and sit down,” Jaenelle said.