Realizing Daemon meant what he’d said eased the sting a little. She tried to smile. “He wants a Marian. Not Marian, ” she added quickly, seeing the instant chill in Daemon’s eyes. “The things that intrigued him enough initially for him to offer to share his eyrie with me were the same things that eventually stuck in his throat. Hell’s fire, Sadi, I’m not going to apologize for what I’ve been.”

“He couldn’t get past the fact that you used to be paid for sex?” Daemon asked too softly.

“Since he wasn’t offering to be anything more than my lover, that didn’t bother him. Well, not much. And he certainly appreciated my . . . skills.” She sighed. “No, what rubbed the wrong way was my skill with a knife—and the fact that an assassin doesn’t worry about sticky details like letting the prey know he’s about to be turned into carrion.”

“You were a competitor.”

She sat back as the dishes vanished and the server brought the main course. She savored the taste of a perfectly cooked filet before going back to a subject that would ruin her appetite.

“I was a competitor,” she agreed. “Falonar could be indulgent about the Eyrien witches learning to use weapons to defend themselves because none of them will ever have enough skill to be a rival to him. And they were only learning because Lucivar insisted on it, not because they wanted to. But I wanted to improve skills I already had—and killing is what I do.”

“And since Falonar wears a Sapphire Jewel and you wear the Gray, he wasn’t stronger than you in that arena,” Daemon said. “There are plenty of men who have lovers who wear darker Jewels than they do.”

“Falonar wants a woman who looks at him and sees a protector, a defender. He wants someone who needs his strength, someone whose talents are . . . gentler.”

“Who is she?” Daemon asked as he dipped a piece of lobster into the bowl of clarified butter.

Surreal studied him warily. “I didn’t say there was someone in particular.”

Daemon just smiled and continued eating.

She concentrated on her own meal for a few minutes. Then she sighed. “Nurian. She’s a Healer.”

“And she’s Eyrien.”

“I don’t know how deep Falonar’s feelings about her run, but I’m pretty sure she’s in love with him. Over the winter, things changed between him and me. Lots of sex and not much else. Some snide comments about my snip-ping off balls because I wanted a pair of my own. And for the record, I’d rather have the discomfort of moontimes than carry what you’ve got between your legs.”

He just raised an eyebrow.

“Moon’s blood only throws me offstride three days out of a month. A cock makes a man potentially stupid at any hour of any day.”