Whispers rose and fell, an ebb and flow of sound as they went to their various appointments throughout the day. They pretended not to notice the way conversations stopped when they entered a room, pretended not to see the uneasy glances. It wasn’t the fun, relaxing experience Surreal had wanted it to be, but it served its purpose. By late afternoon, Jaenelle’s hair was trimmed and styled, her nails—all of them—were painted, and they’d found enough clothing in the shops to suffice as a wardrobe for a few weeks.

Now, waiting for Jaenelle to return from the dressing room, Surreal studied a display of shawls. Two of them had the right colors to blend nicely with Jaenelle’s new clothes and provide extra warmth if it was needed.

Her lips twitched. Well, extra warmth when Daemon wasn’t wrapped around his Lady.

“I heard you were here,” a voice said.

Turning, Surreal studied Zhara, who was staring at her with an expression that was close to dislike but hadn’t quite crossed that line. “And you’re here, too. Busy place.”

Interesting, Surreal thought as Zhara moved closer. She doesn’t want to talk to me, doesn’t want to get close to me, but something is pushing her.

“I’ve heard some disturbing rumors,” Zhara said.

“Really? Are you going to share them, or are you going to be another bitch whispering behind her hand?”

Temper flared in Zhara’s eyes. “Remember who you’re talking to.”

“You’re the Queen of Amdarh. And I’m a witch who wears Gray Jewels. If push comes to shove, sugar, you’re a corpse. So you want to tell me in plain words what’s bothering you, or do you want to keep dancing around in the shit?”

“There’s a rumor that Daemon Sadi . . . that he . . .”

“What about Daemon?” asked a midnight voice.

Reading the discomfort and embarrassment in Zhara’s eyes before they both turned to face Jaenelle, Surreal suddenly had a good idea of what kind of rumors were going around. Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. There were better ways of committing suicide than starting a rumor like that about a man the Blood in Terreille had called the Sadist.

Of course, pissing off Witch wasn’t a great idea either. Especially when that deadly anger was back in Jaenelle’s sapphire eyes.

“What about Daemon?” Jaenelle asked again, as if Zhara’s expression hadn’t told her plainly enough the reason for the whispers that had followed them all day.

“I—I’m sure the rumors aren’t true,” Zhara said.

Jaenelle’s smile was razored ice. “So am I.”

“Where are you going?” Surreal asked as Jaenelle headed out of the shop.

“I’m going to talk to Daemon.”