At another time in his life, he would have walked away from this room, would have, most likely, added a few seduction spells that would have been triggered by drawing the memories out of wood and stone. Whoever had come to watch the events leading up to Lektra’s death would have felt those phantom hands, those phantom mouths. They would have stood there, helpless to escape, knowing how the previous seduction ended.

It wouldn’t have killed them, but the message would have been clear: anyone who tried to play games with his life or someone he loved would die.

But there was Jaenelle to consider, and he didn’t want this game paraded before the rest of the Blood. He felt soiled enough being near Lektra and Roxie. So he would leave enough of a warning for the witches in Amdarh. As for the rest . . .

He could deal with that easily enough.

2

Surreal stood across the street and watched the town house burn. She’d spent the evening wandering the nearby streets, passing by the town house often enough to keep an eye on things. Because Sadi had said Lektra was his business, not hers, she’d kept her participation to a passive watch.

So she’d been nearby when witchfire suddenly filled two of the upstairs rooms. She didn’t run to the town house to pound on the door and alert the servants. There was no need. The Sadist had his own kind of justice, and the fire remained in those two rooms until the last servant had fled. Then the witchfire took the town house, roaring up to twice the structure’s height, a beacon for the rest of the Blood in Amdarh.

They’d come running, but witchfire was fed by power, and there was nothing they could do to extinguish a fire fed by the Black. The water wagons were brought out, and the roofs of the neighboring town houses were doused, but the fire remained confined. He would have made sure of that before he walked away.

“Here,” Lucivar said, joining her. He handed her a steaming mug of coffee. “It’s damn cold to be standing around.”

“Is it this cold a couple of blocks away?” she asked, taking a sip of coffee.

“No.”

He’d arrived in Amdarh just as the rest of the town house went up, so they’d found each other easily enough. He, too, would have recognized the fire as a signal—and a warning.

After taking a sip from his own mug, he called in a bundled napkin, used Craft to balance it on air, then flipped open a corner.

Surreal grabbed one of the rolls filled with meat and cheese. She took a big bite, washed it down with coffee, then asked, “Where did you get these?”

“Dining house down the street a little ways. They were still open when the fire started, so they stayed open to keep serving food and drink.”