Not hurt, Surreal decided, just . . . shocked. Seeing Daemon as the Sadist for the first time had that effect on most people.

Lucivar wrapped a hand around her arm and pulled her away. “He’ll head back to the family town house now to have the quiet he needs to step back from the killing edge. We should be there.”

She didn’t want to be anywhere near Daemon right now, but Lucivar was right. Even if there was nothing they could do for Sadi, they could stand as a buffer between him and the rest of the Blood until the cold rage passed.

“Do you think he could do that?” Surreal asked. “Do you think something could provoke him enough that he’d really kill everyone in Dhemlan?”

Lucivar muttered, “He’s his father’s mirror.” Then he added, “Let’s hope we never have a reason to find out.”

SIXTEEN

SIXTEEN

Daemon waited until the following evening before he returned to the Hall. After a long night’s sleep, the cold rage had thawed, but he hadn’t been able to sheath his temper quite enough to face the “talk” with Jaenelle. So he’d stayed in his room most of the day, letting Surreal and Lucivar deal with the visitors who timidly knocked on the town house door.

He’d known the moment Zhara had stepped into the town house. Even Lucivar’s efforts to shield him from the other visitors’ shrill emotions hadn’t been enough to keep him from sensing Zhara’s spikes of fear. His warning had been found: two bodies, completely untouched by the witchfire that had consumed everything else in Lektra’s house. As powerful as he was, his venom didn’t offer a kind death, and the fact that he’d made sure there was no way to mistake how they’d died had chilled the aristo Blood in the city. So now the Queen of Amdarh knew what so many witches in Terreille had learned, although usually too late: The Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince who was called the Sadist had no mercy for anyone he considered an enemy. They wouldn’t forget the warning because he wouldn’t let them forget. The Black Jewels would be in evidence whenever he walked through the streets of Amdarh, and the Blood would understand that their continued survival depended on Jaenelle’s compassion, not his. As long as she held the leash, the Sadist would yield to his Queen. If anyone tried to break that leash . . .

But there was someone who might break that leash—and she was waiting for him on the other side of the sitting room door.

When he walked into the room, he saw her standing at the window. It was too dark to see the garden, so he wondered what held her attention.

“Is it done?” Jaenelle asked.

“It’s done.”

“The debt is paid to your satisfaction?”