Finally admitted to Jaenelle’s sitting room, Andulvar studied her and thought of several things he’d like to do to Daemon Sadi. Damn it, the man was her Consort and should have been taking care of her. She was far too thin, and the skin under her eyes was faintly bruised from exhaustion. And there was a queer, almost desperate glitter in her eyes.

“Prince Yaslana,” Jaenelle said quietly.

So. It was going to be formal.

“Lady,” Andulvar replied stiffly. “Since I’m obviously not here as your uncle, am I here as your Master of the Guard?” When she flinched, he regretted the harshness of his words. She didn’t look like she could endure too many more emotional blows.

“I—There’s something I need to tell you. And I need your help.”

He did his best to soften his tone. “Because I’m your Master of the Guard?”

She shook her head. “Because you’re the Demon Prince. After Saetan, you have the most authority in Hell. The demon-dead will listen to you—and follow you.”

He went to her and hugged her gently, afraid that if he held on to her the way he wanted to she would shatter. “What is it, waif?”

She eased back just enough to look him in the eyes. “I’ve found a way to get rid of Dorothea and Hekatah and the taint they’ve left in the Blood. But the rest of the Blood will be at risk unless the demon-dead are willing to help me.”

Thirty minutes later, Andulvar closed the sitting room door, took a couple of steps, then sagged against the wall.

Mother Night.

He didn’t doubt the plan would work. Jaenelle wouldn’t have said she could do it if she had any doubts. But…Mother Night.

He had fought in the last war between Terreille and Kaeleer. That war had devastated both Realms, and millions had died. And it had made no difference. They were standing on the edge of that same cliff, fighting against a greed and ambition that would simply go to ground again if it wasn’t finally, completely eliminated.

Like Mephis and Prothvar, he had known it would be futile to fight another war in the same way. Like them, he had looked around the table when the First Circle argued for a formal declaration of war and had wondered how many would still be among the living when it was over.

Jaenelle hadn’t wondered. She had known none of them would survive. Hell’s fire, no wonder she had been doing anything she could to keep them in the one place where they would be safe.

And now she had a plan that…Mother Night.

Even after she had told him, there was something about it that hadn’t felt quite right—as if she had glossed over something. Saetan would have known what it was, but Saetan…