Daemon slipped his hands into his trouser pockets to hide the trembling. He quietly cleared his throat. “I doubt anything more will happen until the messenger returns to Hayll and reports the delivery of the box. It’s almost midmorning now. They aren’t going to expect you to be capable of making any decisions immediately. So we’ve got a few hours. Maybe a little more than that.”

Jaenelle paced slowly. She seemed to be arguing with herself. Finally she sighed—as if she’d lost the argument—and looked at him. “The Weaver of Dreams sent me a message. She said the triangle must remain together in order to survive, that the other two sides weren’t strong enough without the strength of the mirror—and the mirror would keep them all safe.”

“The mirror?” Daemon asked cautiously.

“You are your father’s mirror, Daemon. You’re one side of the triangle.”

The memory flashed in his mind of Tersa, years ago, tracing a triangle in the palm of his hand, over and over, while she had explained the mystery of the Blood’s four-sided triangle.

“Father, brother, lover,” he murmured. Three sides. And the fourth side was the triangle’s center, the one who ruled all three.

“Exactly,” Jaenelle replied.

“You want me to go to Hayll.”

“Yes.”

He nodded slowly, suddenly feeling like he was on a very thin, shaky footbridge, and one false step would send him plummeting into a chasm he would never escape. “If I walked in to try another exchange of prisoners, that would buy a few more hours.”

“I never said anything about you handing yourself over to them,” Jaenelle snapped. Her face had been pale since she’d seen Saetan’s finger. Now it got paler. “Daemon, I need seventy-two hours.”

“Sev—But everything is ready. All you would need to do is gather your strength and unleash it.”

“I need seventy-two hours.”

He stared at her, slowly coming to terms with what she was telling him. In a controlled dive into the abyss, he could descend to the level of his Black Jewels in a few minutes and gather his full strength. It was going to take her seventy-two hours to do the same thing.

Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.

But there was no way for him to…

He saw the knowledge in her eyes—and fought against the shame it produced in him. He should have known he couldn’t hide the Sadist from Witch. And he finally understood what she was asking of him.

Unable to meet her eyes anymore, he turned away and began his own slow prowl around the room.

It was just a game. A dirty, vicious game—the kind the Sadist had always played so well. As he gave that part of himself free rein, the plan took shape as easily as breathing.