Me, too. “Lucivar’s got the physical strength, and I can handle myself in a fight, but you’ve got the experience to come up with a plan that can use that strength to our best advantage.”

He just looked at her. The smile that finally curved his lips was gently bitter. “Sweetheart…I’ve gotten very old in the past two days.”

She could see that, and it scared her. Without him, she wasn’t sure they could get out of there.

Hearing a door open, she immediately straightened up and looked away from him.

“Hell’s fire,” Dorothea said irritably, “what’s that smell?” She stepped between the posts that held Saetan and Surreal.

Surreal clenched her teeth. She wore a Gray Jewel; Dorothea wore a Red. It would be easy enough to slip under Dorothea’s inner barriers and weave a death spell—something nasty so that, when it triggered, the screams and confusion might give them a chance to get away.

She began a careful descent so that no one would notice it, but before she reached the depth of her Gray Jewel, another door opened.

The vile smell intensified, making her gag.

Daemon Sadi strolled out of the prison hut, his hands in his trouser pockets. He kept moving until he reached the center of the lighted area. He didn’t look at them. His glittering eyes were focused intently on Lucivar, who stared back at him.

No one dared move.

Finally, Daemon looked toward the prison hut and said pleasantly, “Marian, darling, come out and show your foolish husband the price for my years in the Twisted Kingdom.”

Two naked…things…floated out of the hut into the light. An hour ago, they had been a woman and a small boy. Now…

Surreal began panting in an effort to keep her stomach down. Mother Night, Mother Night, Mother Night.

Marian’s fingers and feet were gone. So was the long, lovely hair. Daemonar’s eyes were gone, as well as his hands and feet. Their wings were so crisped, the slight movement of floating made pieces break off. And their skin…

Smiling that cold, cruel smile, the Sadist released his hold on Marian and Daemonar. The little boy hit the ground with a thump and began screaming. Marian landed on the stumps of her feet and fell. When she landed, her skin split, and…

Not blood, Surreal realized as she stared with numb, sick fascination. Cooking juices oozed out from those splits in the skin.

The Sadist hadn’t just burned them, he had cooked them—and they were still alive. Not even demon-dead, alive.

“Lucivar,” Marian whispered hoarsely as she tried to crawl toward her husband. “Lucivar.”