“I’ll kiss her once, because I need to. And I’ll hold her while she sleeps. But I won’t have sex with her. Even if I’m ready to burst and she says she’s willing, I won’t have sex with her when I can smell her fear.”

Lucivar took a breath and blew it out. Not an easy thing to talk about, even with a brother he loved.

Not something he’d ever admitted to anyone before.

“Want some advice?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Some night soon, when nothing is riding you, when you’re feeling easy, invite Jaenelle to your bed. To the bed that’s yours, not hers.”

“To prove that the Sadist won’t always be there?”

“Oh, no. No, Daemon, the Sadist will rise in a heartbeat to defend your most private bit of territory. But I don’t think he’ll hurt Jaenelle. He’ll play games. That’s what he does. But he won’t hurt her.”

He felt a change inside Daemon, pieces that would never be completely whole settling back into place.

“I’ll take the yarbarah to Dena Nehele,” he said. “I’d like to get a look around, and this is a good excuse. And I’d like to get a look at this demon-dead Warlord Prince.”

“Which means you won’t be back until later tonight.”

“I’ll let you know when I get back to the Keep.”

“All right. Anything I can do here?”

Lucivar gave Daemon a lazy, arrogant smile. “You feeling brave?”

Daemon groaned.

“It’s market day. I was going to entertain the little beast for a couple of hours so Marian could go down to Riada alone.”

Daemon groaned louder, but this groan sounded less sincere.

“Fine. All right,” Daemon said. “For Marian.”

“Of course.”

Daemon laughed, and the sound had Lucivar breathing easy again.

“Will you be all right going to Terreille?” Daemon asked.

“I’ll be fine.”

Daemon hesitated. “You’ll shield?”

Lucivar vanished the two boxes of yarbarah. “Of course. I have to set a good example.” Slipping the hunting knife out of its sheath, he studied the blade for a moment before deciding it was a sufficient weapon to wear openly. “Is Surreal still pissed off at me for chewing on her because she didn’t shield before she went into that spooky house?”

“She doesn’t automatically swear anymore when she hears your name, so I think she’s getting over it.”

Lucivar grinned. “In that case, it’s time to get some other woman riled up.”

TERREILLE

She had to move. Had to work. Move. Work. Keep moving.

Whenever she stopped for a moment, her hands throbbed in time with her heart, and she knew that wasn’t good. But the words were there, waiting to cut, jab, tear. The pain in her back, arms, shoulders, and hands kept the words at bay. Formed a wall that the other hurt couldn’t breach.