And he had no idea if the High Lord of Hell would allow him to return to Dena Nehele—and the people there who were still among the living.

Ebon ASKAVI

The Black Mountain. Ebon Askavi. Warrens of rooms carved out of the living stone to house a court, a library that was, supposedly, the repository of the Blood’s history—and Witch.

No paneling or plaster on the walls to soften the weight of stone. No illusion to help someone forget that the weight of a mountain rested above a man’s head.

The feeling of age pressed down on Talon as much as the feeling of stone. And even though the sitting room where he had been taken to wait was as finely furnished as any he’d ever seen, he wondered how anyone could stand living in this place.

Then the sitting room door opened.

Talon didn’t need to see the Black Jewels to know that the Warlord Prince who walked into the room was dangerous. Just looking into those gold eyes would tell anyone with any sense that you walked softly in this man’s presence.

Especially if you were demon-dead.

“I’m the High Lord,” the man said, a croon in his deep voice.

A shudder went through Talon at the sound of that voice. Nothing threatening, not in and of itself, but he wondered how many men hadn’t survived a meeting when the High Lord’s voice had held that particular tone.

“I’m Talon.”

“What brings Dena Nehele’s Master of the Guard to the Keep?”

Apparently Prince Sadi was sharing Cassidy’s reports with his father. Why else would the High Lord know who he was?

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

Talon called in the envelope and held it out. “Message from Lady Cassidy.”

Saetan closed the distance between them and took the envelope just as a chime sounded and a tray with a decanter and two ravenglass goblets appeared on a table.

“Would you join me in a glass of yarbarah, Prince Talon?” Saetan asked. “Then we can sit comfortably while you tell me whatever it is you came to say.”

“I’m just delivering Lady Cassidy’s message,” Talon said. “I wear Sapphire and could ride a Wind darker and faster than anyone else in the court could ride.”

“Give me some credit, boyo,” Saetan said dryly. “I’ve been a Steward. I know a Master of the Guard doesn’t deliver messages, no matter how urgent, unless there’s more than one message. Sit down.”

He sat.

“Guess no one gives you much argument,” Talon said, feeling a little stunned that he had obeyed before he’d consciously decided to obey.