“Mother Night,” Surreal breathed.

“I don’t know what it cost him to play those games.” A pause. “Well, I broke his ribs a couple of times when I beat on him afterward. But playing those games did things to him in here.” Lucivar tapped his chest. “He’s a lot more powerful now than he was then, and so is the Sadist. If you truly believe that’s who is coming to your bed, I need to know. If he’s acting oddly toward you, I need to know. If you’re thinking of leaving him, I need to know. You help him stay connected to the living, Surreal. But if something happens and he goes cold and the Sadist starts sliding into the Twisted Kingdom, I need to know because I’ll have to choose to join him in the destruction or stand against him.”

“You couldn’t stand against him,” she said wearily. “He would kill you.”

“Yes, he would.”

She stared at him. He said the words so simply, with such acceptance.

“Despite the past, or maybe because of it, I love him and I enjoy spending time with him. But I also keep an eye on him for the same reason that Andulvar kept an eye on Saetan, especially after what happened with Zuulaman. Men that powerful have to be protected in some ways, have to know there is a hand that will reach for them if they flounder, have to know someone will say ‘stop’ before they’re out of reach and can’t be stopped. That was true for Andulvar and Saetan. It’s true for me and Daemon. More so for us, because Daemon is a lot more dangerous than Saetan ever thought to be.”

Surreal pushed her hair away from her face. “What do you want me to do?”

“What do you want to do?” he countered.

“I don’t want to leave him.” And she didn’t want to leave Jaenelle Saetien alone with Daemon without a buffer. Not permanently. No one needed to tell her that if she walked away, the High Lord’s daughter wouldn’t be coming with her. “I’ll talk to him, explain why I can’t handle being around the Black every night.”

Lucivar looked past her and frowned. “Come on. We have other things to deal with.” He dropped the shields and hurried out of the study.

She hurried after him, not sure what he’d heard that made their discussion end so abruptly.

“Marian?” She looked at Marian’s pale face and the way one hand clung to Lucivar’s arm as soon as he reached his wife.

Marian sighed, a shuddering sound. “Surreal. Jillian asked if you could meet her at her home. Apparently something happened and she needs to talk.”

“All right.” She looked from Marian to Lucivar. “Something else?”

Marian’s hand tightened on Lucivar’s arm. “Rothvar needs Lucivar down in the village. There was some trouble. Daemonar . . .”

“I’ll take care of it,” Lucivar said. “You look after yourself and the baby. Let Morghann keep watch on the girls.”

Marian nodded.

The tender way Lucivar pressed his lips to Marian’s forehead made Surreal’s heart ache.

She followed Lucivar out the front door of the eyrie.

He looked toward the far end of the valley. “You’d better go if you’re going. That’s a wicked bitch of a storm heading this way, and everyone with any sense is going to go to ground until it passes.”

“After I talk to Jillian, I’ll talk to Daemon,” she said.

He watched the sky. “Well, that might be difficult, witchling. I don’t feel the Black in Ebon Rih anymore, and Daemon isn’t answering my call. Right now I have no idea where he is.”

* * *

* * *

Lucivar flew down to Riada as fast as he could, aiming for the knot of people and the scattered debris in front of one of the shops. He glided toward Zaranar, Hallevar, and Rothvar, who was holding Tagg. Backwinging, he landed lightly on the street just beyond the debris and the crowd, which was divided into such distinct groups he wondered if this was the start of a fight between Eyriens and Rihlanders or an isolated problem. On one side stood the three Eyrien Warlords. On the other side stood a dozen guards who served the Queen of Riada, including her Master of the Guard, who looked furious.

Between the two groups of warriors were five young men and the man who owned the shop. Four of the young Warlords were bloody—black eyes, split lips, a couple with broken noses. And two of them were cupping their balls and groaning, their clothes spattered with vomit. The fifth young Warlord looked rumpled, but Lucivar saw no sign that he’d been in the fight. A couple of men carried a sixth youth out of the shop on a stretcher.

“Need to get this one to the Healer,” they said. “He was thrown through the shopwindow, and the defensive shields he had around himself didn’t hold. His back and legs are cut up pretty bad.”

Lucivar nodded, giving unspoken permission.

٭When we arrived to break up the fight, Daemonar ran off,٭ Rothvar said on a psychic spear thread. ٭Don’t know where he is right now. He’s hurt. Can’t say how badly.٭ He put a hand on the puppy’s head. ٭This one was told to stay out of the fight, but he started barking loud enough to bring us and the Queen’s guard running.٭

“Something has to be done about that brat!” one of the young men shouted as soon as the men carrying the stretcher headed down the street with their injured friend. “Who does he think he is?”

“He thinks he’s the son of the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih,” the Riada Master of the Guard replied. He waved a hand, drawing everyone’s attention to where Lucivar stood. “So why don’t you tell his father why all of you got into a fight with one boy?”

Two of the Warlords who had been in the fight and the one who had stayed out of it looked at Lucivar and turned sickly pale, confirming that they lived in Ebon Rih, even if they didn’t live in Riada. The other two were stupid enough to look defiant.

“The brat started the fight,” one of the fools said. “We were just having a little fun.”

Lucivar smiled a lazy, arrogant smile. “And what was said that provoked that first punch?”

“We didn’t say anything,” the second fool said.

٭Bitch,٭ Tagg said, squirming in Rothvar’s arms. ٭Whore. Suck cock.٭

Lucivar watched as fury filled Rothvar’s eyes. Zaranar’s and Hallevar’s too. What surprised him was feeling the same level of fury pumping out of Riada’s Master of the Guard.

“What do you want done with these curs, Prince?” the Master asked.

Thunder rumbled. Lightning flashed. The storm would reach the village in minutes.

Lucivar looked at the shopkeeper. “You figure out the cost of repairing or replacing everything that was damaged in this fight, then double it. Give the figure to the Master of the Guard and Lord Rothvar. Everyone who was involved in the fight—and that includes my boy—will each pay a share of the cost.” He looked at the Master. “Get them cleaned up and have the Queen’s Healer deal with whatever needs healing. Then hold them until I find out if the debt’s been sufficiently paid or if they’re going to forfeit their tongues.”