In one hand, she held his little finger. In the other, she held the knife. "You're going to pay for that," she said in a slurred voice.

"No," Dorothea said, stepping forward. "You said yourself that we have to keep the damage to a minimum until Jaenelle is contained."

Hekatah turned toward Dorothea. Saetan felt sure the sick revulsion on Dorothea's face would drive Hekatah past any ability to think rationally.

"Until Jaenelle is contained," Hekatah said with effort. "But... that doesn't mean ... he can't pay." Turning toward him, she raised her hand.

For the second time, the agony from the Ring of Obedience ripped through him. That was devastating enough. Hearing Lucivar's pain-filled, but still enraged, war cry as Hekatah also punished the son for the deeds of the father produced an agony in him that cut far deeper.

21 / Kaeleer

Daemon wished Surreal hadn't been around when Geoffrey brought the small, ornately carved box that had been delivered to the Keep in Terreille. Hehad suggested that, since the verbal message had said it was a "gift" for Jaenelle, Surreal’s presence wasn't required. She had countered by saying she was family and had just as much right to know what was going on as he or Jaenelle did. Which, unfortunately, was true.

"Do you want me to open it?" he asked Jaenelle when she had just stood there staring at the box for several minutes.

"No," she said too calmly. Using Craft, she flipped the lid off the box.

The three of them stared at the little finger nestled in a bed of silk—a little finger with a long, black-tinted nail.

"Well, sugar, I'd say that message is to the point," Surreal said as she stared at Jaenelle. "How many more pieces do you need to get backbefore you do something? We're running out of time!"

"Yes," Jaenelle said. "It's time."

She's in shock,Daemon thought. Then he looked at her eyes—and couldn't suppress the shudder. They were sapphire ice. But behind the ice was a Queen who had been pushed far beyond even the cold rage males were capable of unleashing. Because he was looking for it, because he could descend far enough into the abyss to feel it, he sensed that Hekatah's little gift had fully awakened the feral side, thedeadly side of Witch. She was no longer a young woman who had received her father's finger as a demand for her surrender; she was a predator studying the bait laid out by an enemy.

Dorothea and Hekatah had seen the young woman. They had no idea who they werereally dealing with.

"Come with me," Jaenelle said, lightly touching his arm before she walked out of the room.

Even through his shirt and jacket, her hand felt so cold it burned.

Careful to keep his eyes and expression bland, he looked at Surreal—and felt a little dismayed by the fury that looked back at him. That was when he realized that, despite being chilled to the bone, the room was still warm.

Jaenelle had given no outward warning of the rage just underneath the surface, no indication of power being gathered for a strike. Nothing.

He glanced at the finger again, felt his stomach clench. Then he walked out of the room.

Damn them both, Surreal thought as she stared at the finger in the box. Oh, there had been a little flicker of dismay in Sadi's face when he first saw it, but that had disappeared quickly enough. And from Jaenelle? Nothing. Hell's fire! She had shown more temper and concern when Aaron had been cornered by Vania! At least then there had been that freezing, terrifying rage. But the woman getsa piece of her father sent to her and... nothing. Not a damn thing. No reaction at all.

Well, fine. If that's the way those two wanted to play the game, that was just fine.She wore a Gray Jewel andshe was a skilled assassin. There was no reason she couldn't slip into Terreille and get Lucivar and the High Lord—and Marian and Daemonar—away from those two bitches.

Surreal bit her lower lip. Well, gettingall of them out in one piecemight be a problem.

All right, so she'd think about it a little, work up some kind of plan. At leastshe was going to do something!

And maybe, while she was thinking, she would mention this little incident to Karla to see if the Black Widow still thought there was more going on thannothing.

By the time Daemon reached her workroom, the ice in Jaenelle's eyes had shattered into razor-edged shards, and he saw something in them that terrified him: cold, undiluted hatred.

"What do you expect will happen now?" Jaenelle asked too calmly.

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 mid-morning 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 themall 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 herseventy-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.

But...Everything has a price. If he was going to lose the companionship of almost everyone he had ever cared about, the reward would have to justify the cost.

"I can do this," he crooned, slowly circling around her. "I can keep Dorothea and Hekatah off-balance enough to keep the others safe and also prevent thoseLadies from giving the orders to send the Terreillean armies into Kaeleer. I can buy you seventy-two hours, Jaenelle. But it's going to cost me because I'm going to do things I may never be forgiven for, so I want something in return."

He could taste her slight bafflement before she said, "All right."

"I don't want to wear the Consort's ring anymore."

A slash of pain, quickly stifled. "All right."

"I want a wedding ring in its place."

A flash of joy, immediately followed by sorrow. She smiled at him at the same time her eyes filled with tears. "It would be wonderful."

She meant that. So why the sorrow, why the anguish? He would have to deal with that when he got back.

His temper was already getting edgy, dangerous. "I'll take that as a 'yes.' There are things I'll need that I can't create well enough for this game."

"Just tell me what you need, Daemon."

He didn't want to do this. Didn't want to go back to that kind of life, not even for seventy-two hours. He was going to mutilate the life he'd begun to build here, and the coven, the boyos, they would never—

"Do you trust me?" he snapped.

"Yes."

No hesitation, no doubts.

He finally stopped moving and faced her. "Do you know how desperately I love you?"

Her voice shook when she answered, "As much as I love you?"

He held her, held on to her as his lifeline, his anchor. It would be all right. As long as he hadher, it would be all right.

Finally, reluctantly, he eased back. "Come on, we've got a lot of work to do."

"That's the last of it," Jaenelle said several hours later. She carefully packed the box that held all the spelled items she had created for him. "Almost the last of it."

Daemon sipped the coffee he had brewed strong enough to bite. Physically, he was tired. Mentally, he was reeling. As Jaenelle created each of the spells he had asked for, he'd had to learn how to use them—which meant she'd explained the process to him as she created one, then had him practice with it while she created the ones he would take with him. She'd reviewed his efforts, given more instructions on how to hone the effect—and never once asked him what he intended to do, for which he was grateful. Of course, he didn't know exactly whatshe was going to do either. There were some things one Black Widow did not ask another.

Jaenelle held up a vial about the size of her index finger that was filled with dark powder. "This is a stimulant. A strong one. One dose will keep you on your feet for about six hours. You can mix it with any kind of liquid—" She eyed the coffee. "—but if you mix it with something brewed likethat it's going to have more kick."