Daemon returned a couple of minutes later, placed the cleaned mug in front of Jared, sank into his chair, and grinned wickedly.

Jared fixed another mug of coffee. “This is fine.”

“I’m so pleased.”

Jared almost gave in to the urge to give Daemon one hard kick. “They’re rather opposing professions,” he said, his thoughts circling back to the woman who, it was said, had exotic looks and enough bedroom skills to melt a man’s bones.

“Not really.” Daemon sat up, gave Jared a sharp look, and then drank his coffee. “Especially when one profession is part of the tools used for the other.”

Jared choked.

“Did I just ruin a long-held fantasy?” Daemon asked innocently.

“Of course not.”

“She doesn’t killevery male she beds.”

“Wouldn’t matter if she did.”

“Your Thera would like her.”

Mother Night, banish the thought. “She’s not my Thera.”

“Blaed’s Thera, then.”

“Haven’t you got the possessive turned around? Shouldn’t you say Thera’s Blaed?” He thought about that for a second, then set his mug down with a thump.

“Thera’s blade.” Looking too much like a cat that has one paw firmly on the mouse’s tail, Daemon poured more coffee. “Which is something you shouldn’t forget, Warlord.”

The dinner that had tasted good a few minutes ago swam greasily in Jared’s stomach. “You think—”

Daemon made an exasperated sound. “If I didn’t know you’re too tired to think straight, I’d knock some sense into you. Listen, and listen well. Blaed’s a good man and a good Warlord Prince. In a few years, when he matures, he’ll be an even better one—and a dangerous one. From what you’ve said, Thera’s a strong-willed young woman who’s been on a battleground for far too long. A Green-Jeweled Black Widow with that kind of fire in her isn’t the kind of witch Dorothea would allow to stay whole no matter what sort of games were being played. Because that kind of witch is a serious rival.”

Jared sipped his coffee. “Thayne?”

“Why? Because he protected some innocent, terrified animals that were caught in a battle? Because, no matter how he feels about them, he might have realized how much harder the rest of the journey would be without them, especially if any of you were injured?”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way.” And now, remembering Thayne’s burned face, he wished hehad thought of it. He rubbed his eyes, fighting to stay awake. “Who, then?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Daemon said gently. “You’re too deep into the game, Jared. Your presence—and Blaed’s and Thera’s—combined with Lia’s wonderfully erratic actions, tangled up what was probably supposed to be a quick kill. Besides, how can a bargain to kill the Gray Lady be fulfilled if she isn’t there?”

“We still need to know who the enemy is,” Jared insisted.

“You do,” Daemon countered. “Dorothea SaDiablo— and her Master of the Guard. The rest doesn’t matter anymore.” He stood up and stretched the muscles in his back. “You can stay here tomorrow. The owner and I have an understanding.”

Jared shook his head. “If anyone puts together the Shalador Warlord who was in that fight and the one staying here . . .”

“No one will put it together. No one will remember seeing a Shalador Warlord walk into the tavern room—at least, no one will remember until he’s been away from this place for a day.”

Even dulled by fatigue, Jared understood. Daemon had cast a spell around this place, a kind of psychic fog that hid one specific memory.

Daemon rolled down his sleeves, fastened the ruby cuff links, and shrugged into his black jacket. “‘I have to return to the court. I’ll be leaving before dawn. Stay in the room. Get some rest. The owner or his wife will make sure you have everything you need. I’ve left a change of clothes for you. We’re about the same size, so they should fit well enough. Something will be found for Lia tomorrow.”

“‘Thank you. For everything.”

Daemon slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. “Get some sleep. In the bed. A warm body next to her will be more comforting—for both of you—than a pile of blankets.”

“If she snarls about it, I’ll blame you.” If she was still alive to snarl.

Daemon smiled gently. “Fair enough.” As he opened the door, he looked back at Jared. “By the way, you wear the Silver.”

Jared wasn’t sure how long he stared at the closed door. By the time he got his legs to move and got the door open, the hallway was empty. No point searching. He could spend the rest of the night turning this place inside out with Daemon, fully shielded, standing nearby the whole time, and he’d never know.

After Red-locking the door. Jared pulled off the dressing robe and slipped cautiously into the bed. He felt Lia shivering despite the warming spells on the blankets. He settled beside her, tucked the covers around them, and slid his arm around her waist. Slowly her chilled skin warmed. She made a sleepy, contented sound.

Jared dimmed the candle-lights in the room. But sleep didn’t come for a while.

Maybe being able to sense the Invisible Ring depended on whether a man wore a Jewel lighter or darker than the Gray since Grizelle had probably created it. He still couldn’t sense it, but Daemon had been able to tell which kind he wore. And Daemon wouldn’t lie to him. Not about something like that.

He wore the Invisible Ring. He wore the Silver.

Whatever that meant.

Chapter Eighteen

Krelis stared at the male organs neatly arranged on a thick pad of blood-soaked cloth. There were wounds on all of them, which meant the agony had begun long before the barber had used the knife.

His vision grayed. He swallowed hard against the sickness clogging his throat.

Gliding behind him, Dorothea brushed the back of his neck with the tip of a large, white feather, and purred, “Recognize anyone?”

Krelis squeezed his eyes shut. Sweet Darkness, he hoped thosethings had belonged to landens or slaves. Something expendable. Something that required no thoughts, no feelings.

“I want you to choose five guards, men you value,” Dorothea said. “I understand one of your cousins recently became one of my guards.”

Krelis took a few steps away from the table. “Yes, Priestess. A distant cousin from the distaff side of the family.”

“He’ll be one of the five.”

“For a special assignment?” Krelis asked. His cousin was only Sixth Circle. Being noticed so quickly would please the family.

“In a manner of speaking. You’ll also include the young guard you’ve been personally training as well.”

“As you wish, Priestess.” Krelis narrowed his eyes, trying to remember who was immediately available in the First Circle who could balance the two less-experienced men. “What will be required of them?”

“Very little.” Dorothea brushed her chin with the white feather and smiled malevolently. “You’ve been something of a disappointment, Lord Krelis. Difficulties with the Gray Lady were one thing. But having this little bitch elude you ...” She shook her head. ‘’It troubles me. It makes me wonder if your loyalty is as strong as it should be. It makes me wonder if I made an error in my choice of Master of the Guard.“

Krelis felt light-headed. “Priestess . . .”

“So I’ve decided to give you a bit more incentive.” As she moved toward him, Krelis wondered how he’d ever mistaken that predatory walk for something enticing, inviting.

“Do you remember your predecessor, Lord Krelis?” Dorothea purred. “You’re going to bring those five men to me. And every day that little bitch runs free, one of those men will pay for your failure.” Her eyes slid to the blood-soaked cloth. “Since you’re the one selecting them for this, the last four, at least, will understand who’s responsible for their suffering. You may choose whether your cousin or your protégé is the last. I hope you find her before then, Krelis. I truly do.” She waved the feather, tickling his lips. “I expect them here within the hour. Do you understand?”

Krelis wanted to lick his dry lips, but he was terrified his tongue might touch that feather. Since there was no chance of handing over the little bitch-Queen tomorrow, he knew how that feather would soon be used. “I understand, Priestess,” he choked. “I understand.”

How could it have gone so wrong? Krelis wondered a couple of hours later as he leaned back in his chair, a half-full bottle of brandy cradled to his chest. He’d anticipated so much, had taken such care.

How could it have gone so wrong?

With the bounty he’d offered, every marauder band in that part of the Realm was hunting her, and they’dstill found nothing but cold trails and the buttons his pet had left.

And his pet hadn’t even left those lately.

His fault for believing the bastard hadn’t had something vital snipped out of him when the Ring of Obedience had been placed around his cock. The fear of the pain changed most of them. They never again felt the arrogant assurance that honor and Protocol would protect them. Warlord Princes became savage over time. Warlords shriveled up inside.

But his pet hadn’t been a slave that long, only long enough to feel desperate, and bitter enough about the betrayal that had sent him into slavery that the offer of service without a Ring sounded sweet enough to rape honor and justify betrayal. He’d been intelligent enough to realize the quality of his life would rest on Hayll’s whims, and doing such an extensive favor for the High Priestess would almost guarantee that he’d never feel the pain of the lash or the agony of the Ring again.

Almost.

Krelis laughed bitterly. The bastard had believed that by killing the one Queen who had successfully stood against Dorothea over these past decades, he’d earn a promise of safety.