Silence. Then Daemon said, “Jaenelle Saetien hasn’t mentioned seeing her special friend since the Birthright Ceremony. Does Titian talk to Witch?”

“No. Titian never knew Jaenelle Angelline.”

“Well, the boy always doted on his Auntie J.” Daemon cleared his throat and went back to preparing the omelet while Lucivar cooked the bacon. “Tell me about this trouble with Jillian.”

“Didn’t Surreal tell you?”

Another silence. “She sent a note to the Hall asking that someone escort three Scelties to Ebon Rih, but didn’t say why they were needed.” He hesitated before adding, “She didn’t ask me to bring the Scelties, but Jaenelle Saetien wanted to spend time with her cousins, and I wanted to spend some time with you.” Another hesitation. “Surreal won’t be pleased to see me.”

“Are you telling me I should put you in a separate guest room?” Lucivar asked quietly.

“That’s up to Surreal. I could stay at The Tavern in Riada or at the Keep. That should be sufficient distance.”

Sufficient distance for what?

Quietly descending to the level of his Ebon-gray power, Lucivar picked up a whisper of fragility at the level of the Black along with the jaggedness in Daemon’s psychic scent that had appeared around the same time as the headaches. And something else, something that Daemon was trying fiercely to control.

What in the name of Hell was going on?

Couldn’t meet this battle head-on. He’d let Surreal handle things with Jillian for the most part and find reasons that he and Daemon needed to be away from the eyrie, find distractions until his brother was willing to talk to him.

While they ate breakfast, Lucivar told Daemon about the incident that had set off his temper—and set all the rest of this mess into motion.

“What do you know about Lord Dillon?” Daemon asked as he refilled their coffee mugs.

“Comes from an aristo Rihlander family. He’s visiting family in Riada. That’s all anyone here knows about him.”

“Maybe that’s all anyone is willing to say about him, but I doubt that’s all anyone knows.”

Lucivar shrugged. “I don’t like him, and Surreal thought there was something off about him. But this is first love, so I’m expected to be fair about this.” He bared his teeth in a smile.

“Uh-huh.” Daemon sipped his coffee and studied his brother. “Now that we’ve agreed to respect the mantles of our authority and be adult and fair about this, who is your best source for gathering gossip?”

“I stop at The Tavern for that,” Lucivar said. “Same as I’ve been doing ever since I first arrived in Ebon Rih.”

“That tells you about Riada. Maybe Doun and Agio, too, since the Masters of the Guard for those Queens’ courts know they can drop by and share a few unofficial observations that will be followed up by the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih making an official visit to their village. No, we need someone who knows the gossip about aristo families throughout Askavi.”

Lucivar put his mug down and eyed Daemon. “There is one person who might know. But if you really think I need to ask her, you’re coming with me.”

“Why?”

“Because being demon-dead hasn’t made Lady Perzha any less eccentric.”

* * *

* * *

Surreal tightened the belt on her robe before she unlocked the guest room’s door and stepped back to allow Daemon to enter.

His sexual heat washed over her, making her nipples harden and her body throb with need.

Bastard. Couldn’t he have given her a couple of days of peace while she was helping his brother?

Daemon studied her for a moment, then slipped his hands in his trouser pockets and said in a voice stripped of emotion, “Jaenelle Saetien wanted to visit her cousins. I thought that would provide them with a distraction while you dealt with Jillian. If staying in another guest room here inconveniences you, I can take a room at The Tavern or stay at the Keep.”

And have everyone in Riada whispering behind their hands the way the Blood in Amdarh were doing? Have Lucivar back her into a corner and demand to know what was going on? If she’d thought for one minute that he would understand, that he might be able to rein in the games Sadi was playing to torment her, she would have told him. But it was more likely that Lucivar would side with Sadi. Not only side with him, but think that she was the one in the wrong for not being willing to accommodate her husband’s needs because Daemon had these damn headaches—which didn’t seem to trouble him when they were in bed.

“There’s no reason for you to stay elsewhere or to stay in another room here,” she said.

“Very well,” he replied. “Lucivar and I are heading out. There’s someone who might have information about Lord Dillon, and Lucivar doesn’t want to go by himself.”

He would be gone for a few hours, and she could breathe again. Thank the Darkness.

She locked the door before stripping off her nightclothes and getting dressed. Then she waited until she felt the Black and Ebon-gray leave the eyrie before venturing out to the kitchen to get something to eat.

* * *

* * *

Little Weeble was often described as quaint or original. Those were the kind words that were used, although the tone in which they were said was often less than kind. Not that the citizens of Little Weeble cared what outsiders thought or said about their village. After all, outsiders were outsiders and weren’t required to deal with the citizens except for business ventures—were, in fact, gently encouraged to go away.

As he and Daemon walked from the landing web to Perzha’s sprawling patchwork home, Lucivar noted how many merchants who were just opening their shops froze at the sight of them—and how many stopped working and followed them at a distance calculated not to provoke a challenge.

He had visited Little Weeble once or twice a year for decades and had never seen the people react this way. They had never worried about him showing up. Which meant Daemon was the reason for their barely contained panic and fear.

By the time they reached Perzha’s house, her First Circle was there. Most were old men—still vigorous and mentally sharp, but there was no denying that most of them had grandchildren. But there were younger men who hadn’t been there the last time he visited, men in their twenties who might have been serving their first full contract in a court.

The old men’s eyes were filled with fear. The younger men stared at Lucivar and Daemon with defiance that wasn’t quite a challenge.

“You’ll have to excuse them,” a woman said from behind the wall of men. “They can be overprotective.” An age-spotted hand thumped the shoulder of a young Warlord Prince who was too close to making a lethal mistake. Reluctantly, he lowered his eyes, no longer on the point of challenging two Warlord Princes who would have destroyed him if he started a fight. Even more reluctantly, he stepped to the side to make room for the woman who jingled and jangled into sight.