He had given Lady Fharra the courtesy of informing her that the school would burn at midnight. Instead of using the time to evacuate the students and instructors, she had fled.
That made one decision simple.
He reached for two minds. One he knew well; the other was just learning what it meant to serve someone like the High Lord of Hell. *Prince Chaosti. Prince Raine. Your presence is required.*
News had traveled through Dhemlan about the unnatural sleep that had struck Delora and every member of her coven, as well as the youngsters who had been the coven’s accomplices. No Healer could wake them. A few strong Black Widows had found enough of an answer to run from the bedrooms in terror. And he had remained in Amdarh, conspicuously in sight.
Chaosti strode toward him, the movement easy and confident. Raine came on the run from the direction of the instructors’ rooms.
“At midnight, witchfire will consume the school,” Daemon said. “Raine, inform the boys who are still in residence to pack what they don’t want to lose and be ready to leave. Then pack your own belongings.”
“A few of Lady Zhara’s guards are still here,” Chaosti said. “Not Lord Weston, unfortunately, since the other men are unnerved when approached by the demon-dead. They can rouse the grooms and any other staff who are still here.”
“What about Lady Fharra?” Raine asked.
“She was informed about the fire earlier today,” Daemon replied. “She isn’t here.”
Raine stared at him. “She knew and said nothing?”
“Don’t concern yourself, Prince,” Daemon crooned. “She’ll pay her debts.”
“My men and I will rouse the girls,” Chaosti said. “Where should we take them? The town house can’t hold all the people who are still here.”
“Take them to Lady Zhara’s court. She’ll have rooms large enough to accommodate them. Prince Raine, you may stay in one of the town house’s guest rooms if you choose.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Daemon met Chaosti’s eyes, then focused on Raine. “Witchfire burns,” he said too softly. “Make sure you’re off the school grounds by midnight.”
He turned and walked away.
During the hours before midnight, he visited the homes of Lady Fharra and all the instructors who were partners at the school—and the death spells the Sadist wove around each of those fools were exquisite.
FORTY-FIVE
Lucivar stared at the mounds of still-smoking gravel and ash that had been a school the day before. The ground looked more like clay fired in a kiln than soil capable of growing anything.
The taste of ash and the heat of witchfire still hung in the air.
So did the taste of merciless, cold rage.
Lord Weston walked toward him, trying to move within his sight without setting so much as the side of a boot on that barren ground.
“He gave everyone time to get out,” Weston said, standing beside Lucivar. “From what I heard, some of the youngsters were pissing and moaning about packing up and leaving—until the witchfire started burning the outbuildings. The grooms didn’t take as much persuading and removed all the horses from the school’s stables. A couple instructors grabbed the last youngsters who were still dragging their feet and tossed them into the street. They were only a few steps beyond the school when the fire flashed from one end of the school grounds to the other, burning as tall as the buildings but contained within the school’s boundaries.”
“Where are they?” Lucivar lifted his chin to indicate the school’s former residents.
“Boys are camped out in Lady Zhara’s ballroom. I think the girls were bedded down in a couple of the reception rooms.”
“You were guarding Zoey?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Lucivar gave the school grounds one last, long look. It wasn’t the first time the city of Amdarh had experienced the Sadist’s temper. Wasn’t the first time his witchfire had burned a building. At least this time . . . “No bodies as warning and lesson.”
“Not here.”
Lucivar looked at the Warlord who was Lady Zoela’s primary escort.
“Lady Fharra and a handful of senior instructors were executed last night.” Weston swallowed hard. “I didn’t see the bodies, but Lady Zhara’s Master of the Guard is a strong man who will stand in a fight to defend his Queen. He saw what was done, and he was . . . frightened.”
Easy enough to guess what Weston felt too nervous to ask. “Sadi isn’t in Amdarh. I’m not sure where he is.” And he wasn’t looking forward to finding out. “Tell Zhara if she needs help, let me know. I’d say my brother was settling the debts that were owed to his family and the people of Dhemlan. I don’t think she needs to worry about him showing up to have a little chat.”
Weston looked relieved. Then he called in a pale rose envelope and held it out. “Zoey asked me to take this, in case I ran into you.”
Lucivar took the envelope, read Titian’s name on the front, and vanished it. “How is Zoey doing?”
“She’s not sleeping, and when she does sleep, she wakes up frightened. She wants to go back to the Hall. She says it’s safer there.”
“That’s where she was attacked.”
“I know, but she says—and I agree—that if she’d been at any other house and the same thing had been done, she wouldn’t have survived. Krellis would have gotten to her and Titian and . . .” Weston stopped. “She says the people who serve Prince Sadi are strong, and even when he can’t be at the Hall, they will still protect the people who live there.”
“Nothing can be done until the coven of malice rises from wherever they are in the abyss,” Lucivar said. He’d stopped at the town house before coming to the school and had heard all about the girls falling into a sleep and somehow escaping the Queens’ demand for execution. “If you need any help with Zoey, Helton will know where to find me.”
“Thank you, Prince.” Weston bowed and walked away.
*Bastard?* Lucivar called on an Ebon-gray spear thread. *Daemon, where are you?*
*Unless you want to dance, stay away from me.*
Even that connection on a psychic thread was enough to wrap around him, making him painfully aroused—and frightened. He had danced with the Sadist before, and he was certain they would dance again. But not today. He didn’t want to die that way.
*Is there anything I can do for you?*
*Do what you can for Surreal. I am not permitted to be at the Hall. Not yet.*
Thank the Darkness for that. *I’ll go there now.*
Sadi withdrew from the link with a gentleness that almost felt like a blow.
Lucivar took a deep breath and blew it out, hoping to clear his head. Then he launched himself skyward and caught the closest Wind—the Red—and headed for SaDiablo Hall.
Jaenelle Saetien watched Delora and Krellis pick up rocks and beat a boy’s face into an unrecognizable mess before they smashed his hands to pulp. And all the while, Delora kept saying, “Going to tattle on us again? Are you? Are you?”
“What happened to the boy?” she asked Rose.
“They didn’t care, so that isn’t part of what was remembered,” Rose replied.
They didn’t care.
She’d watched Krellis rape a girl, with Delora and Hespera urging him on. She watched Dhuran telling some of the other boys from the school that using the girl he’d selected was their initiation into the group.
She passed through rooms where other boys who were part of Delora and Krellis’s pack of males beat and bullied younger boys to prove they were worthy of being . . . what? The predators instead of the prey?