“Prince Yaslana,” Chaosti said.
Daemonar stood and gave the other Warlord Prince the small bow that indicated respect as well as acknowledged Chaosti’s darker Jewel. He introduced everyone else in the room, including Titian. He’d known the High Lord’s second-in-command his whole life, but he didn’t think his sister had ever met the Dea al Mon Warlord Prince. He was certain Jaenelle Saetien had not, although he knew Aunt Surreal had taken her to visit the Dea al Mon who came from the same clan as Surreal’s mother.
Zoey’s reaction was the most interesting. After the initial shock, he could see her thinking hard about why this particular man was in the room—and what it might mean.
He’d bet a hundred gold marks that she would write a report tonight and send it to Uncle Daemon by special messenger in the morning. He wasn’t willing to bet on how his uncle would reply.
Chaosti tipped his head to the three witches, then focused those large forest-blue eyes on Jaenelle Saetien. “Now, little Sister, tell us about this boy you claim has not only abandoned his honor but has also threatened the well-being of young witches.”
“It’s not true,” Zoey growled. She sat on the edge of her chair, her hands curled into fists.
Chaosti simply looked at her. She met his look for ten heartbeats before she lowered her eyes and yielded.
“Lady SaDiablo?” Chaosti said. “Tell us the names of the girls who have used this boy—and the names of the girls he attempted to violate.”
“I don’t know,” Jaenelle Saetien said hurriedly, “but that’s not important. Everyone knows—”
“The names are everything, little Sister.” Chaosti stared at her. “These are serious accusations. You told two others and would have told more if Prince Yaslana hadn’t insisted that you curb your tongue until we could meet tonight. If you were going to tell others, then you must know the names of the girls who used this boy and the names of the girls he tried to use.”
“I—”
“Jaenelle Saetien, this is an official inquiry being conducted by a Gray-Jeweled Warlord Prince,” Daemonar interrupted. “‘Forceful persuasion’ means attempted rape. This will be reported to the Queen of Amdarh and the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan. If any of what you told Zoey and Titian is true, Nelson will be castrated for the offense, if not executed outright. In telling other people what you heard, you were willing to smear Nelson’s honor and possibly be the voice that was instrumental in his forfeiting his life. You have to know the names, and you have to tell Prince Chaosti now.”
She looked frightened, shocked. Daemonar wanted to smack her for being so obtuse. But Titian looked equally shocked, which reminded him how much the years between them meant in terms of maturity. She might not have repeated the rumors because they were unkind, but she wouldn’t have equated something said at the school being worth an official inquiry.
Only Zoey seemed to have some appreciation of the severity of what was happening in this room tonight.
“I don’t know,” Jaenelle Saetien admitted. “A friend told me about him because she’d heard the rumors and was concerned for Zoey’s safety.”
Zoey snorted. “The coven of malice doesn’t care about anyone but themselves. It was one of them who told you, wasn’t it? I bet they spread the rumor as punishment because Nelson didn’t capitulate to one of them.” She stared at Chaosti. “Do you want their names?”
“We are already aware of the coven of malice,” Chaosti replied.
“Don’t call them that,” Jaenelle Saetien snapped. “It’s mean.”
“It’s accurate, little Sister.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Surreal is kin to me. Therefore, you are kin to me.”
She looked like she’d been kicked by a draft horse.
Zoey, however, stood and raised her chin. “I’ll be sending a report to Prince Sadi about this.”
Weston groaned. Raine made a sound that might have been a whimper. Daemonar sighed.
Chaosti laughed softly. “That is a Queen’s privilege. I, too, will be sharing my observations about this evening with Prince Sadi.” He looked at everyone in the room. “It is my judgment that the rumors and accusations about this boy, Lord Nelson, were falsely made. Therefore, no one in this room will repeat those rumors and accusations or discuss the content of this meeting with anyone except if officially required by the Queen of Amdarh or the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan. Prince Yaslana, what is the penalty for ignoring or defying my judgment?”
“Anyone who repeats the accusations that were made about Lord Nelson or repeats what was said in this room will forfeit his or her tongue,” Daemonar replied.
Zoey flopped back into her chair, clearly not expecting so harsh a penalty.
Chaosti studied her. “Lady Zoela, having stated your intention before I passed judgment, you have my consent to write an official report to Prince Sadi. You must have his consent before you write any other report or discuss this with anyone else.” He looked at Weston. “You may report to the Queen of Amdarh.”
Weston bowed. “If you require nothing else of me, I’ll escort the Ladies back to their rooms.”
“We are done.” Chaosti released the Gray lock on the door and vanished the Gray shield around the room.
When the girls and Weston had left, Daemonar blew out a breath, scrubbed his hands over his face, and muttered, “Mother Night.”
“Under the circumstances, I would recommend a large glass of whiskey—for both of you,” Chaosti said.
“I have a bottle here,” Raine said.
“Then I’ll take my leave.”
“Chaosti . . .” Daemonar wasn’t sure what he wanted to ask. He didn’t need to be sure. Not with a Warlord Prince who had helped train him to fight.
“My knives are very sharp, and I will not falter to extract the price if that is required—no matter who must pay,” Chaosti said.
Daemonar hadn’t expected any other answer, so he’d corner the girls in the morning and make sure they didn’t dismiss what had been said because the sun was shining and things might not sound as serious in the light of day.
Chaosti would not falter in his duty, and he didn’t want any of the girls to learn that lesson the hard way.
Once Chaosti left, Raine poured two large whiskeys and handed one to Daemonar.
“Why did you let me stay?” Raine looked pale.
“I didn’t think you would have witnessed one of these inquiries and judgments before,” Daemonar replied. He took a long swallow of whiskey. “Chaosti is family, too, and he works with my uncle. That’s one reason why his judgment will stand in a Territory that’s not his own.”
“But he’s demon-dead. I picked up that much.”
“He is. When he walked among the living, he was the Warlord Prince of the Dea al Mon, the Children of the Wood. He not only served the Queen of the Dea al Mon, he was also in the Queen of Ebon Askavi’s First Circle.”
“He’s dangerous.”
Daemonar studied his tutor and wondered if he’d shown the man too much. “So are all of the men in my family.”
Jaenelle Saetien sat on Zoey’s bed, her arms wrapped tight around her legs, a soft winter shawl tucked around her. Her aunt Marian’s work—a Winsol gift given to Zoey.
Zoey called in a silver flask, unscrewed the top, and offered it to Jaenelle Saetien. “Weston slipped it to me. I have to give it back in the morning.”
She took a sip, made a face, then handed the flask to Titian, who took a sip and handed it to Zoey.
That first sip of brandy warmed the kernel of ice inside her that had formed when she’d realized that meeting was official, with consequences, and had more to do with who was spreading the rumor than the rumor itself. The second time the flask went round, she gathered the courage to speak.