Maybe that explained the wariness under the arrogant confidence.

"Since you don't know your way around yet, I stopped by to escort you and Lady Benedict to the dining room," Aaron said, looking like he was fighting hard not to smile. "But I see you already have an escort."

The dog's ears pricked up. The tail wenttock-tock.

The corridor filled with annoying male undercurrents. Surreal briefly considered giving one of them a hard smack just to break up whatever was going on, but losing her escorts would mean trying to find the dining room on her own.

Fortunately, Wilhelmina Benedict chose that moment to leave her room, which was next to Surreal's. After Aaron explained about being their escort, he offered each woman an arm, and the three of them, with the dog trailing close behind, began the long walk through the Hall.

"The servants must be exhausted by the end of the day," Surreal said as they turned into another corridor.

"Not really," Aaron replied. "The staff works on a rotation and are assigned to a wing of the Hall. That way everyone gets to work in the family wing and the wings where the court resides when it's here."

"You mean I'm going to have the same argument withanother maid?" Surreal almost wailed.

Aaron shot her an amused look. "You mean you drew your own bath?"

"I didn't bother to bathe," Surreal snapped. "Sit upwind."

Smart-ass.

He didn't have to say it out loud. His expression was sufficient.

Surreal glanced back at her furry escort. Well, animals should be a safe subject for small talk. "He is allowed inside, isn't he?"

"Oh, yes," Aaron said. "Although, I was surprised to see him. The pack tends to stay in the north woods when there are strangers here."

"The pack? What kind of dog is he?"

"He's not a dog. He's a wolf. And he's kindred."

Wilhelmina jumped and gave the wolf a frightened look. "But... aren't wolves wild animals?"

"He's also a Warlord," Aaron said, ignoring Wilhelmina's question.

Surreal felt a little queasy. She'd heard about the kindred, who supposedly had some kind of small animal magic. But calling him a Warlord... "You mean he's Blood?"

"Of course."

"Why is he in the Hall?"

"Well, offhand, I'd say he was looking for a friend."

Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful,Surreal thought. What didthat mean? "I guess he's not really wild then. If he's in the house, he must be tame."

Aaron gave her a feral smile. "If by 'tame' you mean he doesn't pee on the carpets, then he's tame. But then, by that standard, so am I."

Surreal clamped her teeth together. Screw small talk. In this place, it turned into verbal quicksand.

She echoed Wilhelmina's sigh of relief when they reached a stairway. Hopefully the dining room wasn't too far away and she could put some distance between herself and her escort. Escorts. Whatever.

Shit.

Maybe Khardeen would be in the dining room. He was a Warlord, which made him an equal caste, and her Gray Jewels outranked his Sapphire, which gave her an advantage. Right now, she wanted an advantage because she had the strong impression that, of her two escorts, the one with the more impressive set of teeth was really the less dangerous one.

Surreal stared at the closed wooden door and wished she'd done this before eating. The thick beef and vegetable stew had been delicious, as had been the bread, cheese, and slightly tart apples, and she'd consumed them with enthusiasm. Now, her tightened stomach was packing that food into a hard ball.

Snarling quietly, she raised her fist to knock on the door. Hell's fire, this was just a required meeting with the Steward of the court... who now had the authority to control her life . . who was also the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan... who was also the High Lord of Hell... whose name was Saetan Daemon SaDiablo.

"Rrrf?"

Surreal looked over her shoulder. The wolf cocked his head.

"I think you'd better stay out here," she said, giving the door one hard rap. When a deep voice said, "Come," she slipped inside the room, closing the door before the wolf could follow her.

The room was a reversed L. The long side contained a comfortable sitting area with tables, chairs, and a black leather couch. The walls held a variety of pictures, ranging from dramatic oil paintings to whimsical charcoal sketches. Intrigued by those choices, she turned toward the alcove.

Dark-red velvet covered the side walls. The back wall contained floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A blackwood desk filled the center of the space. Two candle-lights lit its surface and the man sitting behind it.

At first glance, she thought Daemon was playing some kind of trick on her. Then she looked closer.

His face was similar to Daemon's, but handsome rather than beautiful. He was definitely older, and his thick black hair was heavily silvered at the temples. He wore half-moon glasses, which made him look like a benevolent clerk. But the elegant hands had long, black-tinted nails like Daemon's. On his left hand, he wore a Steward's ring. On his right, a Black-Jeweled ring.

"Why don't you sit down," he said as he continued making notes on the paper in front of him. "This will take a minute."

Surreal sidled over to the chair in front of the desk and gingerly sat down. His voice had the same deep timbre as Daemon's, had the same ability to reach a woman's bones and make her itchy. At least the sensual heat that poured out of Daemon even when he kept it tightly leashed was muted in the High Lord. Maybe that was just age.

Then he tucked the pen in its holder, laid the glasses on the desk, leaned back in his chair, and steepled his fingers, resting them against his chin.

Her breath clogged in her throat. She'd seen Daemon sit exactly that way whenever a conversation was "formal."

Hell's fire, whatwas the connection between Sadi and the High Lord?

"So," he said quietly. "You're Surreal. Titian's daughter."

A shiver went through her. "You knew my mother?"

He smiled dryly. "I still do. And since I am kin to her kin, she considers me a tolerable friend, despite my being male."

The words that had been rankling inside her all through the journey here burst out. "My mother isnot a Harpy."

Saetan gave her a considering look. "A Harpy is a witch who died violently by a male's hand. I'd say that describes Titian, wouldn't you? Besides," he added, "being the Harpy Queen is hardly an insult."

"Oh." Surreal hooked her hair behind her ears. He made it sound so matter-of-fact, and there was no mistaking the respect in his voice.

"Would you like to see her?" Saetan asked.

"But ... if she's demon-dead..."

"A meeting could be arranged here at the Hall. I could ask her if she would be willing."

"Since you're the High Lord, I'm surprised you wouldn't just order her to come," Surreal said a bit tartly.

Saetan chuckled. "Darling, I may be the High Lord, but I'm also male. I'm not about to give an order to a Black Widow Queen without a very good reason."

Surreal narrowed her eyes. "I can't picture you as submissive."

"I'm not submissive, but I do serve. You would be wise not to confuse those two things when dealing with the males in this court."

Oh, wonderful.

"Especially since you've formally declared yourself part of this family," Saetan added.

Mother Night. "Look," Surreal said, leaning forward. "I didn't know anyone was using that name here."And I certainly didn't expect to meet them.

"All things considered, you have as much right to that name as Kartane SaDiablo," he said cryptically. "And since youdid list it, you're stuck with the results."

"Which are?" Surreal asked suspiciously.

Saetan smiled. "The short version is, as the patriarch of this family, I am now responsible for you and you are answerable to me."

"When the sun shines in Hell," Surreal shot back.

"Be careful what conditions you set, little witch," he said softly. "Jaenelle has an uncanny—and sometimes disturbing—way of meeting someone's terms."

Surreal swallowed hard. "She really is in Kaeleer?"

Saetan held up the mark of safe passage that had been sitting on his desk. "Isn't that why you came?"

She nodded. "I wanted to find out what happened to her."

"Why don't you save those questions for Jaenelle. She'll be home in a few days."

"She liveshere?"

"This isn't her only home, but, yes, she lives here."

"Does Daemon know?" she asked. "He wasn't at dinner."

"He knows," Saetan said gently. "He's feeling a bit unsettled."

"That's an understatement," she muttered. Then she thought of something else, something that had nagged at her curiosity for thirteen years. If there was anyone in the Realms who would know the answer, she figured it was the High Lord. "Have you ever heard of the High Priest of the Hourglass?"

His smile had a sharp edge. "Iam the High Priest."

"Oh, shit."

His laughter was warm and full-bodied. "You're willing to snarl at me as the High Lord, the Steward, and the family patriarch, but knowing I'm the Priest knocks your feet out from under you?"

Surreal glared at him. Put that way, itdid sound silly. But it was disconcerting to find out that the dangerous male she'd caught a whiff of that night at Cassandra's Altar was the same amused man sitting on the other side of the desk. "Then you can tell Daemon what happened that night. You can tell him what he doesn't remember."

Saetan shook his head. "No, I can't. I can confirm what happened while we were linked, and I can tell him what happened after. But there's only one person who can tell him what took place in the abyss."