She felt as if he’d thrown ice water into her face. “That would be stealing.”

“If they’re as rich as everyone says, they wouldn’t notice if a few gold marks went missing.” When she took a step back, he laughed and touched her hand. “Hell’s fire, Jillian. I was only joking. If you loved me, you’d know I was joking.”

Of course he was joking. He wouldn’t ask her to steal from her sister or from Marian. And since his family was aristo, he would know that things were put on account, not paid for immediately, so housekeeping money wouldn’t be lying around.

Of course he was joking. “I have some money saved. I could take some of that if it would help.”

“That would—”

“Jillian,” Daemonar called. “If you want to stop at the library, it’s time to go before someone comes looking for us.”

A warning, since they both knew who would come looking.

Dillon vanished the marks and gave her a warm smile. “Will you give me the honor of escorting you to the library, Lady Jillian?”

“Thank you, Lord Dillon. That would be pleasant.”

She took the wrapped roast from Daemonar, relieved that the butcher had put a cold spell in the paper to keep the meat fresh. Then she vanished it and strolled to the library with Dillon beside her and Daemonar and the three Scelties trailing behind.

* * *

* * *

Rothvar stepped into Lucivar’s study, then nodded to Daemon before focusing on the man he served. “If you could spare a minute, Prince?”

“I’ll get out of your way.” Daemon started to push out of the chair but settled again when Rothvar raised a hand to stop him.

“Appreciated but not necessary,” Rothvar said. “Figured you would know about it anyway—or hear about it.”

Daemon sighed. “What did they do, and who should I compensate?”

Lucivar said, “Shit.”

Rothvar laughed. “Nah. If you’re talking about those Scelties, they caused a stir, but no trouble came of it. They were just helping some of the grocer’s customers select the best fruit, is all.”

Daemon groaned. “He’ll start thinking, ‘How clever. If I had one of those dogs around all the time, customers would flock to my shop instead of the fellow on the other side of the village, because who else would have such a unique helper?’ But Scelties herd. That’s what they do with unflagging passion. First the Sceltie will help customers select fruits. Then he’ll want to know why they didn’t buy fruit one week, and the person will brush off the question as they might do with another human. And because he’s small and furry, people forget about the Jewel he’s wearing, mostly because it’s hidden in the fur, and they forget that the nose that can pick out ripe fruit also picks up all kinds of interesting things. And if he’s helping that person select fruit and he can tell she’s unhappy, he’ll want to know why. So he’ll start digging into why she’s unhappy, and if he can’t do it by himself, he’ll have some Sceltie friends help him—or some of the kindred horses that come from Scelt, or an Arcerian cat, because, despite their having distanced themselves from humans once more, the cats have maintained a bond with the Scelties. And a Sceltie will not hesitate to publicly scold a man—or woman—for indulging in sex outside of the marriage bed and will not hesitate to announce, loudly, who the person slept with, because, of course, he can smell that too if the other person gets within range. But if the unhappiness is caused by someone else hurting one of his chosen people . . . Like I said, the Scelties and Arcerians still work together, and a big cat who is hungry doesn’t see any point in wasting the meat.”

“Mother Night,” Rothvar breathed. Then he shook his head and laughed. “You’re having me on.”

Lucivar wagged a thumb at Daemon. “He co-owns a few businesses with Scelties on the Isle of Scelt here in Kaeleer and a couple of farms in Dena Nehele and Shalador Nehele in Terreille.”

“Why?” Rothvar sounded horrified—a sentiment Lucivar shared wholeheartedly.

Daemon’s smile was bittersweet. “I continue what my Queen began, and in this way I serve.”

“If you’re not here because of the Scelties, that leaves the two children,” Lucivar said.

He listened to Rothvar’s account of seeing some “buzz” around the grocer’s and gliding in to take a look. Then Jillian walked into an alleyway and disappeared for a minute before the Scelties voiced their disapproval loudly enough to bring merchants and customers running to find out what was wrong.

“Things are still new with Nurian and me,” Rothvar said. “She hasn’t allowed a man to cross the threshold that way since Falonar hurt her and Jillian, so I’m careful around the girl. Not that Jillian is any trouble, but it’s not for me to be drawing any lines, if you know what I mean.”

“I do,” Lucivar replied.

“Nurian said Lady Surreal had laid down some rules so that Jillian could spend time with this boy?”

Lucivar nodded.

Daemon crossed one knee over the other and steepled his fingers. “If you toss Dillon off a mountain or kick him out of Ebon Rih, he’ll be a romantic, tragic, flawless figure—the boy who would have loved her like no other boy ever will, if the grown-ups hadn’t been mean and sent him away. Right now he dazzles her and she believes she’s in love.”

“She’s not a child anymore, but she’s not grown up enough for any of that,” Rothvar said hotly.

“Physically, she’s not yet ready,” Daemon agreed. “Emotionally?” He raised an eyebrow. “Which is why Jillian is accompanied by chaperons.”

“You can’t square off with Jillian,” Lucivar told Rothvar. “That would bring up bad memories for her and for Nurian. If any rules get broken, let the girl argue with Surreal. But you should spend more time at Nurian’s eyrie, in case someone is thinking about enjoying some private time with Jillian. And if that boy shows up at the eyrie when he thinks an adult won’t be there . . .” He smiled that lazy, arrogant smile. “Nothing says you can’t draw the line with him.”

“Where is Jillian now?” Daemon asked.

“Last I saw her, they were all walking toward the library.”

“I hope she remembers she’s carting around the meat for tonight’s dinner,” Lucivar said.

“Finished my sweep around Doun, but I can do another,” Rothvar said.

He shook his head. “No need. Go home. Sharpen some knives.”

Rothvar smiled. “I’ll do that.” He nodded to Daemon. “Prince.”