Telling himself to be satisfied with that—for now—Daemon walked over to the Coach and went in. The driver was warming some milk and talking softly to Haeze, who huddled in one corner of a short bench. The man tipped his head toward the driver’s compartment and made a face Daemon took to mean, There’s trouble in there.

More than trouble, he decided when he opened the compartment door and Surreal swiveled her chair to face him.

“Jaenelle wants to leave as soon as you’re ready,” she said. “She has Beron in the bedroom at the back of the Coach.”

He stayed in the door, assessing her temper. “Tell me.” Bad place for a fight, he thought, especially with Jaenelle doing a healing.

“There is some damage to Beron’s vision and hearing.” Surreal’s voice was low and savage. “That Healer wasn’t just destroying his ability to speak. She was destroying his ability to see and hear.”

Because she was so close to snapping, he kept his voice quiet and calm—and kept his own temper viciously leashed. “Could the loss of vision and hearing be conditions that had developed prior to—”

She shot out of the chair and stood in front of him. “There was nothing wrong with him before that bitch put her filthy hands on him. And I’m telling you now, Sadi, one way or another, she is not going to be among the living much longer.”

“We have other things to deal with first.”

He waited to see if she had any control left and was relieved when she nodded and blew out a breath.

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, we do.” She returned to her seat.

Daemon took off his winter coat and vanished it before closing the compartment door and taking the other seat.

They didn’t speak again until he lifted the Coach and used Craft to glide it through the air. Once they reached one of the village’s landing webs, he caught the Black Winds and headed for Halaway.

“Did you find any sign of Sylvia?” Surreal asked.

“Yes.”

She stared at him, then looked away. “Shit.”

“We take care of Beron, find out what Haeze knows about what happened and why, and figure out where Tildee took Mikal,” Daemon said.

“And Sylvia?”

He sighed. “I think the High Lord is more likely to find her before we do.”

TWO

Saetan lit the black candles on the Keep’s Dark Altar and opened the Gate between Hell and Kaeleer.

Sometimes it was damn hard not to interfere with the living, especially when children were involved.

Especially when some of them lately were arriving so mentally and emotionally damaged they couldn’t be allowed to stay on the cildru dyathe’s island, let alone be with the children now residing at the Hall in the Dark Realm. He’d given mercy to the ones who were too damaged, draining their remaining power to finish the kill, giving them what peace he could in the process.

It wasn’t his place to interfere or step in. He had held that line for thousands of years—at least most of the time. But that last mutilated child had come from Dhemlan, and he didn’t consider it interfering to inform the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan about that boy—not when the Prince was his own son.

*Saetan?*

A whisper of thought on a psychic thread, barely strong enough to reach him. But no matter how weak, he knew that voice, had loved that woman. *Sylvia? Where are you?*

*Landing web. Keep. Not sure which one.*

He left the Dark Altar and moved swiftly, straining the muscles in his bad leg as he moved through the corridors in the Keep.

*Draca,* Saetan called. *Sylvia is here. Something is wrong. We need to find her quickly.*

*I will inform Geoffrey,* Draca said. *We will look.*

It wouldn’t be just the Keep’s Seneschal and historian/librarian who would look. What guarded the Keep would be aware of Sylvia and would inform Draca. Meanwhile, he headed for the landing web most often used by people who didn’t live in Ebon Rih.

*Saetan?* Sylvia called again, her voice fading.

He found her sprawled on the landing web, trying to push herself to an upright position and too weak to do it.

He rushed over to her and dropped to his knees, lifting her enough to hold her against him. “Sylvia, what . . . ?”

Demon-dead. He knew the scent, knew the feel. How could he not know after ruling Hell for so many years? She was demon-dead and fading. Both of her Jewels, the Purple Dusk and her Birthright Summer-sky, hung around her neck and she wore both her rings. Only a drop or two of power left in each of them.

“Saetan.” Her voice was barely audible, but she still found enough strength to grab a fistful of his jacket. “I know how you feel about interfering with the living, but I’m begging you. Help me save my boys.”

He didn’t ask questions. He simply called in a small vial, flipped off the top, and closed his hand around it to give the contents a moment’s warmth. Then he pressed the vial against her lips and said, “Drink.”

She swallowed once, then tried to get away from him. He held her tight, and held the vial away from her to prevent her from knocking it out of his hand.

“Hell’s fire,” she gasped. “What is that?”

“A vial of Jaenelle’s undiluted blood,” he replied dryly. “If you think it’s bad now, you should have tried it when she wore Ebony. A couple drops of that used to feel like you swallowed lightning.”

“You’re a mean bastard.”

“And you want my help, so stop being a whiny girl. Just hold your nose and take your medicine.”

“I am not whining, you—”

He poured the rest of the blood down her throat. Since he and Geoffrey usually split one of those vials, he knew exactly what he’d done to the woman he loved—which was why he let her swear at him until she wound down enough to sound sane again.

He vanished the vial. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Then we can . . .”

That was when he realized what was wrong with her legs.

Using Craft to take part of her weight, he picked her up and headed for a guest room located near his own suite of rooms.

*Lucivar!* he called on a spear thread.

*Father?*

Jolting Lucivar awake would hone the sharp edge of an always-sharp temper, but he’d deal with that when he had to. *I need your Healer at the Keep. It’s urgent.*

*We’ll be there.* Lucivar broke the link.

Draca waited for him at the doorway of the guest room. When she saw Sylvia, she looked into the room. A marble slab appeared, heavily padded and floating on air.

*It iss more practical,* Draca said.

Nodding, he went into the room and laid Sylvia on the padding.

“All right,” he said, winding a soothing spell through his voice. “Let’s take a look at you.”

“No,” Sylvia said.

He ignored her, pulled aside the torn coat and shirt, and stared at the knife wound that had killed her. He vanished the coat and shirt, then hesitated over the brassiere. It shouldn’t matter now, but it would, so he didn’t remove it. Instead, he called in a blanket and wrapped it around her so she wouldn’t feel embarrassed when Lucivar thundered into the room.

Which Lucivar did a minute later, followed by Nurian.

“Mother Night,” Nurian said as she rushed over to the slab. She reached out, her hands hovering over Sylvia’s ruined legs. “What happened?”

Saetan put his arms around Sylvia, pressing her face against his shoulder. “You need to make a clean amputation, then force the healing to create a closed stump.”

“But she’s . . .” Nurian swallowed hard, but she met Saetan’s eyes. “I don’t think it can be done when the flesh is no longer living.”

“When it’s done within a few hours of dying, the body still remembers what it feels like to be alive and will respond.”

Nurian looked at Sylvia’s Jewels and shook her head. “It would drain her beyond surviving.”

“She’s just had fresh blood. That will sustain her and provide you with what you need to draw for the healing,” Saetan said.

“Whose blood did you give her?” Lucivar asked.

“Jaenelle’s.”

“Half a vial?”

“A whole vial.”

Lucivar looked at Nurian. “Do it.You’ve got more than enough power to work with, so tap everything you need because you only get one chance at this kind of healing. If more blood is needed, I’ll supply it.”

Holding Sylvia close, covering her face with one hand, Saetan watched Lucivar call in a small knife and efficiently cut away the trousers while Nurian began making the cleansing brews she would need.

Lucivar studied the jagged bones and torn flesh, saying nothing, but Saetan had the impression those bones told his Eyrien son a great deal.

There wouldn’t be pain, because the numbing spells would take care of that. Some discomfort, yes, because flesh so newly dead still remembered, and the potency of the blood he could provide for her would keep her close to the line that separated the dead from the living. At least for a little while.

When Nurian was ready, Lucivar shifted Sylvia’s hips, straightening the legs. He pressed his hands on her thighs, holding her in place.

She cried, and it ripped at Saetan’s heart. Lucivar’s body blocked most of her line of sight, but Saetan still covered her eyes so she wouldn’t get even a glimpse of Nurian’s work. And while he held her, he sent out a call to his other son.

*Daemon. Daemon!*

No answer.

*Jaenelle!*

No answer.

*Surreal!*

No answer. Which meant they weren’t at SaDiablo Hall or in Halaway. Or anywhere in that part of Kaeleer, for that matter. Of course, if they were riding the Winds, they couldn’t hear him.

Swallowing a snarl of impatience, Saetan continued to wrap soothing spells around Sylvia until he felt her go limp. Laying her down, he smoothed the hair away from her face.

Lucivar gave him a sharp look.

“I did that,” Saetan said. “Her mind needs to rest. Lady Nurian, can you do without us for a few minutes?”

“I’ll be fine,” Nurian said.

He and Lucivar stepped out of the room and moved a few paces down the corridor.

“A blast of power hit her knees, blowing them out and taking the lower part of her legs with them,” Lucivar said, keeping his voice low. “If she was shielded, whoever did this wore an Opal, a Green Jewel at the most.”

“How can you tell?”

Lucivar gave him an odd look. “Because I know how her legs would look if I had hit her with my Red strength.”

Of course. “Her boys are in trouble.”

Lucivar nodded. “There must have been a fight somewhere. Did she bleed out from the legs?”

Saetan shook his head. “She probably would have bled out if none of her guards survived to help her, but a knife between the ribs is what killed her.”

“What did Daemon say?”

“He’s not answering.”

“All right. You look after Nurian, and I’ll go to the Hall and find out what’s happening.” Lucivar hesitated. “Do you think her boys are going to become cildru dyathe?”

“I hope not, but I do need to talk to Daemon about some children who have become cildru dyathe in the past few weeks.”

“I’ll let him know.”

Saetan watched Lucivar walk away. His sons were strong leaders and powerful men. He would trust them to take care of the living while he took care of the dead.