Dreams Made Flesh

mud on my face?"
    "You'll love it."
    "Whenever the kitties and I played stalk and pounce and we ended up muddy, everyone frowned about it."
    Surreal grunted softly. Only Jaenelle referred to Jaal and Kaelas, a full-grown tiger and an eight-hundred-pound Arcerian cat, as "the kitties"…or voluntarily played games with them to keep their predatory skills honed.
    "So why is this mud different?" Jaenelle grumbled.
    Stretched out on the other table, Surreal turned her head and opened one eye. "It's expensive."
    Whispers rose and fell, an ebb and flow of sound as they went to their various appointments throughout the day. They pretended not to notice the way conversations stopped when they entered a room, pretended not to see the uneasy glances. It wasn't the fun, relaxing experience Surreal had wanted it to be, but it served its purpose. By late afternoon, Jaenelle s hair was trimmed and styled, her nails…all of them…were painted, and they'd found enough clothing in the shops to suffice as a wardrobe for a few weeks.
    Now, waiting for Jaenelle to return from the dressing room, Surreal studied a display of shawls. Two of them had the right colors to blend nicely with Jaenelle's new clothes and provide extra warmth if it was needed.
    Her lips twitched. Well, extra warmth when Daemon wasn't wrapped around his Lady.
    "I heard you were here," a voice said.
    Turning, Surreal studied Zhara, who was staring at her with an expression that was close to dislike but hadn't quite crossed that line. "And you're here, too. Busy place."
    Interesting, Surreal thought as Zhara moved closer. She doesn't want to talk to me, doesn't want to get close to me, but something is pushing her.
    "I've heard some disturbing rumors," Zhara said.
    "Really? Are you going to share them, or are you going to be another bitch whispering behind Her hand?"
    Temper flared in Zhara's eyes. "Remember who you're talking to."
    "You're the Queen of Amdarh. And I'm a witch who wears Gray Jewels. If push comes to shove, sugar, you're a corpse. So you want to tell me in plain words what's bothering you, or do you want to keep dancing around in the shit?"
    "There's a rumor that Daemon Sadi… that he… "
    "What about Daemon?" asked a midnight voice.
    Reading the discomfort and embarrassment in Zhara's eyes before they both turned to face Jaenelle, Surreal suddenly had a good idea of what kind of rumors were going around. Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. There were better ways of committing suicide than starting a rumor like that about a man the Blood in Terreille had called the Sadist.
    Of course, pissing off Witch wasn't a great idea either. Especially when that deadly anger was back in Jaenelle's sapphire eyes.
    "What about Daemon?" Jaenelle asked again, as if Zhara's expression hadn't told her plainly enough the reason for the whispers that had followed them all day.
    "I…I'm sure the rumors aren't true," Zhara said.
    Jaenelle's smile was razored ice. "So am I."
    "Where are you going?" Surreal asked as Jaenelle headed out of the shop.
    "I'm going to talk to Daemon."
    She didn't try to stop Jaenelle, and she didn't offer to go with her. She didn't want to be around either one of them during that discussion.
    "Well, that was fun," she said, looking at Zhara. "You planning to do anything else today to create a firestorm in the city? I was thinking of doing something dull like reading or sleeping, but if you've got your heart set on starting a gut-spilling slaughter, I'm willing to play."
    "What are you talking about?" Zhara snapped.
    You don't know who… and what… he is, Surreal thought. She shook her head. "Never mind." It's too late anyway.
    3
    Daemon prowled the town house's sitting room. He would have preferred walking through the city to being caged in this room, but he couldn't tolerate one more cold look, one more silent condemnation.
    The hurt went deep. The fear went deep. But the rage went much, much deeper.
    Damn them all to the bowels of Hell. He'd tried to fit in. Knowing the Queens in Dhemlan would be wary of a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince, he hadn't worn the Black when he came to Amdarh. At least, not in public. He'd been courteous and civil, had done all the proper things a man was permitted to do when he was in an established relationship… and only the things a man was permitted to do. What had that courtesy and civility gotten him? At the first slur to his reputation, they'd condemned him of thinking more of his