Heir to the Shadows

of me when he turned savage." He drained his glass and refilled both of them. "I hope you didn't redecorate in here recently. You're going to have to do it again, but it doesn't look like the room's going to fall in on us."
    "The girls didn't like the wallpaper anyway." Ten good reasons to hold his temper. Ten good reasons to unleash it. And always, always, for Blood males like him, the fine line he had to walk to hold on to the balance between two conflicting instincts. "The Harpies executed Greer," he said abruptly. "They have a distinct sensibility when it comes to that sort of thing."
    Lucivar nodded.
    Steady. He would need to be steady for the days ahead. "Lucivar, see if you can persuade Jaenelle to show you Sceval. You should meet Kaetien and the other unicorns."
    Lucivar regarded him steadily. "Why?"
    "I have some business I want to take care of. I'll need to stay at the Keep in Terreille for a few days, and I'd prefer it if Jaenelle wasn't around to ask questions or wonder where I was."
    Lucivar considered this for a minute. "Do you think you can do it?"
    Saetan sighed wearily. "I won't know until I try."
    2 / Terreille
    Saetan carefully secured his Black-Jeweled ring to the center of the large tangled web. It had taken two days of searching through Geoffrey's Hourglass archives to find the answer. It had taken two more to construct the web. He'd given himself two nerve-fraying days more to rest and slowly gather his strength.
    Draca had said nothing when he'd asked for a guest room and workroom at the Terreille Keep, but the workroom had been supplied with a frame large enough to hold the tangled web. Geoffrey had said nothing about the re-
    quested books, but he had added a couple of books Saetan wouldn't have thought of.
    Saetan took a deep breath. It was time.
    Normally a Black Widow needed physical contact to guide someone out of the Twisted Kingdom. But sometimes blood-ties could cross boundaries otherwise impossible to cross, and no one had a stronger tie to Daemon than he did. The tie of father to son; more, the bond of that night at Cassandra's Altar.
    And the Blood shall sing to the Blood.
    Pricking his finger, Saetan placed a drop of blood on the four anchor threads that held the web to its wooden frame. The blood flowed down the top threads, and up the bottom threads. Just as the drops reached his ring, Saetan lightly touched the Black Jewel, smearing it with blood.
    The web glowed. Saetan sang the spell that opened the dreamscape that would lead him to the one he sought.
    A tortured landscape, full of blood and shattered crystal chalices.
    Taking another deep breath, Saetan focused his eyes on the Black-Jeweled ring and began the inward journey into madness.
    *Daemon.*
    He raised his head.
    The words circled, waiting for him. The edges of the tiny island crumbled a little more.
    * Daemon.*
    He knew that voice. You are my instrument.
    *Daemon!*
    He looked up. Flattened himself against the pulpy ground.
    A hand hovered over him, reached for him. A light-brown hand with long, black-tinted nails. A wrist appeared. Part of a forearm. Straining to reach him.
    He knew that voice. He knew that hand. He hated them.
    *Daemon, reach for me. I can show you the road back.*
    Words lie. Blood doesn't.
    The hand shook with the effort to reach him.
    *Daemon, let me help you. Please.*
    Inches separated them. All he had to do was raise his hand and he could leave this island.
    His fingers twitched.
    *Daemon, trust me. I can help you.*
    Blood. So much blood. A sea of it. He would drown in it. Because he'd trusted that voice once and he'd done something . . . he'd done . . .
    *LIAR!* he screamed. Til never trust you!*
    *Daemon.* An anguished plea.
    *NEVER!*
    The hand began to fade.
    Fear swamped him. He didn't want to be alone in this sea of blood with the words circling, waiting to slice into him again and again. He wanted to grab the hand and hold tight, wanted whatever lies might ease this pain for a little while.
    But he owed someone this pain because he'd done something . . .
    Butchering whore.
    That voice, that hand had tricked him into hurting someone. But, sweet Darkness, how he wanted to trust, wanted to hold on.
    *Daemon.* A whisper of sound.
    The hand faded, withdrew.
    He waited.
    The words circled and circled. The island crumbled a little more.
    He waited. The hand didn't return.
    He pressed himself against the pulpy ground and wept in relief.
    Saetan sank to his knees. The threads of the tangled web