Queen of the Darkness

black-tinted nail.
    "Well, sugar, I'd say that message is to the point," Surreal said as she stared at Jaenelle. "How many more pieces do you need to get back before you do something? We're running out of time!"
    "Yes," Jaenelle said. "It's time."
    She's in shock, Daemon thought. Then he looked at her eyes—and couldn't suppress the shudder. They were sapphire ice. But behind the ice was a Queen who had been pushed far beyond even the cold rage males were capable of unleashing. Because he was looking for it, because he could descend far enough into the abyss to feel it, he sensed that Hekatah's little gift had fully awakened the feral side, the deadly side of Witch. She was no longer a young woman who had received her father's finger as a demand for her surrender; she was a predator studying the bait laid out by an enemy.
    Dorothea and Hekatah had seen the young woman. They had no idea who they were really dealing with.
    "Come with me," Jaenelle said, lightly touching his arm before she walked out of the room.
    Even through his shirt and jacket, her hand felt so cold it burned.
    Careful to keep his eyes and expression bland, he looked at Surreal—and felt a little dismayed by the fury that looked back at him. That was when he realized that, despite being chilled to the bone, the room was still warm.
    Jaenelle had given no outward warning of the rage just underneath the surface, no indication of power being gathered for a strike. Nothing.
    He glanced at the finger again, felt his stomach clench. Then he walked out of the room.
    Damn them both, Surreal thought as she stared at the finger in the box. Oh, there had been a little flicker of dismay in Sadi's face when he first saw it, but that had disappeared quickly enough. And from Jaenelle? Nothing. Hell's fire! She had shown more temper and concern when Aaron had been cornered by Vania! At least then there had been that freezing, terrifying rage. But the woman gets a piece of her father sent to her and... nothing. Not a damn thing. No reaction at all.
    Well, fine. If that's the way those two wanted to play the game, that was just fine. She wore a Gray Jewel and she was a skilled assassin. There was no reason she couldn't slip into Terreille and get Lucivar and the High Lord—and Marian and Daemonar—away from those two bitches.
    Surreal bit her lower lip. Well, getting all of them out in one piece might be a problem.
    All right, so she'd think about it a little, work up some kind of plan. At least she was going to do something!
    And maybe, while she was thinking, she would mention this little incident to Karla to see if the Black Widow still thought there was more going on than nothing.
    By the time Daemon reached her workroom, the ice in Jaenelle's eyes had shattered into razor-edged shards, and he saw something in them that terrified him: cold, undiluted hatred.
    "What do you expect will happen now?" Jaenelle asked too calmly.
    Daemon slipped his hands into his trouser pockets to hide the trembling. He quietly cleared his throat. "I doubt anything more will happen until the messenger returns to Hayll and reports the delivery of the box. It's almost mid-morning now. They aren't going to expect you to be capable of making any decisions immediately. So we've got a few hours. Maybe a little more than that."
    Jaenelle paced slowly. She seemed to be arguing with herself. Finally she sighed—as if she'd lost the argument— and looked at him. "The Weaver of Dreams sent me a message. She said the triangle must remain together in order to survive, that the other two sides weren't strong enough without the strength of the mirror—and the mirror would keep them all safe."
    "The mirror?" Daemon asked cautiously.
    "You are your father's mirror, Daemon. You're one side of the triangle."
    The memory flashed in his mind of Tersa, years ago, tracing a triangle in the palm of his hand, over and over, while she had explained the mystery of the Blood's four-sided triangle.
    "Father, brother, lover," he murmured. Three sides. And the fourth side was the triangle's center, the one who ruled all three.
    "Exactly," Jaenelle replied.
    "You want me to go to Hayll."
    "Yes."
    He nodded slowly, suddenly feeling like he was on a very thin, shaky footbridge, and one false step would send him plummeting into a chasm he would never escape. "If I walked in to try another exchange of prisoners, that would buy a few more hours."
    "I never said anything about you handing yourself over to them,"