Queen of the Darkness

and swore viciously. "Damn it, Surreal, that's enough."
    "If you think I'm going to spread my legs for you, you'd better think again, Sadist."
    "Shut up, Surreal," Daemon said quietly but intensely.
    She felt the shields go up around the hut. Not just a Black protective shield but a Black aural shield as well. Which meant no one could hear what was happening inside.
    He took a deep breath, raked his fingers through his hair. "Well," he said dryly, "that little performance ought to convince the bitches that something is happening in here."
    She had been gathering herself to spring at him again, intending to go for his balls this time. But that tone and those words sounded so... Daemon... that she paused. And remembered Karla's warning about a friend who becomes an enemy in order to remain a friend.
    He eyed her, then approached warily. "Let's see your wrists."
    She held out her hands, watching him—and saw the fury in his eyes when he snapped off the manacles and looked at the raw skin underneath.
    Surreal huffed. "Damn it, Sadi, what kind of game are you playing?"
    "A vicious one," he replied, calling in a leather box. He looked through it, pulled out a jar, and handed it to her. "Put that on your wrists."
    She opened the jar, sniffed. A Healer's ointment. While she applied it to her wrists, he called in another box. There were several balls of clay sitting in nests of paper. Two of the nests were empty.
    "Do you still have the food pack you brought?"
    "Yes. I haven't had a chance to eat any of it," she added tartly.
    "Then eat something now," he said, still looking through the box. "I'd give you some from mine, but I gave most of it to Marian."
    A chill went down Surreal's spine. There was a funny buzzing in her head. "To Marian?"
    "Do you remember the shack we stopped at when we got to Hayll?"
    "Yes." Of course she remembered it. It was a couple of miles away from the camp. That was where Daemon had changed into the Sadist. One minute he had been carefully explaining about the sentries and the perimeter stakes that would alert the guards, and the next thing she knew, she was tied up and he was purring threats about how she should have stayed under Falonar and stayed out of his way. He had scared her, badly. And the fact that he had made her furious now. "You could have told me, you son of a bitch."
    He looked up. "Would you have been as convincing?"
    She bristled, insulted. "You're damn right I would have been."
    "Well, we're going to have a chance to find out. You said you wanted to help, Surreal. That you were willing to be a diversion."
    She had said that, but she'd thought she would have known when she was being a diversion. "So?"
    "So now you will be." He approached her, held up a small gold hoop. "Listen carefully. This will produce the illusion that you're broken." He slipped the hoop through one of the links of the necklace that held her Gray Jewel. "No one will be able to detect that you're still wearing the Gray unless you use it. If you do need to use it, then don't hesitate. I'll figure out some way to deal with things here."
    "The High Lord will know I'm not broken."
    Daemon shook his head as he turned back to search for something else in the box. "You'd have to wear Jewels darker than the Black to be able to detect that spell."
    Darker than the Black? Sadi couldn't make a spell like that. Which meant...
    Mother Night.
    "This"—Daemon held up a tiny crystal vial before attaching it to the necklace—"will convince anyone who thinks to check that you're not only fertile but you're now pregnant. A Healer would be able to tell within twenty-four hours," he added, answering her unspoken question.
    Lifting the necklace, Surreal studied the vial. "You asked Jaenelle to create an illusion that I was pregnant with your child?"
    She saw his face tighten.
    Yes, he had asked Jaenelle. And it had hurt him to ask.
    Looking to change the subject, she pointed to the balls of clay. "What are those?"
    "The raw spells to create shadows."
    Shadows. Illusions that could be made to fool someone into believing the person in front of them was real.
    "Marian and Daemonar," she said weakly, staring at the two empty nests of paper.
    "Yes," he replied sharply.
    She hissed at him. "You didn't trust me, a whore, to put on a good show, but you figured Lucivar would be convin—" Her voice trailed away. "He doesn't know, does he?"
    "No," Daemon said quietly, "he doesn't know."
    Her legs weakened so abruptly, she sat on the floor.