The Blood hadn’t recognized him, hadn’t recognized the significance of his being in that store. As for praising his latest book…

Oh, they had liked him well enough when they had thought he was a clever landen who could spin a good tale, but when he had tried to show them who he really was, the truth aboutwhat he was,they had laughed at him.

Landry Langston wasn’t just a character in a story. Landry Langston washim. A half-Blood raised by a landen mother. A half-Blood who had matured into a man strong enough tobe Blood.

He didn’t know their customs, didn’t know their Protocol, didn’t know what it meant to be Blood.How could he? He hadn’t grown up in one of their precious villages, hadn’t grown up surrounded by this dance, as they called the constant ebb and flow of dominance that depended on who was in the room. Instead of being trained all through his childhood and youth, as he should have been, he had topay for information about his heritage. His “consultants” had been quick enough to take the gold marks he offered in exchange for “research,” but he now wondered about the accuracy of their information—and wondered if they’d given him just enough to make him look foolish.

As for his other “consultant”…Well, he couldn’t trust much ofanything that came fromthat mind.

At the bookshop, they had laughed at his portrayal of the Blood, had laughed at him. But they had done much worse here at the hotel. Here, theypitied him.

Thank the Dark he hadn’t used his real name when he checked in. After that humiliation in the bookshop, he didn’t want anyone to know he was in this thrice-cursed city. He almost changed his mind about revealing who he was when the clerks at the deskdid acknowledge him as Blood. Then he looked into their eyes and listened to their carefully phrased words…and realized they thought he was abroken male, someone who had been stripped of so much of his power, he was barely one of them anymore.

Didn’t stop them from taking the gold marks. No, his lack of power didn’t stopany of them from taking a hefty fee for the pittance they were willing to share.

Like this room. If he’d gone to a landen establishment in a nearby city, he could have had a better room for half the price. But he’d wanted to stay at a hotel that catered to the Blood. For what? The room he’d been given wasn’t any different from rooms he’d had in landen cities—was, in fact, stripped of almost everything that required Craft. On purpose. Because they didn’t believe he was capable of being like them.

And he wasn’t capable. Not yet anyway.

They thought they were so special, so powerful, so superior.

Daemon Sadi, for example. He’d personally sentPrince Sadi a copy of his new book. The bastard hadn’t even had the courtesy to write a sentence acknowledging the gift. Andcertainly hadn’t sent the desired dinner invitation.

And then there wasLady Surreal. He’d heard of her. Whohadn’t heard of her? Nothing but a whore, but she could stand in a shop and publicly laugh at aneducated man for no other reason than because she wore aJewel.

There was more than one kind of power. The Blood made the rules and ruled the Realm, but they weren’t all-powerful, weren’t invincible. A clever man could defeat them and prove he was worthy of notice, of respect.

Pitting one kind of skill against another, a clever man could defeat them. Even the most powerful among them.

Of course, it might not be prudent to admit being the author of such a scheme, but he’d know, for himself, that he could stand among them.

And Lady Jaenelle Angelline herself had provided him with a way of covering his tracks. He’d been a little upset when he’d thought she had stolen his idea and spoiled the setting for his next novel, but now that only meant that people could confirm he’d begun the new Landry Langston storybefore the tragic events took place.

Yes, there was more than one kind of power, and he had the means of weaving a wonderful plot.

He would give the Blood a story the SaDiablo family would never forget.

At least, the ones who were still alive.

SIX

“No, witch-child. I willnot saybwaa ha ha. ”

“But it’s for—”

“No!”Saetan slammed the books down on the blackwood table in the Keep’s library. “If you choose to insult what we are, that is your decision. But I willnot participate.”

Jaenelle stared at him, stunned. “It’s just a little fun.”

“Fun!” He choked on his anger, since it had no outlet that wouldn’t end in fierce destruction. “You’re turning what we are into a mockery, and you think this is fun?” He turned away from her, his daughter and his Queen, and pressed the heels of his hands against his temples as he struggled for control.

“Saetan…”

Bewilderment. Hurt. She’d come to the Keep to share something amusing and hadn’t been prepared for him to turn on her. How could she? He wasn’t sure if he was lashing out at her as her father or as her former, and still unofficial, Steward.

He turned to look at her, and he also wasn’t sure if it was Jaenelle or Witch who now watched him. No matter. He would have his say.

“We are the Blood, the caretakers of the Realms. We come from various races, but we are no longer a part of those races. We have our own culture that spans those racial cultures. We have our own laws, our own code of honor that landens don’t understand and couldn’t live by even if they tried. We rule the Territories, and we control the lives of all the landens in those Territories. But we are the minority, Jaenelle. Despite the sometimes brutal way we deal with each other, we seldom need to unleash that power and temper against landensbecause we are feared. Because we are a mystery mostly seen from a distance. And now you are turning us into acheap entertainment. ”

He choked. Such a long, long life. So many things that he’d done, both good and terrible.

“By letting some children dictate what we are like, you turn us into a safe, insignificant fear. Cobwebs and creaking doors and funny sounds. We become something to laugh at. So I ask you, Lady. What happens when those boys who find us amusing become men and feel they can ignore the laws established for the landens? What happens when they challenge the Warlords who come on behalf of the Queens who rule over their villages? What happens when they gather in force to attack the Blood and discover how vicious—and how complete—the slaughter can be when we fight?”

A long silence. Then Jaenelle said, “Why didn’t you mention this when you first heard about it? You haven’t said anything in the past few weeks while Marian and I have been putting this together.”

“It wasn’t my place to say anything. And, frankly, it hurt too much that it was you, of all people, who was doing this to us.”

Another long silence. “My apologies, High Lord,” Jaenelle said quietly. “I didn’t see this as you did, didn’t consider the consequences if people believed this was anything other than make-believe. We’ll close the house. Put an end to it.”

He shook his head. “You can’t. The idea has already taken root, and the news thatLady Angelline ”—he saw her wince—“is creating a spooky house as an autumnal entertainment has spread to Blood and landen villages alike. I’m sure Daemon and Lucivar will help you control the crowds—”

“Crowds?” She looked alarmed.

“And Daemon will handle any complaints from the Queens who are dealing with the visitors flooding into the surrounding villages.”

“Complaints? Visitors?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “What did you expect? Just a handful of children from the landen village where the house is located?”

“Well…yes.”

His heart ached with love and exasperation. “Then you really have no idea what you’ve done.” Sighing, he ran his fingers through his hair. “Very well, witch-child. I’ll give you your funny sound. But I want a favor in exchange.”

She tipped her head and waited.

“Somewhere in your spooky house, let there be one thing that will show those children who and what we really are, that will show them what they face when they stand before the Blood.”

“Done.”

“Then let’s find a room that’s a little more private.”

There were only the two of them in the library, but Geoffrey could return at any moment.

His face burned with embarrassment as he walked to the door, and he knew that, even with his light brown skin, color visibly flamed his cheeks. He would do this, not just because Jaenelle asked it of him, but because someone else’s sensibilities were at stake.

“I promise, Papa. No one will know it’s you,” Jaenelle said as she stopped at the door.

“Thank you,” he replied faintly.

She looked at him. Then she looked at the table stacked with books. Her lips curved in a wicked smile. “If you want us to keep pretending that you’re sorting old books whenever we come by to chat, you shouldn’t slam them on the table. We all know you wouldn’t do that to a book that was truly ancient and fragile.”

He closed his eyes and promised himself that he would not whimper. “You all know?”

“Well, I don’t think any of the boyos have figured it out, but all of the coven knows.”

May the Darkness have mercy on me.

“Come on, Papa. Let’s gobwaa ha ha. ”

Daemon tucked the tip of his tongue between his teeth and bit down hard enough to keep himself from saying something stupid.

If he’d walked in on his father having sex—when Saetan was still physically capable of having sex—it would have been less embarrassing than hearingthat voice say“bwaa ha ha.”

“What do you think?” Jaenelle asked.

Eyeing the audio crystal sitting on the corner of his desk, Daemon bit his tongue a little harder and counted to ten—twice—before he said, “It sounds like the High Lord.”

She studied the audio crystal, clearly disappointed. “I don’t want to lose the quality of his voice, but I did try to adjust it so it wouldn’t be recognizable.”