The doors clanked shut and fused together with a hiss.

Even though I had wanted the High Prince gone, the sudden aloneness hit me hard. Rage gave way to despair, crushing my chest like a boulder and sucking the air from my lungs. I gazed out the window at the dark horizon, but the ground was only a black line underscoring the sky.

First Guardian, where are you?

For the first time in my life, I could feel nothing of her power, not even a faint tingle deep below. Was I too far aboveground for her reach? Or did the Demons' powers obliterate hers here?

An aching throb brought my attention to my wounded arm. I had barely noticed the wound in the last few hours, but now the pain was impossible to ignore—and the itch. The Demon's venom was still poisoning me. I wondered if the High Prince would tell the Duchess not to bother healing me after I had foolishly told him I wanted nothing from him. But how could I accept anything from the monster who murdered my mother and Hefgar?

I drew a breath and fought back the rising despair. My mother, Hefgar, and my father would all want me to live.

And they would want me to fight back.

I turned my focus to the cuff locking me to the bed frame. Legends told of Guardians breaking free from handcuffs. I traced the circle of metal, pinched the keyhole below it, and then jerked against the confines, but I only succeeded in carving a throbbing red gash into my wrist.

I glided the cuff along the post as far as it would go each direction, testing my range of motion, and determined I could stand on each side of the bed but go no further. On the side closer to the dresser, I knelt on the wet carpet. Gripping the bedframe with my cuffed hand and leg of the bed with my other, I tugged hard.

The bed slid toward me.

The carpet in its path deteriorated, ripping away under the weight of the bed. I dropped a hand to the carpet and realized it was actually a thick, spongy moss. If I dragged this bed over to the dresser to check what it contained, the moss would reveal my actions.

Footsteps and voices sounded from the hallway. I shoved the bed back into place.

"Duchess, he could be dangerous!" said a voice I didn't recognize.

"Move aside, or I'll show you 'dangerous,'" the Duchess snarled.

I sat back down on the bed just as the door fissured open. The Duchess flounced into the room. The lightning highlighted the white streaking her raven hair and illuminated sleek swaths of her leather jacket and pants. I caught a glint of shiny scales near her feet and heard the swish of the Rogabeast's belly through wet moss.

"Light, please," she said.

At first I thought she was asking me to turn on the lamp on the bedside table, but light erupted through the room without me moving an inch. When my eyes adjusted, the Rogabeast's scales glowed, as though covered in a thousand tiny lanterns. Its head swung my way, and it flashed a toothy, menacing grin.

The Duchess clutched her forehead and moaned. "Sweet dominion, dim the light. Much dimmer."

The light faded a little, as did the Rogabeast's grin.

The Duchess turned toward me and frowned. "You certainly don't look dangerous right now." She strode a couple of steps toward me. Closer up, I saw the red in her eyes and smelled the zaikut and smoke clinging to her clothing and hair. She scanned me, gaze latching on my wrist. "Seems you can't break that handcuff, though not for lack of trying." Her eyes dropped to the floor below the bed. "You can move the bed, but I don't see how that will help you much. You don't want to know what's in the dresser in a consort bedroom."

Her calm analysis baffled me. She could make a powerful enemy or a powerful ally, and I wasn't sure whether to count Isalio's faith in her as a pro or con in that equation. I hated the High Prince more than anyone else, but he didn't seem to want me harmed, and I couldn't fathom why he would bother to keep up that charade when I had no power to stop him from doing whatever he pleased.

Then again, I also couldn't fathom why he had pretended to consider bowing to me.

The Duchess took two steps closer. The Rogabeast paced back and forth behind her, tail flicking. It started to growl but cut off abruptly when she tsked and snapped her fingers at it.

The Demon sank down on the bed beside me. "Give me your arm."

I was reminded strangely of my request for Isalio's hand back when I had been preparing to rip off his fingernails. Like him, I flinched away. But had he actually felt any fear, or had it all been part of his calculated manipulation?

She sighed and massaged her temples. "You know, I normally don't administer medical care while hungover. The least you could do is cooperate."

"I didn't ask you to come."

"Ah, the cow speaks! I was starting to fear the High Prince had cut out your tongue."

The thought made me wince. "Does he...do that?"

She shrugged. "Not so far as I know, but there is a lot I don't know about my nephew anymore."

"Nephew?" Now that I was looking for it, I recognized the arch of her eyebrows, the long eyelashes, and the angular jaw. "You're Isalio's aunt?"

"Queen's sister." She flipped her hand palm-up over my thigh. "Now, your arm."

I hesitated a moment longer. Even in her human form, her steely gaze, fishnet gloves, and pointy blood red nails intimidated me. But if she wanted to hurt me, there was nothing I could do to stop her.

I inched my arm toward her. She grabbed my wrist and began to peel away the bandages. The gauze slipped away, revealing five angry red puncture marks. Yellow froth sizzled around the edges.

She sighed once more, sounding more exasperated than concerned. "He did a terrible job. Must not have remembered anything I showed him. Guess it's been a long time, and dominion knows he hasn't had any practice..."

Her fingers slid up my arm, a trail of tingling electricity that sent goosebumps over my skin. I didn't see any balm and had no idea what she was doing to me. When she traced a wounded spot, I gasped and stiffened. She appeared not to notice, continuing to mutter to herself.

"At least he recognized his own failure and asked for help. That's better than he usually does. Though perhaps he doesn't consider his usual messes failures of any sort. After he sent the Morgabeast on a rampage through Anyalasa, who knows what he's actually trying to accomplish anymore? Certainly not me."

The rapidfire spew of information made my head spin. Was the Duchess truly hungover, or was she still drunk? Why else would she say all this to a cow? Anyway, on the off-chance that I would actually escape one day, I needed to learn as much as I could from whoever was willing to speak to me.

"He claims he didn't order the Morgabeast to attack Anyalasa," I said quietly, watching her face for a reaction.

Her fingers froze, and wide eyes latched on my face. Then she barked a laugh and turned her attention back to her work. "If he's lost control of the Morgabeast, we're all fucked. Fortunately, I know he's a liar."

The Rogabeast whined and curled up in the moss, lowering its head onto its front feet.

The Duchess shifted to shoot the Rogabeast a glare. "Oh, you! You need to let go of that attachment, Rogabeast. Yes, he was a nice boy, but that doesn't mean he's a nice man."

When she turned back toward me, she gave me an almost embarrassed smile, as if to apologize for her pet's actions.

"Isalio was a nice boy?" I asked.

I was entirely unsure what 'nice' meant to this strange and powerful Demon, but some part of me was desperate to hear more. I told myself I was only gathering more information to deliver to the rest of the Guardians. Still, I couldn't help remembering those little moments in the cell when he had appeared so genuine and unfiltered. Maybe I just wanted to believe I wasn't entirely a gullible idiot...that some small part of what I had seen in him had been true.

"The nicest," said the Duchess, and Rogabeast trilled in agreement. "His parents hoped he'd be a combination of their powers and aspirations, but all he wanted to do was climb up on the rooftop and play with Rogabeast. He used to abhor the idea of cows." She smiled faintly, though her smile quickly faded. "And now he's organized for the last five hundred Guardians to fill our barns, one by one."

She prodded one of the wounds, and I gritted my teeth to trap a gasp of pain. "It was his idea, you know. He told his parents he could procure a better, more sustainable lifeforce than human cows. Guess he's right on that one. If the other Guardians have a hundredth of your lifeforce, Guardian cows could keep us in power forever."

Her emotionless analysis squeezed my heart and dried my throat. What a future to imagine...Guardians not only helpless to fight evil but transformed into tools to perpetuate it.

"He told me I'm not a cow," I said.

She tilted her head. "Well, that part might be true. Or at least, he might mean for it to be true. He did look ready to shoot lightning out his ears when I accused him of leeching from you. But I doubt he'll be able to resist your lifeforce forever. Your lifeforce is incredibly enticing, and he needs it badly."

"Why? Why is my lifeforce different from the others, and why does he need it so much?"

"The real question is why he doesn't want anyone using your lifeforce." She appraised me, amber eyes bright. "What are you to him?"

I furrowed my brow. "Well, I used to be his interrogator. Now, I don't know what I am."

"His interrogator?" Her face pinched in sneer. "Ha! Guess he really does have a pain kink."

For some reason, that rubbed me the wrong way. Now that I knew who Isalio was, I truly did want to hurt him... but I didn't like the history her words implied. I remembered how he had jerked away a little just before I kissed him, the way he begged me not to bring in Marqan, and his strange response to my command.

I don't bow to anyone anymore.

"I didn't hurt him," I said, equal parts ashamed and defensive.

Her eyebrows shot high, and then her face relaxed a little. "Ah. Now I think I understand."

"Understand what?"

"Enough chatting." She removed her hand and shifted a few inches away on the bed. "There. You're welcome."

I glanced down at my arm—and blinked. Where the puncture marks had been, only smooth brown skin remained. I shifted my gaze to the Duchess, who wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. The Rogabeast curled around her feet with a rattling purr.

"How did you do that?" I asked.

She fluttered her fingers, red nails catching light from the still-glowing Rogabeast. "Magic."

"I didn't know Demons could heal."

"They can't, except for me. Now then, I believe I've satisfied Isalio's request—though I really don't know why I still bother to listen to him—so I'm leaving."

With a crackle of leather, she pushed off the bed. As she strode toward the door, the Rogabeast skittered beside her feet.

She left me even more confused than I had been before. Thoughts rattled through my head so noisily that I barely noticed the door reopening.

Isalio slipped into the room. Without the benefit of Guardian vision, he squinted through the darkness, but he did not bother to turn on the lamp on the wall beside him. Instead he leaned back against the door, fingers strumming the metal behind him. His head was slightly downturned, and his shoulders were pulled tight.

I studied him, waiting to see what he would do. Waiting to find out who he really was.

A minute passed in silence before he sucked in a breath and spoke in a rush. "I spoke to my parents."

After a few more seconds of silence, I raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"They have a...request." He bit the corner of his lower lip, and his eyes dropped to the moss near his feet. "And you're not going to like it."