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over the incarceration of sweet, simple Aemilia, who’d always tried so hard to please. Aemilia would never understand why she was being mistreated in this way and likely believed it was because she’d actually done something wrong.
    â€œHas Satyr found your stone?” Pontifex asked her eagerly.
    Her eyes dropped to his, hating him. “Only this shard so far. But tonight I showed him the way to the House and Temple. He’ll begin digging soon.”
    â€œSoon?” Pontifex’s expression soured and she felt the crowd’s wariness. “How long will it take?”
    She shrugged. “A month or more, I imagine.”
    â€œToo long!” he roared, striking his fist on the arm of his throne.
    At his bellow, the young Lares on either side of the throne cowered. She wanted to go to them and gather them in her arms and console them. But if she did so, he would only harm them in order to hurt her. The best way to protect them was to ignore them. The day would come when she would free them all. But that day was not today.
    Occia was sitting at his feet as well, gazing hungrily at his distended cock. Angry at her for not offering comfort to the Lares, when she so easily could have, Silvia sniped at her. “How can you just sit by?”
    Occia blinked. “Because I love him. Something you wouldn’t understand, Virgin .”
    Pontifex dipped his fingers in a small basin of oil he kept nearby and began stroking himself with one fist, making smacking sounds. “It grows painful,” he snarled, as if it were Occia’s fault.
    Fellatio could be strenuous, and even Occia had her limits, it seemed. She snapped her fingers toward one of the Lares and indicated Pontifex’s lap. But Pontifex held the new candidate away and instead leaned toward Silvia, the light of the devil in his eyes.
    â€œWhy don’t you put that hot, clever mouth of yours to better use . . . niece? ” He smiled, his voice suddenly gone silky and mesmerizing. It was a voice he’d stolen from a Siren he’d murdered. The sound of it had lured many into his unspeakable web. A bridge materialized across the moat and he curled his fingers, beckoning her to take the short walk across it to his throne. “Come, Silvia. Sit upon your uncle’s lap.”
    Silvia’s skin crawled at the very idea. And at the reminder of their blood tie. She covered her ears against the magic in his voice, but it was no use. Words of refusal formed in her mouth, but she could not make them fall from her lips while his voice filled her head. He could still render her willing as he had others before her. The thought chilled her.
    Occia’s brown eyes narrowed and she shot her a look of loathing as she spoke to Pontifex. “You can’t want her . She’s flawed!” She gestured toward the scar marring Silvia’s otherwise smooth cheek. “Let me try again,” she pleaded eagerly. “I have obtained a new potion from one of the apothecaries, who specializes in the Arts of Aphrodisia.” Pontifex knocked her away, sending her to the very brink of the moat. The ends of her long brown hair fell into its waters and were singed away.
    â€œCome, Silvia,” he repeated. He leaned forward and the lion’s pelt parted, revealing his bare chest beneath it. A single, large pendant in the shape of a ring pierced his left breast, in the fleshy muscular part just above his nipple. On the ring were nine small keys that could open the Wall of Doors. Free the others. If she got close enough to him, maybe . . . No! He was planting foolish ideas in her mind. If she succumbed, he would soon own her Ephemeral soul, too!
    Seeing the direction of her gaze, he strummed his fingers over the keys, brushing them back and forth so they made an almost musical sound. He smiled slightly, revealing sharp, white teeth that could tear a man twice his size limb from limb before he knew what hit him.
    Somehow, she