But Kehlirik seemed unruffled. “Kri. Qaztahl…lords arriving today and tomorrow. Six more.”
I stared at him. “Six? Why?”
He snorted. “Because that is the number of those not yet here,” he said in a duh! tone. “Kadir and Jesral are within the palace already.”
“But why are they all coming here?” I asked, anxiety flickering. “Is Mzatal coming?”
“It is the time of the conclave,” Kehlirik replied calmly. “Should Mzatal choose to participate, he could do so with impunity. It is unlikely he will choose thus. There. Elofir arrives.”
Anxiety gave way to curiosity, and I peered toward the tree tunnel. The tingle faded, but not before I noted that it seemed to have a different feel, or resonance, than when it heralded Mzatal. Maybe each lord had his own “signature” when it came to the grove?
A reyza bounded out of the tree tunnel and took flight with a bellow, closely followed into the air by an inky-black shape I knew to be a zhurn. A few seconds later, a man with short, sandy-blond hair and the slim, athletic build of a dancer emerged. Elofir, Kehlirik had said. He wore brown boots and pants paired with a white ruffled shirt that looked like it came out of the Regency era, and he was engaged in an animated discussion with a savik a bit smaller than seven-foot-tall Turek, the one I’d encountered at Szerain’s shrine. A syraza trailed a few steps behind. The grove still resonated with Elofir’s aura—about as different from Mzatal and Rhyzkahl as night and day. There was nothing of menace or contained danger about him, though he still carried himself with Presence. The power he exuded was gentle and calm, and through my too-fucking-cool connection with the grove, I had the unwavering impression that, if given the choice between losing face or engaging in conflict, he would choose the former, and not because of any sort of cowardice. He simply felt peaceful.
I watched until they disappeared through the archway into the palace, then exhaled and looked over at Kehlirik. “What do they do at this conclave?” I asked. “S’mores? Ghost stories?”
Kehlirik started walking again, and I paced alongside him. “I do not know what this ‘s’mores’ is,” he said. “What they do varies, with several elements always being present. Review of agreements, confirmation of the rotations for the next cycle, assessment of anomaly patterning, and a unified rebalance.”
“You’d like s’mores,” I told him. “Chocolate and melted marshmallow between two graham crackers.” I glanced his way. “What are the rotations for?”
“Of the overwatch,” he said. “It is critical that each day is covered by at least one lord, though two will be on the rotation. Even a single day unwatched can disastrously unbalance the arcane fields.”
I took a few seconds to consider that, remembering Ilana’s statement about the lords having much responsibility, and the image of the potency thingy Turek showed me in Szerain’s shrine.
“In other words, they maintain this world’s arcane power plant and make sure it doesn’t overload or have blackouts?” I asked.
“Kri,” he said with a twitch of his wings. “It is a simplistic though adequate analogy.”
As we rounded a curve in the path, a ruined stone structure came into sight. All thoughts of arcane power plants fled my mind as I took it in. “Oh, wow,” I breathed.
The ruins crowned the rise ahead, surrounded by boulders shrugged from the mountainside above. Stairs of white stone climbed toward what had once been a graceful roofed structure of the same pale stone. Only columns and one wall remained standing on its raised foundation, the rest in broken chunks among the tumbled boulders.
Kehlirik followed me up the stairs. Halfway up I felt the place. Even broken, it resonated a subtle, permeating potency that made me feel a little floaty in a good way. My steps slowed to a reverent pace as I took it all in. The translucent milky stone of both the remaining structure and the fallen chunks shimmered with a soft bluish glow, and, as I topped the rise, the columns framed the blue-grey sky beyond. Déjà vu kicked in full force. Kehlirik crouched at the edge of the foundation, lifted a claw, and sketched a sigil in the air. I watched in fascination as he sent it spinning to the middle of the ruined pavilion where it flared brightly before fading away.
His eyes went to me. “You may send a…” He seemed to be seeking the right word. “Wish,” he finally said, though I had the feeling it still wasn’t quite what he was trying to convey. “Trace any primary sigil and imbue it with your wish.”
I stood silently for a moment, considering, then scowled in annoyance. “I can’t,” I said, voice loaded with bitterness. “Even without this goddamn collar, I don’t know how to do one of those floater sigils.”
Kehlirik’s eyes went to the collar. He let out a low croon that might have been of sympathy, but it was hard to be sure. “I will trace one for you. It matters not who creates the sigil.”
He sketched another sigil, then looked to me, waiting.
Kinda surreal making a wish with a demon, but no point in wasting it. I pursed my lips and considered while a million different things flitted through my mind. Getting home was my top priority, however Rhyzkahl said he was working on that. Then there was protecting myself from Mzatal. But I wasn’t going to waste a wish on that fucker. More up close and personal was this elusive crap with Elinor. What the hell. It was only a wish anyway.
I gave Kehlirik a nod. I want to know what really happened to Elinor. Just in case, I threw in the post script, and that means her part in the cataclysm, too. I snorted. So silly.
Kehlirik sent it to the center where it glowed briefly then dissipated.
“Thanks,” I said. “What is this place?”
Crouching, the reyza settled his wings along his back. “It is a very ancient site, a gateway from the time before the Ekiri departed.”
“Ekiri? Who were they?” I asked. “And why did they leave?”
A pair of faas hopped to the edge of the pavilion steps and sent in sigils before continuing on in, stopping in the very center where the sigils had disappeared. Kehlirik moved to follow them, and I did likewise.
“They were a race that once lived among us and taught much of the mastery of the arcane,” Kehlirik said. “They departed for a new realm many millennia ago.”
“That’s pretty amazing,” I said, slowly looking around. I could spend a lifetime simply learning the history of this world. “Was this damaged during the cataclysm?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, wings drooping slightly. “It had stood unblemished for millennia.”
I cautiously put my hand on a stone. It was cool but not as cold as normal stone would have been in this weather. Memories flickered. Her memories.
Cool stone, peace, a smile, ancient blue eyes…
I frowned. I wanted more than shadows. Breathing deeply, I sought the deeper memories.
I sketch the sigil and make my wish. Would that I could learn faster. He expects so much of me, and I fear I am a disappointment. In this place I feel whole. Perhaps the ancients can hear me and will touch me from afar. I imagine that the song of the stone is their song, their voices. I have not told Giovanni this for he would surely think me foolish.
Holy crap. Through the memory I could almost almost feel how to shape the floater. I tried to call it up again for an instant replay, but nothing. Damn. That could have been useful. Instead, I focused on what I did understand from the memory. “She used to come here a lot,” I murmured. It had been whole and untouched in her lifetime, existing in perfection in the shadow of a cliff. Now I could see where the cliff had collapsed, crushing part of the pavilion and creating the tumble of boulders.
Kehlirik dipped his head in a nod. “Elinor. Yes. Alone and with the lord.”
I let the memories flicker through my head.
Ancient blue eyes upon me as he approaches. How glorious he is! His smile is like sunshine, and when he touches my cheek I want to melt. He holds me close to his side and strokes my hair. I have no fears here.
“She worshipped him,” I said with a soft
sigh.
Kehlirik tilted his head, seemed to consider. “Yes, worship. A good choice of word.”
“Poor thing,” I murmured. So young. Barely old enough to know herself. How could she not adore Rhyzkahl when he extended affection to her? Was this how Rhyzkahl felt about me?
Kehlirik shifted his wings. “She was content.”
Could she even conceive of having anything else? I wondered about Giovanni. Maybe in the end she found something else, though since she died so young, it never had a chance to truly blossom.
Sighing, I pulled my hand from the stone. “What about Gio—”
Giovanni’s face swam before me, close, pale, and drawn, clearer than memory, more clouded than reality. I couldn’t hear him, but his lips formed my name—her name. The discordant whine of a failing ritual enveloped me, setting my teeth on edge, and an instant later was gone. Agony flooded my chest, tearing at me, expanding until there was nothing but pain and silence. Giovanni’s face before me, silently saying Elinor over and over. Pain. Elinor, Elinor, Elinor. Pain. Elinor, Elinor. Giovanni.
Shuddering, I sucked breath through my teeth and worked to push away the overwhelming memory that threatened to unbalance me. These are not my memories, I fiercely reminded myself. I can control this.
Mzatal’s advice came back to me, so I drew a deep breath and mentally traced the stupid pygah. Slowly, the disturbing memory retreated back to its lair. It felt different from the other Elinor memories—more isolated, more nightmarish. I lifted my head to see Kehlirik watching me carefully.
I gave him the steadiest smile I could manage. “I’m okay. It was just a strong memory.”
He let out a snort and nodded as if satisfied that I unmired myself, then flew up to a shoulder of rock overlooking the ruins.
The two faas abruptly chittered and went still as stone, including their tails. I’d never, ever, seen a faas still. Ever. A heartbeat later they both darted off and through the rocks. I blinked in surprise, about to turn and head back down the hill when I felt it: a lord’s aura. And not Rhyzkahl’s, I realized with dismay. This aura was cold. No, not just cold. Cold. As. Fuck.
Shit. I so did not want to deal with any lord right now, especially one that even the faas would hide from. What the hell was that all about? But I couldn’t see any other way down the hill, and I wasn’t small and agile like the faas who’d apparently ducked and hid behind some of the rocks. I finally settled for clambering on a boulder that was partially tucked behind a section of the ruins. Maybe this lord was simply coming up here to do one of those wish-things, and would then leave without bothering to look around. Maybe if I stayed super still he wouldn’t notice me.
And maybe I’ll sprout wings and fly away, I thought with a scowl. I scuttled back into the shadow and as out of sight as I could get.
I breathed as shallowly as possible, listening to the fall of his footsteps on the stone and peering through a gap in the columns. Blond and androgynous, he sauntered into the center of the ruins, then lifted his head, nostrils flaring as though scenting.
He turned to look directly at me. Fuck.
Primal instinct screamed at me to run, but it was all I could do right now to breathe, much less move.
His eyes narrowed. “Come,” he said, voice cold and imperiously commanding.
Gulping back the unreasoning terror, I silently cursed. If I refused there was no telling what he’d do. I climbed down and approached, though I took my damn sweet time doing so. My eyes met his, but I quickly yanked my gaze away. Beautiful. A shocking amethyst color that reminded me of the syraza. But I didn’t like what was behind those eyes, didn’t want to see any more of it. The Symbol Man might have been a ruthless serial killer, but he was a puppy compared to this dude.
I stopped about ten feet away. A smile played on the lord’s lips.
“Come,” he repeated, indicating a spot directly in front of him.
My skin crawled as I moved forward. His aura flowed over me in an oily wave, sending a shudder of nameless horror through me. It was like being near the creepiest person I’d ever known times a thousand. His lips parted slightly, which only served to increase the ick-factor. A shiver raced over my skin, and I struggled to summon anger instead of the mewling terror that wanted to come out.
He stepped closer so that he was barely a foot in front of me, inhaling deeply as his aura surrounded me, viscous and dark. Slowly he moved around me. My breaths became shallow, and I clenched my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. He stopped behind me, stayed there while I gritted my teeth and fought back a shiver.
The lord took hold of the scarf, wound it back around my throat. He held both ends of it while he stood behind me. He didn’t pull, but I knew he wanted me to understand that he could, that he was in control. I swallowed hard, throat moving against the fabric. He gave a light tug, shifting it tighter though nowhere near to the point of choking me. Didn’t matter. Totally had me freaked out. My instincts screamed at me to run, but I knew he would enjoy such a chase, knew that it would end badly for me.
A low whimper escaped me as he exerted slow pressure on the scarf to pull me back against him. He inhaled, mouth close to my ear.
“I know your scent, baztakh,” he murmured, voice resonant with a promise of pain, and terror, and mind-fucking torment.
I squeezed my eyes shut as I sought to tap my anger. He was doing this solely to scare me. And yeah, he was doing a damn good job of it, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t also piss me off. Taking a deep breath, I focused on the peace and calm of the grove.
Still at my back, he released the scarf and put his hands on my shoulders. The way he slid them down my arms almost made me wish it was a sexual move instead of the unknown that it was.
“Perhaps, when Rhyzkahl has finished using you, he will pass you to me.” Dark amusement colored his voice. “I would gladly accept you as partial payment.”
I drew a stupid mental pygah and focused on the peace of the grove, slowing my breathing and regaining my composure despite the extreme level of revulsion. “Payment? For what?”
He laughed and set his hands on both sides of my neck, middle fingers tracing over my larynx. “Such matters are not shared with pets.”
“I am not, and never will be, a pet,” I managed to snarl, holding the feel of the grove close to me.
“Ah, you want to play, little pet?” He chuckled low. “I would very much enjoy that.”
“You bore me,” I said. Play? I had no idea what he was talking about, but I did my damnedest to put as much contempt into my voice as possible. Probably would have been better without the quaver, but I did my best. “I wish no game with you. You’re pathetic.”
He gave a low laugh, moved languidly around to face me. “You do not smell bored. You do not…feel bored.” He ran a finger along my clenched jaw, smiled. Hunger danced in his violet eyes. “Subside or rise fully and show me how pathetic I am.”
What the hell was he talking about? Rise fully? He’s fucking with me, I decided. There was no way I could best a lord.
His eyes stayed on my face, amusement flickering in them as he gauged my reaction to his challenge. He let out a low laugh as he reached and shoved me lightly in the chest, still watching as if studying me.
I took a step back. He was definitely goading me, but to what end? Did he truly expect me to strike out at him? I wasn’t that stupid.
A reyza landed a few feet behind and to the right of the lord. It crouched and bared teeth at me, but this was no reyza smile. As I looked at the demon, recognition tugged, but I couldn’t understand why. I’d never summoned this one. I knew that much. Kehlirik was the only reyza I’d ever summoned. And this wasn’t one of Mzatal’s.
Ice dropped into my belly as the memory struck—my own memory, my own pain: A reyza bellowing as he leaped at me, claws extended. A burning tug at my belly. The sight of my bowels coiled on the floor in front of me. The growing pool of blood.
Sweat stung my armpits despite the chill in the air.
This was Sehkeril, the reyza who’d aided the Symbol Man serial killer during his final attempt to summon and bind Rhyzkahl. Sehkeril had eviscerated me, and I had only minutes to live when Rhyzkahl brought me back to the demon realm and allowed me to die here.
The lord closed the gap between us. “I will go now and speak to Rhyzkahl about arrangements,” he said, cold amusement in his voice. He leaned in close—far too close—face beside mine as he murmured in my ear. “Sehkeril will keep you company while I am away.”
The lord pressed a forefinger into the notch of my throat above my collarbones, just enough to be painful without doing any actual damage. What the hell? He smiled as I coughed, looked upon me for another unpleasant moment, then turned and headed away.
Sehkeril growled and clicked his claws together, quite clearly trying to unsettle me. He didn’t need to; his creepy lord had taken care of maxing out my freakout, and all I wanted to do right then was to get away from this place. Surely the reyza wouldn’t hurt me while I was in Rhyzkahl’s realm? Hoping that was true, I turned away from him and hurried back down the stone steps toward the palace, but I heard claws on stone and a near constant growl as he followed. My heart pounded a crazy rhythm as I descended the steps, and my back prickled. I fully expected a shove from behind or some other harassment.
I heard a rush of wings followed by Kehlirik’s voice, speaking in demon to Sehkeril, and it definitely wasn’t a friendly How ya doin’? Glancing back, I saw that Kehlirik was keeping the other reyza occupied. I breathed a silent thanks, but still quickened my pace as soon as I reached the path. I crested the low hill, and the grove came into view. That’s where I wanted to be—shielded within the embrace of those living walls. I wasn’t safe here, that was for sure.
I’m not safe, I realized with sick disappointment. I’d come here—escaped to here—assuming I would be safe, that I wouldn’t be hurt or harassed or mistreated.
I shot a quick glance behind me as the two reyza took flight, snarling at each other. I wanted to be in the grove, but more than that, I wanted to be away from here.
Touch of the Demon kg-5 Page 14
