Текст книги "Fury of the Demon"
Автор книги: Diana Rowland
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Текущая страница: 34 (всего у книги 35 страниц)
“You win this round, Szerain,” I muttered. “But just you wait.”
* * *
With the decision made to summon Mzatal, the rest of the morning turned into a frenzy of activity: I topped off the storage diagram, woke Bryce up and told him to pack since I knew he’d want to come with me to be with Paul, did my own packing, had a quick talk with Jill and confirmed everything was okay with the bean and that Zack had called her that morning—all the while forming, discarding, and reforming arguments to use with Mzatal for why he shouldn’t shut me out and why I needed to be able to train with him and why I’d kept Vsuhl and then given it to Szerain. It was sure to be an entertaining discussion, one way or the other.
As soon as everything was ready, prepped, and packed, I called Tessa and wasn’t surprised when it went to voicemail. She was still in Aspen and wasn’t the sort to be glued to her phone when out having fun.
“Hi, Aunt Tessa,” I said into the recording. “Looks like I’m going back to the ‘retreat’ for a while. I’ll, uh, write as soon as I can. Love you.”
I hung up. It felt oddly unfinished to leave without speaking to her, but we’d been successfully sending messages and letters back and forth for months now. Everything would be fine.
The thought of messages reminded me to do a final check of my email. There was only one item in my inbox, and I realized that Paul had probably worked some of his magic to get rid of my mountains of spam. My pulse gave an uneven lurch as I noted the sender. I opened it, read the attached DNA test results, then read them again.
“Welcome to the family, cousin Idris,” I murmured, pulse thudding weirdly. I’d suspected for a while, but having it confirmed raised even more questions. Or rather, one question in particular. One I dreaded asking.
I called Zack, held my breath as it rang. I’d made him promise not to answer the phone if he wasn’t up for a call, but voicemail wouldn’t cut it for what I needed to say and ask.
“Hey, Kara.”
“Hey, Zack,” I replied, relieved, though it quickly shifted to apprehension about the pending question. I stalled and took a moment to fill him in on my decision to return to training unless everything went pear-shaped between Mzatal and me.
“I’ll miss you for sure,” he said when I finished, “but it’s what you need to do. I’ll talk to Ryan tonight. We’ll keep things together here.”
I heard the unspoken “somehow,” yet I still thought he sounded a bit better. He seemed to be holding it together at least.
“Zack, I had a DNA test done on samples from Idris and Tessa,” I said in a rush. “He’s my cousin.”
Zack went super quiet.
I forged ahead. “Rhyzkahl’s the daddy, isn’t he.” It was more statement than question. With the timing of Tessa in the demon realm, it made sick sense.
Zack cleared his throat. “I’m flipping you the bird right now,” he said, letting me know I’d crossed into territory where he couldn’t or wouldn’t stray. The mandates, agreements, and oaths that bound him originated with the Demahnk Council and those he named only as “the others.” From what I could tell, the bond with Rhyzkahl was a subset of those oaths. Not that I truly understood how any of that worked.
But flipping the bird was answer enough. “Well, how about that,” I said with a sour smile. “That asshole made something awesome.” It also meant he’d had sex with me, all the while knowing he’d had sex with my aunt. Gah!
Shuddering, I hurriedly pushed the mental images away. “Does Rhyzkahl know about Idris?”
“He does not. I mean, hypothetically, if there was something to know.” Strain laced his voice as he desperately sought the balance of telling me without tellingme.
I had more questions, but the interrogation could wait until I saw Zack in person. I had plenty to mull over, and he sure as hell didn’t need more stress right now. “You’d better write while I’m away at demon school,” I said lightly.
“You know it,” he said, sounding a bit more relaxed now. “On pink paper.”
“Perfumed, or it doesn’t count.”
Chapter 45
I hung up with him, and then could put it off no longer. Eilahn had Fuzzykins and her squirming little spawn in a giant pet carrier in the living room, and as Bryce paced anxious circles around it, I went down to the basement and began the summoning.
I spun the power out from the storage diagram in brilliant strands of potency, interlocked and coiled them together to create the portal. I made the call, held the strands—felt through them as the summoning found Mzatal and took hold.
Yet when I pulled, nothing happened. Baffled, I felt down the strand. It definitely had the demonic lord, but instead of coming through smoothly like every other summoning, it was as if he’d dug his heels in. Breath hissing through my teeth, I fed more power into the strands, tugged and felt the resistance, like a fish on a line. Except that I had Jaws on the other end of my Ronco Pocket Fisherman.
The hold on him fractured and dissipated, and the portal spiraled closed with an uncomfortable pop.
Chest heaving, I released the portal strands and stared at the empty diagram. He wasn’t going to even answer my call? Bleak dismay clutched at my gut, but a growing outrage quickly kicked that aside.
Oh, hellno. On the social etiquette scale, refusal to answer a summons from your lover ranked several steps below breaking up by text message. He could show his lordly ass up here and tell me to my face we were over, but no fucking way was I going to slink off and give up at this point.
I shot a quick look to the storage diagram. A little less than half-full, which meant I was going to have to pull some serious magic out of my ass to make this work. Teeth clenched, I cleared the diagram of the residual energies, retraced the sigils, and started over. Having that seventh ring of the shikvihr made a big difference now. No way would I have been able to attempt two summonings in a row six months ago, much less of a demonic lord.
Once again I cast the arcane strands out to form the portal, but I paused before I made the call again, assessing. The base wasn’t strong enough, and if he resisted again, I risked a backlash on both ends, like losing hold of the fishing pole and falling on your ass.
I picked up the knife that lay with my other implements and made a quick sharp slice in my left forearm. As the blood welled, I traced over the anchoring sigils, grimly pleased as the strands amplified.
“Mzatal!” I shouted the name and once again felt the summoning find its mark. Arcane wind whipped from the portal and through the basement as I seized the strands and pulled. Yet unlike the first attempt, this time I felt the resistance yield. I sent out more strands, like vines wrapping around a branch, and continued to pull, breath hissing. There was no way I could draw an unwilling lord through, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to make it easy on him to refuse. It felt like dragging an anchor across sand, but at long last the vortex portal formed, deposited my target and subsided.
Shaking from the effort, I grounded the strands and stabilized the energies. Black dots swarmed my vision, and I blinked them away, fought to stay upright. He was there in the circle, on one knee and facing away from me with the intricate rope of his braid marking a dark line down the center of his back.
Blood tickled my forearm in slow rivulets, slithering down to drop off the tips of my fingers. I felt into him, sick ache growing as I found the wall and the silence once again—not as profound as it was before I told him to leave, but with barely a whisper of more.
“Mzatal,” I croaked, cleared my throat and tried again. “Mzatal.”
He stood and turned to me, eyes betraying . . . uncertainty? Indecision? Either were totally out of place on him. He tipped his head back and inhaled deeply, and when he lowered it again his gaze held resolution.
“Zharkat,” he said with tangible pain. “Beloved. Yaghir tahn.”
“Open to me, Mzatal,” I said, voice trembling slightly. Damn it. “I can’t forgive you if you continue to do what wounded me most.”
Our connection might have been mute, but his expression was not. Regret and desolation carved deep lines into his face as he moved to me and took my hand, ran his fingers over the empty prongs of the ring. “It is not so simple,” he said. “Will you tolerate me thus until we speak at length?”
I gave him a short tight nod, though as soon as I made the controlled gesture I realized that I too was afraid to reveal too much of myself. Yes, he could read everything from me anyway. But that’s why the loss of our union hurts as much as it does.The sudden clarity left me mentally groping for several seconds. The ever-present wordless communication and knowingmade that drastic imbalance tolerable and acceptable. How else could anyone have a relationship with someone who could read their every thought?
“Yes, we do need to talk,” I told him, relieved that he would, at least, still talk to me.
He lifted one hand to my cheek and, even though muted, I felt his awareness that he was face to face with losing me, felt the anguish behind that knowledge. “I do not want to lose you,” he said, voice laden with the grief of that possibility. “Cannot.”
I covered his hand in mine, leaned into the gesture. “Then let’s work this out.”
Mzatal exhaled in deep relief, leaned down, touched his forehead to mine and closed his eyes as I pulled him close. We sure as hell had some major serious holyfuckOMGlooming Issues to deal with, but this was a hugestart. But another big-ass elephant lurked in the room, and I had to ask about it.
“How is Paul?”
The color drained from his face, and he straightened and looked away. Cold gripped me. “Mzatal, is he dead?” I asked, grief already rising for the good-humored and brilliant young man.
“No!” He snapped his eyes back to mine, and I watched him pygah, as if he couldn’t bear to even thinkof such an outcome. “No,” he said again, less sharply. “He lives. The critical physical damage has been healed.”
My worry grew for both Paul and Mzatal. “He’ll get better though, right?”
He shook his head slowly. “I do not know,” he said in a voice utterly devoid of luster. A heartbeat later he straightened, looked over my head with unfocused eyes and let out a low curse. “I left Elofir overwhelmed in the plexus and must return,” he said, attention returning to me. “There is much disruption from the Mraztur’s abuse of the nodes.”
A coil of worry abruptly unwound within me as comprehension dawned. He was deeply engaged in the plexus. That’s why he resisted the summoning.“What about Idris?”
“He will recover fully.” The hint of a smile that accompanied the words flickered and faded. “Though he bears the burden of his sister’s ordeal.”
“Will you let me come back with you?” I asked, making the decision. “And Bryce as well?”
A smile brushed across his mouth, seeming foreign among the lines of worry and stress. “It is your home, zharkat,” he said, like a promise.
I nodded, then turned toward the stairs and hollered, “BRYCE! EILAHN! GET YOUR ASSES DOWN HERE! WE’RE GOING!”
I looked back at Mzatal barely in time to see the wince, quickly masked, though it came with a trace of amusement. The basement door flew open, and Bryce came down three steps at a time, duffel slung over his shoulder. Eilahn followed more slowly, primarily because of the large cat carrier that already emitted ominous growls.
“Paul’s alive,” I hurried to tell Bryce, since I knew that was foremost in his mind. “He has some more recovery to go, but he’s on his way.” Guilt twinged at the truth-bending, but the relief on Bryce’s face assuaged some of it.
“What of Szerain?” Mzatal asked. “He is not here.”
“Um, no, he’s at work,” I said, realizing how bizarre that sounded as soon as the words were out of my mouth.
Mzatal’s brows drew together. “I require use of your phone,” he stated, then waited while I fetched it from the nightstand by the futon and returned. I dialed Ryan’s number and handed the phone to him.
Mzatal held it to his ear with thumb and middle finger, and I was close enough to hear the Hey, babe! What’s up?as Ryan answered. I muffled a snort of laughter at the annoyed look on Mzatal’s face.
“I am not your babe,” he began, eyes narrowed, and then continued in demon which I couldn’t follow without the grove. There was a brief pause, no doubt to give Ryan/Szerain time to get away from other people, and then more conversation, some of it heated. Finally Mzatal touched the end call button and handed it back to me.
I replaced it on the nightstand, sobering as I returned to him. There was no mistaking that part of their conversation had held anger. “Boss, he saved me,” I said quietly. “Him and Bryce both.”
His expression softened some as he met my eyes. “I know, and I expressed my gratitude for such.”
Of course he’d known. He’d likely read the details of the event from me the instant he arrived.
Mzatal shifted his attention to Bryce. “I am in your debt, Bryce Thatcher,” he said, “for this and because I violated our agreement concerning Paul.”
Agreement?I wondered, then realized that even a simple “I’ll keep Paul safe,” from Mzatal to Bryce would count as such.
Face like stone, Bryce simply gave a micro-nod, while I wondered if any other human had ever heard those words from him.
Mzatal took my hand. “Then let us depart.”
Chapter 46
While Fuzzykins yowled her evil lungs out, Mzatal draped his arm over my shoulders and pulled me close. The feline protests cut off as he made the transfer, then started right back up again the instant we arrived in Mzatal’s plexus. In front of us, Elofir startled visibly at our sudden caterwaul-enhanced appearance and nearly fumbled the iridescent potency strands he had woven into a stabilizing coil. Beautiful but complex and difficult as well, to judge by the sweat that plastered his shirt to his torso.
He quickly recovered his composure and anchored the strands, flicked his gaze to me along with a smile thick with relief. There’d obviously been discussion of me in the past day.
I returned the smile. “Lord Elofir. Good to see you again.”
“Kara Gillian. Welcome back,” he said warmly even as he returned his attention to the complicated stabilizer.
“Where’s Paul?” Bryce asked Mzatal tersely, clearly in no mood for chit chat.
Mzatal said something to Elofir in demon with a rough meaning of I’ll be right back to help with this mess, then gave Bryce his full attention.
“This way,” he said and swept from the room with Bryce right on his heels. I followed a few steps behind, while Eilahn removed the cat carrier from the plexus. The sound of growl-hiss-screeched complaints gradually faded as they moved away.
We didn’t have far to go. About thirty feet down the hall from the plexus, Mzatal gestured to a doorless arch that led into a room I remembered as empty when I was last here. Now its glass wall, which normally looked out over sky and sea, was covered with a makeshift heavy curtain, and a bed had been moved in. Instead of bright natural light, a soft amber glow from sigils placed in the corners of the room gave the space a homey, comfortable feel. Nurturing. Even without monitors and wires and IVs, it felt like a place of healing, a refuge for someone ill or injured. Like a hospital room shouldbe.
Paul lay on the bed, eyes closed, pale, and looking weirdly delicate, as if the slightest touch would shatter him. To my surprise, Seretis sat on the other side of the bed with one hand on Paul’s shoulder and the other on his thigh. Healing him, I knew, and in another heartbeat of consideration, I realized that Mzatal had either called in favors or incurred debt to help restore Paul.
Though I didn’t know much about how the debt game worked among the lords, I had a feeling that Mzatal was far more accustomed to holding a debt than owing one. That he would do so for a human—not even a summoner human—told me a great deal about his affection for Paul. And his guilt.
Gone were the hideous burns that had covered most of Paul’s body. No scars replaced them, nor even healing flesh. His skin was smooth and unmarred, as if the terrible injury had never happened, and a shadow of peach-fuzz new hair growth covered his scalp. To look at him there on the bed, he appeared perfectly fine, simply resting.
Yet he feltprofoundly damaged, a weird, uncomfortable non-physical sensation, almost as if he didn’t belong in his body. Though I couldn’t identify the cause, it was clear Bryce sensed it as well. I stopped in the doorway while Bryce continued in to crouch by the bed, his eyes never leaving Paul’s face as he oh-so-gently took Paul’s hand.
“Hey, kid,” he said, voice cracking, and I wasn’t at all surprised to see tears on the man’s face.
Paul smiled—a barely-there movement that seemed to boost his vitality despite its faintness. “Bryce,” he breathed, not even a whisper, but it seemed to be an ocean of reassurance for Bryce.
I backed out of the doorway to give them privacy, even as Seretis rose silently and moved to exit, no doubt with the same thought in mind.
Seretis gave me a warm yet weary smile, then surprised me by leaning to brush his lips across my cheek. “Welcome back, Kara Gillian,” he murmured. He then turned to Mzatal, met his eyes and put a hand on his forearm. Neither said a word, simply locked gazes for well over half a minute, but when Seretis finally turned and walked away, I sensed that Mzatal’s tension was ever so slightly less than before.
He took a deeper breath then looked to me and laid his hand alongside my face. “I must work in the plexus for a time, beloved,” he said softly. “The Mraztur’s actions with the valve have had numerous repercussions in the flows. I must relieve Elofir, but I will be complete at sunset.”
I kissed him lightly, nodded. “We’ll talk then.”
Mzatal held my gaze for a heartbeat before inclining his head to me. He proceeded to the plexus while I went the other direction and made my way to Idris’s room on the level below.
I paused in the doorway as a faint hint of nostalgia settled over me. Not much had changed since he’d last occupied it several months ago. Though I’d been in the process of recovering from Rhyzkahl’s torture, it had been a simpler time. The room suited Idris. Spacious and airy with a window wall overlooking the sea, and furnishings in varying shades of blue accented with silver. A scatter of books and papers topped his worktable, undisturbed since he’d been taken.
He lay on his back atop the covers of his bed, left arm thrown over his eyes, and right knee cocked to the side. He wasn’t asleep though. The fingers of his right hand tapped on the bed in an uneven tempo, but I couldn’t tell if it was in frustration or impatience or something else entirely.
I knocked lightly on the door frame. “Hey, dude.”
He pulled his arm away from his eyes, looked toward the door. “Kara?” he asked, voice hoarse and raw.
Moving into the room, I gave him a smile. “Yeah, it’s me. How you feeling?”
He let out a humorless snort. “Like my insides are scrambled, and my head’s exploding.” One corner of his mouth twitched up. “Y’know . . . not too bad.”
I sat on the edge of the bed and peered at him. He looked like he’d been dragged through hell—which he had, now that I thought about it—but to my relief he didn’t have any of the damagedfeel Paul radiated.
“Well, Mzatal says you’re going to be fine,” I told him firmly. “You’ll be running the stairs in no time.” I smiled. “And I know you don’t want me to catch up to you in the shikvihr, right?”
He gave a wry and somewhat pained smile. “Not much chance of that. Look.” He traced an unsteady sigil that fizzled out in about two seconds.
I lightly smacked the back of his hand. “Then stop doingthat. You need to rest. It’ll come back.” But then I rested my hand on his and sobered. “Idris . . . I’m so very sorry about your sister. The rest of your family is safe, though. We got your mom out, and she’s fine.”
His hand clenched in the covers, and tension surged through him. “They didn’t have to do that,” he said, each word infused with a rage I’d never seen in him before. “They didn’t have to DOthat.”
“No, they didn’t,” I said, voice choked. “Idris, I’m so sorry.”
Filled with pain and fury, his eyes went to mine. “Where is Aaron Asher?” he demanded, voice still hoarse but with a razor edge I’d never heard in him before. “Aaron Asher and Jerry Steiner.” His neck corded as he snarled the names out. “Do you know where they are?”
“Kadir has Asher,” I told him. “Farouche is dead. Bryce killed him.” My eyes dropped to my hand resting on his fist. “There were a number of casualties and injured, but we spotted Jerry on a news clip.” I lifted my gaze to his pain-wracked face. “I swear to you, I’ll make sure you get him.”
The black rage spilled away from him like water from a torn balloon. He let out his breath in a long and shaking exhalation, then he unclenched his hand and turned it over to take mine. “Thanks,” he murmured. He simply looked exhausted now, and in that moment I wanted nothing more than to find some way to wipe away the dark circles beneath his eyes and smooth away the lines of grief and fear and anger. “Kadir won’t damage Asher,” he said after a moment, words beginning to slur. “Need summoners.”
“Maybe he’ll just hurt him a lot,” I offered and got a short breathless laugh back. His eyelids were starting to lose the battle against gravity, though. “You should get some sleep,” I said, then smiled softly. “Glad to have you back.” Cousin, I added silently.
“Yeah . . . good . . . back . . . home,” he mumbled as his eyes drifted closed.
So many questions I had for him. About his work with the Mraztur, about what he did in Texas with Asher, and so much more. All on hold for a while. The same way I felt on hold until Mzatal and I could talk about our own issues.
I sat with Idris for a few more minutes, until his breathing deepened and lines of stress in his face eased, then gently pulled my hand from his and crept from the room.
* * *
After that, I felt a need to move my body. I briefly debated going for a run, but a sluggish rain changed my mind. There were times I enjoyed running in the rain, but today wasn’t one of them.
I finally settled on a long, steady swim in the glorious indoor natural rock pool. Once my muscles were the consistency of limp noodles, I sank into the hot springs basin beside it, traced a triple pygah to float above, and set it spinning. Sometimes I came here to think. This time I came to notthink. I focused on breathing, the rush of the river falls below, and the melodic chattering hiss of the small waterfall that fed the pool. And it worked. I lost track of time and emerged feeling cleaner.
Hair still damp, and dressed in a comfortable demon realm version of designer sweats, I made my way to one of Mzatal’s favorite places, the roof terrace. As always, when I stepped from the stairway into the spacious glassed conservatory, I felt as though I stood on top of the world. Two levels above that of the plexus, it commanded a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the surrounding area. Plants filled the space, none over chest high so as not to obstruct the view, and the soft, sweet scent of a variety of flowers filled the air.
Rain slid down the glass in graceful rivulets, but a slash of blue sky to the west, far out over the sea, told me it would end soon. I made my way to the luxurious sitting area, intending to simply relax until sunset, a rare luxury these days.
A brush of sound alerted me, and I turned to see Elofir step from the stairs. He no longer wore the sweat-soaked shirt, but it was still clear the past few hours in the plexus hadn’t been a walk in the park for him.
Faruk darted up the stairs and held out a towel and a glass of tunjen for him. Elofir thanked the faas, took a long drink of the tunjen, mopped the sweat from his throat and neck, then gave me a smile.
“Is the plexus all properly plexusy?” I asked with a return smile.
He dropped into a broad chair so cushiony that it seemed he sank a foot into its embrace. “It is far from stable,” he said with a light grimace, “but Mzatal will work it until sunset, and then I will go back.”
“Back to the plexus? Or your realm?”
“The plexus,” he clarified. His gaze drifted toward the vibrant amethyst and emerald canopy of the grove to the south, and he looked briefly wistful. “It will likely be days before we return to my realm, though Michelle is more than ready. The node incident caused much instability.”
I sat on a settee near him, tucked one leg underneath me. “Kadir looked pissedwhen he came through the node.”
Elofir returned his attention to me, nodded. “Kadir is still . . . pissed,” he said. “He was here earlier. He seeks Mzatal when he is distressed.”
“Mzatal hurt him when he called the lightning,” I said after a moment.
But Elofir merely shook his head. “That injury was as nothing to him,” he told me. “Kadir bore no ill will over that. It is the node instability and disruption of the potency flows that has him angry and agitated. He is very . . . fastidious and exacting about the flows.”
I considered these recently discovered aspects of Kadir the Creepy. None of them made him seem any less creepy, but they sure made it hard to get an honest feel for him. Capable of doling out unspeakable torment. Honorable to the point of rigidity concerning agreements—though I had no doubt he would seek and exploit a loophole in a heartbeat. Some sort of wizardly genius with the flows and rituals. Champion of maintaining arcane stability of the demon realm. Loved by Fuzzykins, for fuck’s sake. Freaky-weird about pain. And the memory of the sight and sound of his burned thigh cracking when he crouched still gave me the heebie jeebies.
“Mzatal almost killed Paul.” The words tumbled from me even though I’d intended to work up to the topic more gradually. “Almost killed all of us.” It was the first time I’d said it aloud.
All trace of lightness drained from Elofir’s face. “Yes, he told me,” he said quietly. He wiped his face and neck one more time then set the towel aside. “He does not want it to happen again.”
I dropped both feet to the floor and leaned forward. “Then how can I help him make sureit never happens again?”
Elofir’s expression turned grim, and when he spoke, his words carried a foreboding resonance. “He will tell you he can prevent it. And it will be true.” He stood and moved to the southern glass doors, opened them and stepped out onto the expansive open terrace despite the persistent weak drizzle. “He can build impenetrable walls,” he continued. “Nothing gets through them. In or out.”
I stood and followed him, frowned at his back. “Like when he shut me out? That’s how he controls it?” I asked with growing dismay. “By shutting everyone out?”
“Yes. Being open means being open to the anger as well as all else. He chose to withdraw eons ago when he could no longer control it.” He turned back to me. A deep sadness filled his eyes. “He lived thus for a very long time. Formidable, uncompromising, devious, though never speaking an untruth. Never wantonly cruel, but hard. Cold.”
“Why did he change?” I asked, though I was pretty sure I knew the answer.
Elofir gave a slight nod as he read it from me. “Idris. You.” He exhaled, wiped a hand over his eyes, flicked rain away. “The two of you found a hairline crack in his wall, broke him open. Kara, it has been over two thousand years since he and I have had any cooperative undertakings outside of the Conclave or anomaly control.”
Two thousand years.Closed off and alonefor all that time? I couldn’t comprehend it.
I walked out to the terrace, looked out at the churning sea, then brought my gaze to the grove. Two thousand years meant nothing to it. A week, a day, an eon—none of it mattered. It was the grove. It existed. It simply was.
Turning, I focused on the tapering flat-topped pillar of polished basalt atop a rise on the inland side of the palace. To culminate all eleven rings of a full shikvihr atop the pillar was the rare crowning glory of accomplishment for a summoner. That column represented whyI was in the demon realm at all. To train. To complete the shikvihr. To become strong enough and competent enough to protect myself and everyone I loved.
But if Mzatal kept me walled out, could I remain here as his student?
I pivoted back to Elofir. “Do you think he can learn to control it without having to close everyone out?”
He crouched and brushed his palm across a cluster of azure flowers, set them toning like delicate wind chimes. “He carries a deep anger, always has,” he said. “Long ago it would flash and then pass.” He glanced to me. “We were close then. But after he created the blades, it would flash . . . and not pass.” He shook his head. “It was as if the blades would not allow him to bury the anger again. He would not consider relinquishing them, nor would he live without control, and so he chose the terrible alternative.”
“To close off and shut everything in and everyone out,” I supplied, inwardly reeling.
And yet, if he remained open to me—was that what Rhyzkahl meant when he told Mzatal I would be his downfall? I lifted my hand to one of the floating sigils that glimmered above the enclosing basalt parapet, felt its meaning and purpose. Sentinel.
“I can’t train with him if he keeps me shut out,” I said, voice catching. I knew that in my essence. And it wasn’t because of some lovesick longing. I wouldn’t be able to train with him because I’d be grieving the loss of Mzatal.He wouldn’t be him anymore.
I dropped my hand to my side. “But he said we’d discuss it.”
Elofir nodded. “That in itself is unprecedented.” He paused, face shadowing. “He is close to withdrawing fully, because of Paul and the rest of it. So close.” He met my eyes. “But he has not.”
“He’s part of the posse now,” I told him with a slight smile. “Not sure we’d let him withdraw.”
It took him a second to read the meaning behind “posse,” but then he smiled. “For selfish reasons, I do hope that is the case.”
“Selfish reasons?”
He let out a sigh. “I lose him as well when he withdraws,” he told me. “Even after several months I am still shocked when he names me ghastuk—friend—as he did long ago. I do not want to lose that again.”
