Touch of the Demon

That required a moment of mulling. “The risk that I could fuck up your world versus the chance I could be of use to you later,” I said. “It was all a bunch of mind games and extreme bullshit so you could determine whether to kill me or keep me.” It’d been pretty clear at times, but this admission gave me a broader perspective.



“That is a simplistic, though adequately accurate statement.” He paused. “By the time I sought to remove the mark, I knew I wanted to work with you, and that it would be mutually beneficial. And then,” he said with a shake of his head, “you were gone.”



A flush of anger washed through me. “I can’t even begin to tell you how fucked up all of that is. I mean…” I trailed off. Yeah it was a total ethical catastrophe, but I couldn’t get past the fact that, despite his willful domination and abuse of power, he’d pulled my ass away from Rhyzkahl and been more than accommodating since then.



I took a settling breath and shifted to a more in-the-moment question. “You played at everything from being a totally scary motherfucker to halfway decent to get what you wanted from me,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “Is ‘Mr. Nice Lord’ another carefully calculated tool to get what you want now?”



He stood silent for a moment, and I had the feeling the question disturbed him. “I cannot deny that everything I do is to get what I want,” he said quietly. “What I want from you is your dedication to becoming the best summoner you can be. That serves your best interests and mine, and will serve to thwart Rhyzkahl and others.”



It didn’t exactly answer my question, but was probably the best I’d get from him. Rhyzkahl. I gave Mzatal a sharp look. “Are you sure—absolutely sure—that Rhyzkahl doesn’t have any way to recall me? No more implants or anything like that?”



“I checked you thoroughly before, during, and after the healing,” he said. “There is a streak of arrogance in Rhyzkahl. Once he had you, he did not think he could lose you.”



Goosebumps skimmed over me that had nothing to do with the temperature of the air. “I’d rather not depend on his arrogance,” I said, rubbing my arms. “You were able to hide a recall from him.”



“We did a full purification ritual on you while you slept,” he said. “and found nothing noteworthy.”



A frown tugged at my mouth. “Rhyzkahl found an implant of yours and removed it,” I said. “He told me you’d triggered it to kill me.”



“He lied,” Mzatal said without hesitation. “When you were with Pyrenth at Rhyzkahl’s grove, I sought to activate my primary recall implant, here.” Mzatal lightly touched the center of my chest. “Unfortunately, it failed and unraveled. There was nothing in it to kill you.”



I nodded slowly as I processed his answer. “So you had two implants on me. How—” I couldn’t control the slight shiver that ran through me. “How did you put them in me?”



He exhaled. “The first—the one that failed—I implanted during the purification ritual upon your arrival.”



“And the second?”



“The second was conditional, a failsafe for the first,” he explained. “When you disrupted the removal of the mark, the mark was damaged. We were in a critical window of time with a high chance that Rhyzkahl would recover you before I could remove it completely.” Mzatal’s mouth tightened. “If he did, I knew he would have to remove the mark eventually and replace it. I set the implant to trigger upon its removal, which it did.” He paused before continuing. “I implanted it in the antechamber before we went to the grove, before your escape.”



I blinked in realization. “That weird-as-hell kiss.”



“Only a heartbeat before, it had not been my intention to implant it in that manner,” he said slowly, “but, yes.”



I processed that and decided another change of subject was in order. “What about these?” I asked, touching one of the sigils on my chest. “Could he use these against me somehow? Does he have any connection to them?”



“There are no direct connections,” he told me, “but as was in your mark, there are residuals of both the blade and the rakkuhr that taints it.” A shudder passed through him. “Had any of those sigils been cut with the purpose of recall, there would be no doubt. But they were not.” He exhaled. “As it is, Kara, I cannot be absolutely certain about the potential those sigils hold. Szerain knows more. He was the one who first worked with rakkuhr and determined it was incompatible with us, with this realm. And Rhyzkahl and Jesral, based on what I witnessed of the ritual, have harnessed it in new ways.”



“What is it?” I asked. Memory of its touch brushed me, the foul miasma…Clawing panic rose, and I had to take several deep breaths to fight it down.



“I do not know its full nature as it is a potency alien to this world,” Mzatal replied, eyes darkening. “It subtly alters arcane harmonics, and its use has the potential to cause much disruption.” He grimaced. “It affects me deeply. It affects Idris as well, but not nearly as much.” His eyes went to mine. “Kara, I will do all in my power to keep you from falling into their hands again.” He said it quietly but backed with deep intensity. “Idris has great skill and determination. He will work on this as well.”



Some of the tension in my gut uncoiled with the understanding of his solid support. “When do we start?”



“You should rest tonight, and we will begin your training tomorrow.”



I scrubbed at my face. “I have so much to learn. I mean, I don’t know shit. I don’t know most of the sigils, or the shikvihr, or…”



“These I can teach you,” he reassured me. “I have taught many. And you have a quick mind and innate talent.”



“No pressure,” I said with a weak laugh. “I guess I’d better go get some sleep.” I met his eyes. “Thanks again.”



“You are most welcome, Kara Gillian. Come, this way.” He gestured for me to go with him, and together we walked down the length of the balcony to the corner, the sea to our right and the grove ahead. He passed through the open doors in the glass wall and called up a soft light within. I entered, then stopped, confused.



“These are your rooms.”



“Yes. I would prefer you stay here.”



A protest formed on my lips, but it died unvoiced at one look at his face. He had no intention of taking advantage of me. He wanted me to stay here because that way he could keep a closer watch over me. Guardian, not guard. And, as much I hated the weakness of it, I knew I’d feel safer here as well.



“Um, sure. Okay,” I said instead.



“If, after this night, you truly prefer different quarters,” he said gently, “I will make the arrangements.”



“Yeah, that’s cool,” I replied, shifting uncertainly. “I don’t have any clothes or, uh, night things.”



“The zrila have made a small supply for you,” he told me. “You will find those items in the rose chest in the dressing room off the bath chamber.”



I smiled with only a bit of tension. “I guess I’ll be occupying your bedroom then.”



He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Sleep well, Kara,” he said, then departed.



Surprisingly, I did.



Chapter 25



Rhyzkahl stood before me, glorious and beautiful. “You left too soon, dear one.” Dark fire flickered over his blade as he stepped closer, and a terrible smile curved his mouth. “We were not finished…Rowan.”



I tried to back away, but ropes of potency held me immobile. The bindings cut into my wrists, and pain seared my shoulders. A strangled cry of horror slipped from my lips as he brought the blade close to me.



He stroked the back of his hand over my cheek, tilted his head as his eyes met mine. “Ah, Rowan, you are meant to be thus.” I tried to protest, to say my name, but I couldn’t make my mouth form the word. His smile widened as he lifted the blade and touched it to my flesh.



I screamed as the pain tore through me, and I writhed in the bindings.



Kara!



A hand on my shoulder. My name. I held fast to it. Reached for them both.



“Kara!”



Rhyzkahl fractured and dissipated as strong arms pulled me from him.



“You are dreaming, Kara,” the voice said, gathering me close. “I am here.”



I clung to him, to Mzatal, I realized as the nightmare shattered and dispersed. He sat on the edge of the bed, holding me securely, but gently. To my horror I burst into tears, but he simply shifted to cradle my head to his chest. He murmured something as I felt the unmistakable touch of the pygah, but he did nothing more. Didn’t tell me to breathe or chill or anything like that. Simply held me, radiating a solid security while I wept.



Gradually, I calmed down, but I continued to hold on to him even after I got control of the stupid sobbing. I hated feeling like this, despised this weakness in me. And right now I desperately needed this feeling of safety.



“I’m sorry,” I whispered.



He shifted so that he sat up against the headboard, keeping an arm around me so that my head was cradled on his shoulder. “There is no need to apologize. I know something of nightmares.”



I let out a ragged breath and felt as if I should pull away from him now, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it just yet. “Guess you’re regretting letting me stay in your rooms now,” I said, trying for humor but not quite reaching it.



He gave me a light squeeze. “No, Kara,” he said, voice calm and melodious. “I have no regrets in that.”



I sighed against him. “Good thing, ’cause I think you’re stuck with me.”



He was fully clothed, in dark grey pants and a white caftan-style shirt covered with intricate silver embroidery. A comfortable chair and ottoman had been pulled near the bed, and a small side table held some papers and a half-full wine glass.



He’d been sitting there only moments before, I realized. Watching me sleep. But somehow the thought didn’t creep me out at all. Instead I found myself deeply appreciating the care, especially now, after the nightmare.