Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian) (48 page)

Two thousand years.
Closed off and
alone
for 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
why
I 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.”

The simple admission touched me—that a demonic lord could crave and treasure a simple thing like friendship.

“You won’t lose him,” I stated. “I’ll make sure of it.” My gaze went to the grove. “Lord Elofir, would you excuse me? I have some thinking to do.”

He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “Go.”

With a parting smile, I hurried down the stairs.

I found Eilahn in the central atrium below the mezzanines along with Gestamar, Faruk, Wuki, Dakdak, and a half dozen other demons, all crouched around an elaborate arrangement of blankets and bedding. A kittenless Fuzzykins held court from atop the pile like a proud and fierce queen, unruffled while demons cuddled and fussed over her newborns. Surely it was too soon to handle the babies? But what did I know.

Gestamar held one of the tiny kittens cradled oh-so-very gently in his clawed hand while he crooned softly to it. The two ilius coiled around another—apparently not feeding on its essence or anything of that nature, since I rather imagined Eilahn would protest.

Faruk zipped up to me, thrust a soft, warm ball of fluff into my hands before I could protest. “Fillion,” she said, then returned to do homage to Fuzzykins.

I stared down at the tiny wriggling kitten in my hands, a feline that wasn’t hissing, growling, scratching, or hating me. Not that it had much to work with, eyes closed and barely able to scrabble. I cupped it in my palm, gently stroked its orange and white fur with a finger. Maybe Bryce’s suggestion of handling a kitten from early on really would work. Such a trivial consideration in the grand scheme of things, but it felt monumental to me in that moment.

My grove-sense tingled with an activation—Kadir, I noted as I nuzzled the kitten and made goofy noises at it. He was headed to the Little Waterfall, I had no doubt. Yet a couple of minutes later a ripple of movement went through the demons, as if they’d all heard something strange, and within the span of about five seconds every demon with a kitten settled it beside Fuzzykins and scattered, leaving only Eilahn and me. Even big and scary Gestamar quickly and soundlessly retreated down a corridor.

Kadir strode in a heartbeat later, which explained the sudden exodus. I quickly set Fillion with the others as I pulled a trickle of grove power to shield my thoughts. I stood and opened my mouth to demand what he was doing, then closed it. No way would Kadir enter any part of Mzatal’s realm without explicit permission. Which means Mzatal invited him here. Which also meant the need was surely dire.

Fuzzykins
mrowed
at him, like a
Hey! Good to see you!
Crazy cat.

The androgynous Kadir glanced my way, then paused and scrutinized the air slightly to the right of me, nostrils flaring. He angled his head, lips parted, in an expression I finally concluded to be burning curiosity. “The
rakkuhr
, How did you clear—” he began, then looked sharply toward the stairs, turned and bounded up.

I followed quickly, though not to the point of running, caught up to him as he stood waiting at the entrance to Mzatal’s level. There was no physical barrier between the stairs and the corridor, but demonic lord protocol backed by a number of potent wards served even better.

I took a perverse joy in stepping around him just as Mzatal exited Paul’s room, his face unreadable and lined with stress. Without a glance, Mzatal swept past me to engage in a hasty, tension-filled exchange with Kadir. Terms of agreement, I gathered, but so quickly set that even with the grove as translator I could only get the bare gist.
Assessment. Heal if at all possible. Do no harm.
I had no idea what the payment terms were.

Kadir sauntered past me and to Paul’s room while Mzatal remained where he was, back to me, hands in fists at his sides.

“Paul is dying,” Mzatal said, his voice resonant and remarkably controlled.

Sick fear tightened my chest. Not Paul. Not that sweet, brilliant man. Tears sprang to my eyes at the thought of never hearing his quick laugh again.

I moved to face Mzatal, seized his head in my hands, and forced him to look at me. “No! Paul needs you, needs to feel you
here
.” My heart ached for Mzatal, and I understood the desire, the
need
to separate himself from it all, but I couldn’t allow it. I stroked a thumb over his cheek, much the same as he often did to me. “
I
need you, beloved,” I said, voice gentling a bit. “You must not close us out.”

His face like stone, he reached up and gripped my wrists. I didn’t need a mental link to know he fully intended to move my hands and turn away. But instead he met my eyes and went still.

“Mzatal,” I murmured as I pushed through the shrouded connection to touch him.
I can help you. Pain shared is pain halved.
“I need you, too.”

He closed his eyes and drew a long slow breath. As he exhaled, I felt him, as though he’d opened a crack in his impenetrable wall. He released my wrists, gathered me to him and tucked his head close beside mine. “Zharkat.”

“Boss,” I said quietly.

He cradled me close for several heartbeats, then straightened and laid his hand against my cheek. “Go to Paul,” he told me. “I must attend Elofir in the plexus, then I will join you.” He paused. “When Paul is stable, we will talk. Deeply.”

I hoped for all our sakes that moment came soon. “Absolutely,” I said, then kissed him quickly and hurried into Paul’s room.

Bryce sat on the far side of the bed, looking stricken and pissed and grieving all at the same time as he held Paul’s limp hand. The covers had been stripped back, and the young man’s chest laid bare. I’d seen a lot of corpses, and if Mzatal hadn’t told me Paul still lived, I’d have sworn I was looking at one. A discordant chartreuse sigil like tangled neon yarn drifted a handspan above Paul’s heart and pulsed a deathly slow cadence.

Already deep into his process, Kadir leaned close to Paul’s face and inhaled deeply.
Scenting
. He’d done the same creepy thing to me before, but now I realized it formed an integral—though odd—part of his assessment.

I moved to sit beside a wary and watchful Bryce, put an arm around his shoulders. “Kadir is going to help,” I murmured, weirdly convinced it was true.

Bryce’s managed a tight nod, his eyes locked on Paul.

Kadir added erratic extensions to the tangled sigil over Paul’s chest. Its pulse took on a chaotic and disturbing rhythm—disintegration struggling to fuse with normality. Bryce and I both recoiled, but then a profound familiarity sang through me. I leaned forward in horrified fascination, eyes and arcane sense keenly focused. I laid my hand over my side, over Kadir’s convoluted sign etched in my flesh. Like the other scars, it had burned or itched many times, but now it felt cool and . . . alive.
A by-product of Szerain’s activation?

The bizarre sigil continued to flutter and pulse but no longer seemed so irrational. I called to the grove, felt its warm response like the caress of a summer breeze. Kadir traced and enlarged the sigil to create a peculiar mat of neon strands the size of a sheet of paper above Paul, then pushed it down onto him like a bandage. The scar beneath my hand began to pulse, matching the slow death beat of the sigil. I drew more grove energy, then more still as I pressed my hand to Kadir’s sigil scar and connected with the . . . chaos.

Kadir froze, snapped his gaze to me as if truly
seeing
me for the first time. His eyes slid down to where my hand covered his mark, deep curiosity in his expression again, along with a trace of shock.

“Don’t stop now,” I snapped. “He’s
dying
. I can help you. I understand it.” And I did. No way could I
explain
it, but between the grove and the activated sigil under my palm, I felt the creative genius of the healing sigil, the potential order in the chaos, and I knew how to assist. “Keep tracing.”

Yet Kadir didn’t move. “Show me, Kara Gillian,” he said, the words intense though barely audible. He settled his hands in an
I’m-not-doing-shit
position on his thighs, his violet eyes hungry and burning with curiosity. “Then we bring this one back from the fringe of the void.”

Annoyance at his power-play flared, but I understood now what he wanted, what he’d always wanted from me. The beat of the sigil slowed as Paul’s life ebbed away, a grim reminder that we didn’t have time to waste. I considered arguing that Kadir had an agreement with Mzatal, but figured he’d easily outmaneuver me on that one. Instead, I bared my teeth, reached across with my free hand and gripped a handful of golden hair hard and close to his scalp and gave him what he wanted.

“Here,” I growled and opened a flood of grove energy. He’d challenged me at Rhyzkahl’s, goaded me in Mzatal’s grove. The bastard wanted to experience the enigmatic grove flows through me, but wouldn’t simply
ask
. Well, now he had his chance.

The energy of the scar blasted through my body and to his with holy-crap-what-have-I-done intensity. I dragged in a breath, sought balance. Kadir’s lips parted, eyes closing as his face took on a disturbingly orgasmic look. In the next breath, chaos poured from him and through me to unite with the scar.

I’d gone too far. Drowning in a sea of madness, I called to the grove, clung to its strong presence as I dragged myself above the chaos. In a flash, I felt a tsunami wave swamp Kadir’s tiny island of order and relative sanity.

He jerked against my hand, and his eyes flew open, wild and unfocused, while his aura radiated chaos like a solar storm. Breathing hard, I forced my fingers to unclench from his hair. Kadir fell to his knees, hands white-knuckled on the edge of the bed.

Distantly, I heard Bryce call my name, but couldn’t spare him a glance. The healing sigil sputtered with weak flickers. “Kadir!” I shouted. “We have to finish healing Paul or . . .” Or what? “Or you’ll violate your agreement with Mzatal.” It was a long shot but it worked. He clawed through the chaos to refocus on Paul. But slowly. Too slowly.

I gripped his wrist and placed his hand atop the contorted sigil on Paul’s chest. Kadir straightened and spread his fingers, but his attempt to call the needed strands together failed with a shower of arcane sparks. I reached
through
Kadir—just as Szerain had reached through me on the mini-nexus to try to call Vsuhl—used the understanding and bizarre connection to adjust and ignite the sigil. It flashed bright green then shifted into precise and ordered curves. Grove energy still coursing through me, I stared at the pattern of the new sigil, at the order from the chaos. A torrent of information like a million minds connecting at once bombarded me, even as the sigil subsided to a faint glow on Paul’s skin.

I jerked my hand from Kadir’s wrist, then sat frozen in shock, struggling to suppress the impressions I’d received without losing them. I didn’t want to
think
yet. Not here. Not now. I didn’t dare delve into what I’d experienced in that last heartbeat of connection.

Paul drew in a noisy breath, then another.

“Paul!” Bryce leaned in close, called his name over and over. Paul still felt damaged to me, but far less than before.

Radiating chaos, Kadir pushed himself to his feet, looking deeply shaken. With a hissing breath, he drew his nails down his cheek, deeply enough to draw blood. Helori appeared beyond him. Kadir’s estranged ptarl. I had no trouble seeing why the two didn’t mesh well.

Helori moved in close to Kadir. “Allow me to take you, qaztahl,” he said quietly.

Kadir turned on him. “No,” he snarled. “No!” He swept from the room without another glance in our direction, taking the suffocating blanket of chaos with him.

A look of profound sadness came over Helori’s face, then he moved to the bedside, his eyes on Paul.

Somehow I managed to stand, mundane senses unbalanced while I held the chaos impressions in check. I sensed Mzatal deeply engaged in the plexus and didn’t dare extend to even touch him for fear of shattering my balance, losing the hold on the Kadir experience.

“B-Bryce?” Paul opened his eyes blearily.

Joy and relief suffused Bryce’s face. “Right here, kid,” he said, gathering Paul’s hand in his again. “You’re going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Helori moved to my side. “Do you want to go to a grove?”

I gave the barest of nods, certain that if I moved too much the seal holding in the impressions and sensations would break.

He took my hand, fingers warm and strong against mine, and in the next breath we were in a grove.

Not just any grove. Warm, salty air, the gentle crash and rush of the sea, the sweet trill of a tropical bird. This was where he’d taken me to recover from Rhyzkahl’s treachery.

“Perfect,” I whispered, easing very slightly as I soaked in the comfort of it all. Helori touched his forehead to mine, then straightened with a soft smile, turned, and walked up the tree tunnel to leave me in peace. I stayed where I was for several more minutes, until I felt stable enough to sift through the chaos, then followed him out.

A cloudy sky did nothing to detract from the beauty of the turquoise sea as it rolled onto the pristine beach. Helori crouched nearby, in human form now, barefoot and eyes on me. I ran my fingers over the twisted, empty prongs of my ring as I walked toward the water, not caring about the sand that filled my shoes. I didn’t slow when I reached the edge of the surf, allowed the sea to surge and retreat around my legs in a comforting caress. I stopped before the water reached my knees, laid my hand over Kadir’s still active sigil, and finally allowed the seal to crack.

I staggered from the force of the overwhelming chaos, but I caught myself, called the grove energy to mute the madness.

How can Kadir live like this?
I reached deeper, beyond consciousness and into the chaos, into the impressions from the fringe of his essence. Like bubbles in a thick, simmering stew, bursts of
knowing
surfaced and dissolved in the crazy jumble. Not visions. Not words. Flashes of understanding. So much. Too much.
Enough
. With a gasp, I yanked my hand from the sigil.

Helori came up beside me, slid his arm around my waist. I couldn’t process and hold it all. Most of it came and slipped away, like the waves around my ankles. But I clung to one understanding with stubborn tenacity.

“Kadir’s mother was human,” I stated. “He was cut from her—on
Earth
—premature, before his—” I struggled to find words for the alien concept. “—before his arcane nervous system fully formed.” I kept my gaze on the water, watched the silver flicker of a school of fish beneath the surface. I didn’t need Helori to acknowledge or deny. I
knew.