I got to my feet, applauding as I headed his way. “Dude, that was amazing!”
Grinning, he met my eyes. He’d been aware of my presence the whole time, I realized. He turned a slow circle, admiring the creation, then made a sweeping motion, dispersing the pattern with a whisper of wind and soft chiming sound. “Yeah!” He lifted his hand for a high five, and I was more than happy to provide one for him.
“How long have you been working on learning this?” I asked.
Idris picked up a towel and water bottle from beside the column, wiped his face, still smiling broadly. “Since about two weeks after I got here. So, four months-ish.”
Blinking, I did my best to hide my dismay. “Damn. If it took you four months to get to the seventh ring, I’m going to be here for years before I finish it.”
He took a slug from the water bottle and shrugged. “Most summoners never finish it. You get whatever you can out of it, and that’s what you end up using.” The grin spread across his face again. “I’m psyched I got through the seventh ring!”
My mouth tightened in annoyance. “Mzatal said I couldn’t go home until I learned it.”
“Damn,” he said. “The whole thing?”
I thought back to the wording of the agreement. “Yep. He definitely said that I had to pass the shikvihr initiation. The whole motherfucking thing.” I cursed under my breath, then straightened and shook my head. No, I wasn’t going to wallow in homesickness or angst or any of that shit. “So I guess I need to get my ass in gear.”
Idris’s face was a mask of consternation. “Wait. He said you had to pass the initiation?”
“Well, yeah.” I frowned. “Why? Is there some difference between learning and passing?”
“Uh-huh,” he said. “It’s the difference between this,” he pointed at the ground, “and that.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder at the column. “Most never complete a full shikvihr on the ground. I think there’ve only been a handful of summoners in all history who’ve passed it on the column.”
Numb horror flowed through me, and for several seconds I could only stare at Idris. “A handful?” I finally managed. “In what, a few thousand years?” I thought quickly back to Mzatal’s words. That rat fucker. He hadn’t lied. He’d told me how long it had taken people to pass the shikvihr initiation. He’d simply cleverly omitted the detail about it being such a miniscule number. Fury and hurt rose within me.
I turned toward the palace. “MZATAL! YOU’RE A FILTHY DEVIOUS MOTHERFUCKER!”
Idris winced and ducked his shoulders as if expecting a lightning strike. “Shit, Kara!”
I clenched and unclenched my hands. “That devious, conniving son of a bitch. He found a way to make sure I stay here.”
Idris gave me a worried look. “The agreement to go back is based totally on that?”
“Yes!” Anger coiled with the deep sense of betrayal in my gut. I’d trusted him, had actually felt a real connection to him, as though we were far more than summoner and lord, or student and teacher. I’d liked the feeling that we were friends, and most of all, I truly needed to be able to trust him. “I can’t go back for six months,” I told Idris. “I wasn’t happy about it, but I could deal with it, y’know? And then he said that after the six months I could go home as soon as I passed the goddamn shikvihr initiation. So I asked him how long it took to pass, and he said—” I gritted my teeth. “—he said that some dude passed it in seven months, and the longest anyone’s ever taken to pass is eighteen.” I shoved a hand through my hair. “He didn’t care to mention the odds of never passing at all.” And I was too stupid to ask.
And the shitty part was that I knew why he did it. I knew perfectly well it wasn’t some nefarious scheme with darker purpose. He’d carefully employed that demonic lord deceit in order to keep me here—to protect me and make absolutely sure that I could never go back to Earth anything less than a goddamn superhero.
Didn’t matter the purpose. It still cut deeply. How could I trust him if I never knew when he might pull another stunt like that, whether to protect me or not? His words came back to me: Kara, I could no more keep you prisoner now than cage the lightning or bottle the surging sea. I snorted. Wasn’t that a lovely pile of bullshit?
I summoned the damn pygah and did some damn breathing to calm myself the hell down. Once I stopped feeling murderous, I gave Idris as nice a smile as I could muster. “Congrats on getting the seventh ring, Idris,” I said. “I have some things I need to do.” I didn’t really know what just yet, but I knew I needed to do something.
Heading back up to the palace, I pulled a trickle of grove power, not only to help me calm down but also to make it more difficult to read me. I had no doubt that Mzatal was aware of my pissed-offed-ness, but I didn’t want him hearing my thought processes while I tried to work this out. Better for the both of us that way.
Mzatal wasn’t in his rooms, for which I was beyond grateful. I took a quick bath and changed clothes, then carefully packed up as much of my stuff as I could carry. And how the hell had I acquired so many clothes? The zrila had gone nuts.
It took a few minutes, but I finally managed to convince a faas that I needed to relocate to different rooms—any that were prepared and ready, though preferably something as far away from Mzatal’s chambers as possible. That turned out to be on the north end of the palace in the eerily vacant section where humans once lived. Unfortunately, to be far away from Mzatal meant I was also far away from a view of the grove, though at least I could still feel it clearly. The room itself was comfortable enough with a spacious combined bedroom and living area. No door though. An open archway led straight to the corridor, but at least there was a curtain that could be drawn to screen the bed. By the time the evening bell rang, all of my things were in a pile beside the bed in my new room.
I curled up on the couch with my papers and books, tried to work through the concepts of the first three rings of the shikvihr. But my focus was crap, and calling up the pygah did nothing to ease the ache within. Eventually I gave up studying and tried to write a letter to Tessa, but after four tries I was ready to give up on that as well.
An ilius coiled by the open archway, and I remembered Idris’s comment about the demons being early warning systems for a pending Mzatal arrival. I quickly made certain that I was still holding enough grove power to keep him from reading me, and a few seconds later the sound of footsteps in the hall confirmed Mzatal’s approach.
He stopped just beyond the arch, but to my surprise didn’t enter. I didn’t look directly at him, but my peripheral vision worked overtime.
“Kara.”
I took a deep breath. “Lord Mzatal.”
He closed his eyes. A wave of reaction passed over his face before he could stop it, and I winced inwardly, realizing that by using his title, other than in show for others, I hurt him. That hadn’t been my intention, but the formality defined my boundaries and our roles, so I steeled myself to accept the consequences.
He remained silent longer than necessary to process a response, but finally opened his eyes. “Kara. Come. Walk with me.”
I really wasn’t ready to talk or hug it out or any shit like that. My own thoughts needed to be a lot clearer first. “Is that a command or request, my lord?”
He drew a deep breath and released it slowly before responding. “A request only.”
“Then I will respectfully decline, my lord,” I said, keeping my voice as even as I could. “I wouldn’t be good company.”
Tension tightened his shoulders. For an instant I thought he would enter, but he simply kept his hands clasped behind his back, though I had a feeling they were in fists. “Kara, reconsider your quarters,” he said. “It is too soon for you to be away.”
“Yes, you’ve made your stance on that quite clear,” I shot back, voice laden with bitterness.
“I speak of the immediate concerns,” he replied. “Though the other is what I came to discuss.”
I took a steadying breath. “I can’t talk to you now,” I said. “It would not end well.”
He remained silent for a moment, then gave a short nod. “Accepted.” He paused again before speaking. “Kara, reconsider your quarters,” he repeated, “if only for a few nights.”
“If I go back to your rooms now, my lord,” I said, calmly and quietly, “you might as well put the collar back on me.”
An expression of dismay flashed across his face, then melded into a neutral mask. “That is…” He trailed off, shook his head. “So be it. Rest well, Kara Gillian.”
My hand tightened on my pen as I gave him a nod. He remained just beyond the archway for a few seconds more before turning and heading back down the hall.
There was no point in trying to study or write letters, not with my focus this screwed up, and so much uncertainty and hurt churning through me. Eventually I gave up and went to bed, but it was a long time before I could fall asleep.
I jolted upright, anguished scream choking off before it could fully form. The nightmare coiled around me, refusing to fully disperse even though I was awake and aware.
“You are mine,” Rhyzkahl says with a snarl. “None other may touch you thus.” A drop of crimson slides down the keen edge of his blade. My blood. My pain. “You are mine.”
Throwing off the covers, I stumbled out of bed and then to the balcony. The cool night air washed over me as I stepped out, but my shivering had little to do with that. If Mzatal was here…I squeezed my eyes shut. No. Mzatal wasn’t here to ease the nightmare. And now I understood his words, his desire for me to “reconsider my quarters.” He’d kept the dreams at bay while I stayed with him, let me sleep in peace.
But I need to be able to stand on my own at some point, don’t I? I couldn’t expect him to be there every second of the day to ease my boo-boos or hug away my fears. And I had no desire to live my life so thoroughly protected. Rhyzkahl had made sweeping decisions about my “safety” as well, such as when he’d denied me the grove. This situation was nothing like that, I knew, for Rhyzkahl’s intentions had little to do with my personal safety and everything to do with his own goals. Yet, in a way, knowing Mzatal had the best of intentions—while deceiving me into an agreement that could trap me here forever—was the hardest part. At least I thought he had the best of intentions. But how could I really be sure?
