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.
Chapter 47
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 mrowedat 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 needto 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. “ Ineed 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 seeingme 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 explainit, 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.”