With Gestamar’s grip firm on my arm, we descended the path from the grove, then climbed the stairs and pathways to the entrance of the palace. Glass from balconies and walls of windows winked above, reflecting the early afternoon sun. The subtle hiss of the waterfall wove a pleasant background to the sweet, throaty songs of what I guessed were birds in the nearby cluster of thick-needled conifers.
The doorway cut directly into the native rock face, and the filigreed stone and glass double doors opened inward to a rough cut grotto with a broad circular staircase going down. And down we went about a billion steps though it was probably more like three stories.
The lord stopped a few steps from the bottom. Gestamar’s hand on my arm stopped me as well, but he needn’t have bothered. I didn’t want to be any closer to Mzatal than I had to be. At first I thought he’d stopped to greet the two ilius that coiled in flashing smoke around him, but a heartbeat later a complex sigil coalesced in front of him, shimmering blue and gold.
I glanced back and up at the reyza. “What is that?”
He let out a low huff. “Message sigil,” he replied in what seemed to be his version of a whisper. “From another lord.”
Mzatal touched the sigil. A few seconds later flickers of azure-gold potency shimmered around him, and he visibly tensed. Apparently it wasn’t a cheery Welcome Home from one of his neighbors.
He pivoted, eyes resting on me for a chilling heartbeat before shifting them to Gestamar. “Leave her with me. Go to Idris. Tell him to abort the trancing and set boundary wards specific to Rhyzkahl on the southern perimeter.”
Gestamar released my arm and bounded off. I looked after his departing form and then back to Mzatal. “What’s going on?”
Mzatal closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. “Rhyzkahl has demanded your release to him.”
Hope and relief shot through me. He knows I’m here. He’s going to get me out of this shit. His syraza Olihr must have confirmed my whereabouts to him. I folded my arms over my chest and glared at Mzatal. “Well, I am his summoner. Sounds pretty damn reasonable to me.”
“Reasonable to him,” he replied. “Unacceptable to me.” With a flick of his fingers he wrapped a lasso of potency around my left wrist, then turned and headed down a broad corridor, leaving me no choice but to follow or be dragged. I clenched my jaw tight in fury as he led me past rooms with open doorways; in the rooms beyond, walls of glass looked out over the sea. We reached a central atrium overlooked by mezzanine balconies ringing the five floors above, and he headed up stairs—all the way upstairs, never slowing his pace. By the time we got to the top, I was done, but he was not.
He threw open the doors and proceeded into a stunning hall that felt the size of a football field, though I knew that was a gross exaggeration. The walls shone with gold leaf, and inlays of sparkling gems traced graceful patterns overall. Five huge arched alcoves marked each side wall, the eleventh sheltering the door we came through. A myriad of glass panes in the ceiling high above scattered prismatic sunlight over everything. The floor was a wonder in itself, a polished mosaic formed completely of clear crystal-like quartz, translucent and reflecting the sunlight from above in its own dance of color.
With me in tow, Mzatal strode the length of the hall toward a set of doors on the far end. Glimpses into the alcoves revealed sitting areas, doorways, and what I could only describe in the moment as exhibits, not having the luxury to look closer, since Mzatal’s pace had me near trotting to keep up. Even under these conditions, I felt like I was moving through a beam of light rather than a room. Four ilius now followed in Mzatal’s wake, smokiness reduced to a bare haze in the permeating light, revealing the serpentine coils of colorful, translucent demons that didn’t seem to touch the floor at all.
At the far end of the chamber, we passed through double doors into a summoning chamber seemingly identical to Szerain’s in size, type of stone, and number of walls. He pulled me to the center and dropped the tether, but before I could so much as twitch, more strands of potency coiled around my feet and legs up to my hips, effectively freezing me in place.
I tightened my hands into fists and glared daggers of white hot hatred at him. He met my eyes, not even a flicker of perturbation in his, as he spoke in demon to the faas Jekki and Faruk, who quickly scurried out. I caught Idris’s name in what he said, but there was no way to tell from his tone or demeanor what the context was. This dude could read Pat the Bunny and make it terrifying.
My pulse beat a rapid staccato as sick fear clenched my gut. He was going to hurt me again. I had no doubt. I wanted desperately to be tough and strong and not give a crap, but it was pretty fucking difficult considering the circumstances.
He turned to face me, standing about five feet away. “Rhyzkahl will make an attempt to retrieve you,” he said. His eyes dropped to the mark on my left forearm. “That must be removed.”
The cold fear ratcheted up another notch, and I struggled for something resembling calm. “You can’t do that,” I said. “You don’t have the right.” I knew it was an empty protest, but I was sure Rhyzkahl’s mark was my only possible lifeline. If Mzatal was truly able to remove it, then how the hell could Rhyzkahl possibly track me and get me out of here? Unless I find my own way to bust out, I thought. But how? Ilana had said only the lords and Elders could operate the groves, and I had zero idea where Rhyzkahl’s realm was in relation to Mzatal’s. I rather doubted it was within easy walking distance.
“Were it a true and complete mark, perhaps not,” he said with a shake of his head. “But it is neither. And I will not honor it or him in this.”
I scowled down at my mark and then back up to him. “What are you talking about?”
He traced a sigil in the air and floated it toward the perimeter of the circle, then began another. “Key elements are missing, and its full purpose is shrouded.”
I watched the sigils as they slowly formed a circle around me. I honestly had no idea if what he said about the mark was true, but I also had no reason to trust or believe him. Not that it made any difference. He was clearly determined to strip it off me. At least he no longer seemed to be quite as eager to kill me, but my essence still clenched at the thought of the mark’s removal.
The bindings of potency holding me in place didn’t budge as I tested them. “What are you going to do?” I asked, though How much is this going to suck for me? was what I really wanted to know.
“Unwind it. Forcibly if necessary,” he said, utterly calm as he continued to build the pattern around me. “The components connect him very strongly to you, and you to him. Should he come here,” he shook his head, “anything from extrication to your death is possible.” His gaze met mine, hard and intense. “And I will not allow it.”
I knew damn well that the only possibility of death came from Mzatal, not Rhyzkahl. I resisted the futile urge to struggle against the bindings again. One of the faas returned and set a copper bowl full of steaming liquid on the low table near the perimeter of the diagram. The cloying scent, dense and heavy like a mass of decaying roses, wafted over me.
“Why don’t you simply kill me?” I asked with a slight frown. “Why the hell are you going to all this trouble?”