It wasn’t until I got outside and away from the building that I could appreciate the massive grandeur of Rhyzkahl’s palace. All that I could see before me, I had seen from my balcony—the surrounding craggy mountains, patches of trees in the grove, the turquoise sea beyond the cliffs—but not the palace itself. Turning, I stared in awe, craning my neck to see its heights. Opulent, imposing, and magnificent, it rose in a symphony of white stone, spires, arched windows, and towers framed by deep blue sky veiled thinly with wisps of winter clouds.
Okay, I thought. That’s a damn nice crib he’s got there. Smiling, I continued to walk with Kehlirik and found myself discussing books and television as I headed down the path. Occasionally, he would pause and point out some feature of the gardens or architecture that he thought I might find interesting: a silvery-leafed tree he claimed was over five hundred years old, a stone arch carved in such delicate filigree I was stunned that it could support its own weight, a translucent boulder the size of my car with ribbons of an amber-colored mineral running through it.
I was mid-sentence when a tone rippled through me, touching my ears and my bones in an oddly pleasant way. I stopped walking, stopped talking, and looked over at Kehlirik. “What the hell was that?”
The reyza rumbled, then rumbled some more, obviously finding whatever it was highly amusing. “Tones to mark the time. Midday, that was,” he said, snorting. “There will also be mid-afternoon, evening, morning, and mid-morning, though only humans need such.” He lifted his chin in what looked a lot like pride. “Demons have no need of external reminders.”
I considered that. “So, is it a real clock or a magic clock?” I asked, grinning.
“Can it not be both?” he asked.
I opened my mouth to reply, but a zrila darted up to us and stood on its hind legs. A creature the size of a bobcat, it looked like a six-legged newt with skin that shifted in hues of red and blue, although its head was more like that of a hairless koala. It peered at me and gave a series of whistles.
“It wishes to measure you,” Kehlirik told me.
“Oh! Sure.” Mzatal had said something about how a zrila had made his tie, hadn’t he? “They make clothing?”
“The zrila are master textile artisans.” His eyes flicked over my current garb. “All of what you wear now was created in a zrila circle.”
I blinked in surprise. I’d always assumed that the zrila had fairly low intelligence. “That’s pretty awesome. So, uh, what do I have to do to be measured?”
Kehlirik took a step away from me. “Stand still and extend your arms out to your sides.”
I did so, then jerked in shock as the zrila leaped up to my shoulder. I began to drop my arms, and the zrila let out a sharp whistle that very clearly meant, “put those arms back out, missy!” I quickly snapped them back out and held them as the zrila proceeded to…well, run all over me, from head to toe, winding around my torso and arms and legs and back up again to my shoulder. The whole process took about five seconds, and then it leaped off and was out of sight within about a heartbeat.
I lowered my arms. “Um, that was it?”
Kehlirik gave a snort of what was obviously amusement. “You have now been measured.”
Amused and more than a little amazed, I continued walking. Clouds scuttled across the sky as the breeze picked up. I tucked my scarf around my neck, glad that I’d overdressed. Sometimes being a wimpy southerner paid off.
The path forked. I started down the one that headed toward the grove, but Kehlirik paused.
“Where are you going, Kara Gillian?” he asked.
I glanced back at him and smiled. “I want to go sit in the grove for awhile.” Already, I could feel a slight touch of its calm as it came into sight. “The past few days have been very shit-tastic. I want to chill for a bit, and it’s really lovely and peaceful in there.”
He shifted his wings. “Here, there are many places to sit in contemplation,” he told me. “And today, for you, this is not one of them.”
I blinked at him in surprise, then gave a low chuckle. “Oh, no. I’m not leaving. I promise that.” I could see how he might have misunderstood my intent, considering how I arrived. “I just really need to go there for a little while and get my head on straight.”
“Dahn,” he said with quiet insistence. He stepped to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Not to the grove.”
My smile faded, and for several heartbeats I could only stare at him while I tried to process it. “But I’m not trying to leave. I swear.” I looked to the grove and then back to him, dismay growing. “Kehlirik, please. I really need this. I give you my word I won’t try to leave if you let me go there. Only for a little while. Please.”
His eyes deepened in what might have been regret or sympathy, but I couldn’t really tell for sure. “It is not my decision, Kara Gillian, so I cannot bind you by your word.”
“Whose decision is it?” I asked, though I knew damn well whose it was.
“It is the mandate of Rhyzkahl.”
Even having guessed it had to be him, it was still a punch in the gut to hear it. “He doesn’t trust me?” Why would he think I’d want to run away from him?
Kehlirik shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I can only say that he has forbidden the grove.”
I turned toward the trees again, ache of separation like a knot in my chest. The unfairness of it clawed at me. “I only wanted to sit and think,” I said as disappointment curdled in my gut.
Kehlirik huffed and resettled his wings. “There is a place that will serve well for this, if you will allow me to show you.”
“Sure,” I said, throat tight. Apparently I didn’t have a choice. Bereft, I turned away from the grove.
“Come,” he said. “We will take the path through the gardens.”
Annoyed and upset, I followed glumly. Did Rhyzkahl really think I would flee here? And what if I did want to leave? Clearly, this option wasn’t available to me. Am I a prisoner again? What the hell is going on?
An arcane tingle prickled the back of my neck, stopped me in my tracks. It’s the grove, I realized with astonishment. I could feel when someone was using the grove. How awesome was that? “Someone’s coming through the grove,” I said. But then worry spasmed through me. What if it was Mzatal trying again to get me back?
But Kehlirik seemed unruffled. “Kri. Qaztahl…lords arriving today and tomorrow. Six more.”
I stared at him. “Six? Why?”
He snorted. “Because that is the number of those not yet here,” he said in a duh! tone. “Kadir and Jesral are within the palace already.”
“But why are they all coming here?” I asked, anxiety flickering. “Is Mzatal coming?”
“It is the time of the conclave,” Kehlirik replied calmly. “Should Mzatal choose to participate, he could do so with impunity. It is unlikely he will choose thus. There. Elofir arrives.”
Anxiety gave way to curiosity, and I peered toward the tree tunnel. The tingle faded, but not before I noted that it seemed to have a different feel, or resonance, than when it heralded Mzatal. Maybe each lord had his own “signature” when it came to the grove?
A reyza bounded out of the tree tunnel and took flight with a bellow, closely followed into the air by an inky-black shape I knew to be a zhurn. A few seconds later, a man with short, sandy-blond hair and the slim, athletic build of a dancer emerged. Elofir, Kehlirik had said. He wore brown boots and pants paired with a white ruffled shirt that looked like it came out of the Regency era, and he was engaged in an animated discussion with a savik a bit smaller than seven-foot-tall Turek, the one I’d encountered at Szerain’s shrine. A syraza trailed a few steps behind. The grove still resonated with Elofir’s aura—about as different from Mzatal and Rhyzkahl as night and day. There was nothing of menace or contained danger about him, though he still carried himself with Presence. The power he exuded was gentle and calm, and through my too-fucking-cool connection with the grove, I had the unwavering impression that, if given the choice between losing face or engaging in conflict, he would choose the former, and not because of any sort of cowardice. He simply felt peaceful.