I gave his hand a light tug. “Then lie down with me and forget all that for a while.”
“I cannot. I must secure the oaths of the other lords, and the conclave meets again shortly.” His face went unreadable then softened. “I have something I would like to show you tomorrow,” he said. “Come to me in the great hall after the midday bell, and I will take you there.”
I lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. “What is it?”
“The plexus—where you found me before we dealt with the anomaly. It is where I adjust the planetary flows of the arcane as well as those for my realm.”
“I can’t wait,” I said, fighting to keep my eyes open. Finally, I gave up the struggle and drifted off to the feel of him lightly stroking my hair.
Chapter 15
The next morning the weather confined my explorations to the indoors. Grey and frigid rain sheeted down with possibly some sleet thrown in for good measure, to judge by the hissing patter against the windows. Fortunately there was a shitload of palace to explore, though more than once I wished I had a tour guide to explain some of the features. Demons lurked everywhere I went, and I had no doubt that I was being watched. None, however, approached to offer any sort of guidance.
My wanderings took me past two large kitchens—one dark and quiet, and the other bustling with luhrek and faas hard at work—then through a sizable, empty dining hall and into a glassed arboretum, warm and moist despite the chill outside. Butterflies and furry hummingbirds flitted among the flowering trees, and little demon-lizards scurried away here and there. I sat for a while by a burbling pool, contemplating a climb to the snug tree house tucked high into the branches above, before giving up the notion for the moment and heading out again. Eventually, I located the summoning chamber as well as a library that took up several floors. I would have gladly spent the rest of the day there, but the midday bell came before I could even set foot inside.
With a sigh of regret and a mental promise to return, I closed the library door and headed to the great hall, rather proud of myself when I actually managed to find it with only one or two wrong turns—though I ended up coming in through some sort of antechamber instead of the main corridor. My steps slowed as I entered and saw that Rhyzkahl was far from alone. A slim, dark-haired lord who I could only assume was Jesral and, ugh, Kadir were at the base of the right staircase, while Rhyzkahl stood in the center of the hall with Amkir, apparently in deep conversation.
I dawdled near the door through which I’d entered, since I didn’t want to interrupt, and I sure as hell didn’t want to make some sort of stupid social error. I tried to tell myself that this gave me a chance to see what I could of the other lords, but the drawback to that was they could do the same to me. Kadir’s violet gaze slid to me like an oily touch, and I carefully avoided any eye contact.
Thankfully it was only a few seconds before Rhyzkahl looked my way and gestured me over. Amkir turned and watched as I approached, dark eyes keen upon me like a hawk on a mouse. His predatory regard unnerved me, but I did my best not to show it.
“Kara Gillian,” Rhyzkahl stated in a formal tone. “You are honored by the presence of Lord Amkir.”
I turned my attention to Amkir, fairly sure that his eyes hadn’t left me this whole time. I had a feeling there was some sort of protocol I was expected to follow, but since I was basically clueless I had to hope I could muddle along and fake it. I gave the lord a slight bow. “It is indeed my honor to meet you, Lord Amkir.”
His eyes remained hard upon me, clearly assessing my worth. “Kri,” he murmured, then curled his lip and said another word I didn’t quite catch, though judging from tone and inflection, it probably wasn’t a compliment.
I flicked a glance to Rhyzkahl in hopes that he would either translate or intervene, but he looked away as Jesral called out something to him. He glanced back at Amkir. “I will return.” Then he strode off toward Jesral without another word.
Shit. I really didn’t want to stay here, but even without knowing specific protocols, I had no doubt that ditching this lord would be considered pretty damn rude. I forced a smile for Amkir, reminding myself that I’d been in plenty of social situations where I had to talk to someone with whom I wasn’t totally comfortable. Not that there was much talking going on. He’d yet to say a word to me in English, and I wasn’t about to start a conversation.
“Make yourself useful,” he abruptly said, eyes fiery and face hard. “Bring me wine.” He flicked his gaze toward a table by the wall. Wine and glasses were there, as well as a faas perfectly ready to serve as needed.
I kept my face as immobile as possible. Rhyzkahl was still deep in conversation with his back to me, so there was no hope of rescue from that quarter. Fine then. I had no desire to make a scene. I could suck up some hazing for a few minutes. I gave Amkir a tight nod and smile, then turned and headed for the wine. I poured quickly and returned at a brisk walk, though not from any desire to leap to his bidding. I simply wanted to get this shit over with.
“Your wine, Lord Amkir,” I said, holding the glass out for him.
He made no move to take the glass from me. “You dare offer me that which you have touched?” His lip curled in revulsion. “Pour again and do so properly,” he ordered. His right hand twitched as if he was barely holding himself back from striking me for my affront.
I took two steps back from him, just in case, then turned and went back to the damn wine table, mentally tracing the stupid fucking pygah to calm my impulse to tell Amkir where he could shove his wine glass. I poured again, this time holding the glass in a napkin. Rhyzkahl still hadn’t glanced my way and seemed intent on his discussion with Jesral, but by this point I’d decided that I’d give Amkir his fucking wine and then go wait somewhere else. Because this was bullshit.
“Chikdah,” he murmured as I returned, followed by something else that probably was not Thank you, oh so much! I didn’t need to know the language to know that “chikdah” meant “cunt” or something equally charming. Yeah, this asshole was a regular sweetheart.
Too late, I remembered that the lords could still read surface thoughts. Amkir’s eyes blazed with anger as he snatched the glass from my hand. Before I had time to even flinch, he threw the wine in my face, then hurled the glass toward the wall.
I gasped in shock. “Are you fucking kidding me? What is your goddamn issue, asshole?” Instantly, I knew my response was a mistake. It was as if I watched the words come out of my mouth in slow motion, completely unable to stop the torrential flow.
Amkir snarled in what could only be satisfaction. With lightning speed he lifted a hand and open-hand slapped me in a strike that sent me staggering. Even as I reeled back he stepped toward me, hand raised for another strike. I lashed out at him with a punch to the chest that sent him stumbling back awkwardly…
…and I suddenly realized that I hadn’t actually touched him.
Grove power thrummed through and over me as I faced Amkir. I was pretty sure I looked awesome as shit, glowy and all, but I wasn’t about to stop and check myself out in the nearest mirror.
Black fury filled Amkir’s face as he recovered. Strands of potency like long writhing whips coalesced in one fist as he regained his footing, and I had no doubt he intended to put my ass down.