I tried not to grin too obviously. “I think I’d like Seretis.”
“He laughs a lot,” Michael said. “Says lots of funny stuff.” He winced as the sound of another arcane discharge reached us. “That one stung.”
“Michael,” I said, “can you see where Mzatal is?”
He nodded. “He’s at his palace.” His eyes unfocused. “Harder to tell when they’re far away. His palace…in a dark room. He’s drawing all sorts of sigils, I think.”
“Is he talking to anyone?”
“Don’t think so. Just scowling and drawing.” He shrugged. “Hard to see.”
I will retrieve you, Mzatal had said. A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the snow and cold. Was he working on that even now?
I dragged my thoughts away from that unsettling subject. “Do any of the lords know you can…hear them wherever they are?”
A frown puckered his brow. “I can’t really hear unless they’re pretty close, and then only sometimes,” he told me. “Sometimes I can see, and sometimes I just know where they are.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Seretis knows, and he said not to tell any of the other lords.”
“He’s right. Don’t tell any lord.” I grimaced. “And also be careful which demons you tell.” I gave him a worried look. “Michael, this is a really useful gift that could be used for the wrong reasons. I don’t want to see you taken advantage of again.”
Michael’s face grew serious. “Okay, I won’t. I don’t want it to be like before and hurt anyone.” He drew in a breath. “Seretis said they can’t read it from me since my brain’s messed up.” A smile lit his face. “Guess that’s one good thing about having a scrambled head.”
“That’s a damn good thing,” I said fervently as I gave him a hug. “I’m so glad you’re doing well.”
“Thanks, Kara,” he said, returning the hug. He lifted his head. “I better go. Seretis is calling me.” He grinned. “I think he reflected one back at Amkir and stung him good!”
“That’s what I like to hear,” I said with a laugh. “Take care, Michael.”
“Bye, Kara!” He turned and took off at a jog toward the nearest entrance. I watched him go, relieved and pleased that this had worked out so well for him.
A movement in an upstairs window caught my attention as I turned away. I had a feeling it was one of the lords—maybe Jesral? I didn’t think it was Rhyzkahl. I tried to picture Rhyzkahl enjoying a snowball fight, but somehow I couldn’t see that ever happening. But I can see Ryan doing it, I thought with a smile. Ryan would be right in there, slinging snowballs and shouting orders and mock threats.
But would Szerain? My smile faded.
I retreated to a boulder and watched the demons romp in the snow, but it didn’t take long for the heat of exertion to wear off and the chill to creep in. Yet I wasn’t ready to go back inside, to the place where I had to avoid lords and make myself scarce.
The stone path was already clear of snow, which surprised me until I saw two savik moving along the path, igniting sigils that flared to melt the snow away and keep the paths from refreezing. More snow began to fall, but in a light and powdery dusting that seemed to quiet everything to a respectful hush. I started to walk without any clear destination in mind. I wanted to explore and to stay away from the palace for a while. Glancing up, I saw Kehlirik perched on a buttress. I waved to him and he spread his wings in reply. Pyrenth wheeled overhead in complicated aerial maneuvers as if dodging the scattered snowflakes, but I still had an unerring sense that he watched me as well. I shook my head and laughed softly as I continued to wander the paths. I certainly had no fear that I wasn’t well guarded.
Many of the paths ended in little nooks or grottos, each with such a different feel that I suspected they all had unique creators: a small circular pool so clear and deep that it made me dizzy looking down into it; a rock garden of huge hazy crystals which, when touched, resonated with pure tones that went right through me and made me feel cleaner; a garden I visited for no more than a few seconds because the stench from the giant flower-thing at its center was like the worst decomposed corpse I’d ever encountered. Maybe it appealed to demons, but not me.
After exploring a half dozen or so, I came to one that was clearly different from the others. I gained access through a small hedge maze, its center kept clear of snow by softly pulsing wards. A tingle similar to what I felt in Szerain’s shrine raised goose bumps head to toe. There was little doubt it was carefully and meticulously maintained; the bushes didn’t have even a single leaf out of place, and there wasn’t a hint of dirt or debris on the precisely fitted flagstones. In the center stood a waist-high pedestal of black stone with capillaries of gold and silver running through it—an obelisk about a foot across at the base that tapered up to about half that. From the top sprang a flower so lifelike that only the fact that it was the same color as the rest of the stone told me that it wasn’t real.
Rhyzkahl holds the flower out to me. “Your favorite, is it not?” I am overcome with joy. He remembered! I take it from his hand. My fingers brush his, and a thrill leaps through me. His eyes are so intent upon me. Will he kiss me? Yes, oh…yes, he kisses me, and I am undone. So much more than the kisses of before. I do not want it to ever end, and this time it does not! He gently bears me down to the blanket, brushes my hair from my face then pulls the laces of my dress. My heart leaps. Yes, I am ready! Oh, his touch is all that I dreamed and so much more. I am overcome as he shows me what pleasure awaits. There is only the briefest pain and even that he eases…
I lie spent and gasping in his arms as he traces patterns upon my bare flesh. He smiles down at me, and I want to weep again. I am a silly girl—no, not a girl anymore. I am truly a woman now.
I yanked myself out of the memory, for the first time feeling almost like a voyeur. Yet even so, curiosity tugged at me—not about Rhyzkahl popping Elinor’s cherry but about Giovanni. Was he in the picture yet? Already out of it? What the hell was the deal with him anyway?
And why can’t these damn shadow-memories have time and date stamps on them? I thought sourly. That would certainly make figuring all this shit out a lot easier.
Questions crowded against each other in my head as I regarded the stone flower—the same kind as the one he’d given me. There was no doubt at all that this was a shrine to Elinor. Yet he keeps her portrait covered. Maybe this one was all right because it was so far away from the palace? Or maybe because there was no likeness of her here?
I stroked a finger over the stone petals. Szerain carved this. It had his feel about it, as if at any moment it could stir in the breeze, turn its face to the winter sun. A pang of longing for Ryan struck me, accompanied by a wave of confusion. Here I was Rhyzkahl’s eager bedmate, yet I clearly had strong feelings for Ryan. What the hell was wrong with me?
I needed Jill, needed her keen insight and no-nonsense attitude. I wanted desperately to tell her that, before I was summoned, Ryan told me he loved me. I badly wanted her take on it. I knew she’d frown on my feeling any sort of guilt about casual, consensual sex, but it was hard not to feel a certain amount of angst and doubt given the current situation—in all its many and gloriously fucked-up layers.
The most fucked-up of which was the possibility that Ryan wasn’t…real.
Was I supposed to remain loyal to a personality that might be completely fabricated? My heart clenched at the thought that the Ryan I knew and had come to care for—and yes, even love—could simply be turned off someday. Yet I had to accept that was likely the brutal reality, especially since Turek had told me Szerain’s exile couldn’t be permanent.