Touch of the Demon

Chapter 41

I opened my eyes to sunlight and the distant song of unknown creatures greeting the morning. Above me the stars of the domed ceiling still twinkled. Languor and deep peace drifted through me, and I smiled as I felt an arm draped across my hips and a black curtain of hair spread over my breasts.

He stayed, I thought in delighted wonder. He stayed and slept with me. I shifted very carefully to face him. Mzatal had dozed in the chair less than a week ago, so I knew he’d chosen to sleep with me. Rhyzkahl had never made that choice, even when I asked him to. As I looked upon the sleeping lord, I realized I’d never doubted that he would.

And he was, indeed, asleep. I reached and stroked his hair back from his face, wanting to see how he looked in repose.

Beautiful. He breathed deeply and evenly, face relaxed and carrying none of the controlled mask that he usually wore, whether smiling-controlled, or scary-mofo-controlled. For the first time I felt as if I had a glimpse of the true Mzatal, and I reveled in it.

I coiled a lock of hair around my finger while I reflected on, well, everything. I cared for Mzatal quite deeply, yet I knew this wasn’t any sort of “romantic” love. It was far more than that. I didn’t have words to explain it, and didn’t feel any need to do so. It just was. Even if we never slept together again, we’d always have this amazing shared closeness.

A smile twitched across my mouth. Though it wouldn’t be at all bad to do it again. Maybe some post-ritual celebration?

Mzatal drew a deep breath and stirred, a smile playing on his lips as he muttered something. I stroked his hair, and a moment later he stirred again, opened his eyes and looked into mine. He lifted his hand and set it against my cheek.

“Zharkat.”

I smiled. “Hi.”

His hand slipped to the back of my neck, and he brought me close for a kiss that did a lovely job of waking me up fully. He pulled back, smiling a smile that reached all the way to his eyes and shone out. “There are no words adequate,” he murmured.

I let a lock of his hair slide through my fingers. “I’m not even going to try,” I said with a chuckle. “And today we retrieve the blade.”

Mzatal slid his hand over my shoulder and down to my hip. “Yes, we do,” he said, still smiling. “And with Vsuhl, forestall much.”

“We will kick all the ass,” I said, deeply enjoying how at ease I felt with him.

Laughing, he wrapped me in his arms and rolled, pulling me atop him. “Is that what we will do, zharkat?” he asked. “Kick all the ass?”

I grinned, utterly delighted at the sound of his laugh. “Damn straight. We are badass, and all should fear us.” I lowered my head and nestled it into the crook of his neck. Despite my brave words there was a hell of a lot to be nervous about. And I was. I exhaled softly. “I could stay like this all day.”

Mzatal wrapped his arms around me. “And I as well,” he said. “Were it any other day, I would not leave these chambers.”

I shifted to nuzzle his neck. “After this is done, we must research how to conduct rituals from bed.”

He laughed. “What do you think I have been contemplating this morning?”

“You do know I sometimes set things on fire?”

“I have faith that your skills have improved since that incident,” he replied, giving me a squeeze.

Grinning, I sat up, still straddling him as I sketched a quick series of sigils, surprising myself with how easily and fluidly I could do so. “This could totally work!” I laughed and wiggled upon him, then dispelled the series.

I felt him harden—more of that demonic lord quick recovery and response at work. His hands went to my hips, and then he lifted me with ridiculous ease and slid within me. I let out a low groan and began to move against him.

“Trace again,” he said, smiling in enigmatic innocence.

I chuckled low in my throat, then did so while he did his utmost to break my concentration. After that he found new and interesting ways to distract me as I traced the next series, and the next. At long last I found myself—somehow—upon the table in the main room, the final series of the upcoming ritual drifting in luminescent perfection above me, and my body humming with languid pleasure.

“I think I know the series pretty well now,” I said, grinning up at him.

Mzatal leaned down and kissed me. “You have mastered it, indeed.”

“Please tell me you don’t train Idris like this?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

He laughed, shook his head. “No, you have a unique advantage.” He pushed off me, then picked me up and carried me toward the bath chamber. “And now it is time to prepare, that you may kick all the ass in the coming ritual.”

After a bath that we somehow managed to finish without any more distractions, it was time to dress and get ready for departure.

My usual style of clothing for ritual fell into the comfortable, casual, easy-to-move-in category. Today’s wasn’t going to be much different, though I stayed away from anything silky and flowy. I wanted to be able to run and move and all that good stuff, but I also wanted to wear something durable enough that it wouldn’t get ripped right off me in a fight. That would probably be a little distracting.

But since I had the style sense of a near-sighted hamster, I’d decided to throw caution to the wind and leave my wardrobe up to the zrila.

And wow, did they ever rise to the challenge: comfortable knee-high boots, black pants made out of durable denim-like material but a lot softer and a lot more flexible, and a really cool sleeveless wrap shirt with a black sash to belt it all in at the waist.

I preened in front of the mirror. “I look like a badass,” I announced.

Mzatal had the grace not to laugh at my posturing. “You are indeed glorious.”

I flashed him a grin. “A glorious badass.” Turning away from the mirror, I took a settling breath. “I guess I’m ready to go,” I said.

He took my hand. “The others await.”

My nerves rose again. I had the brief impulse to pounce on Mzatal and enjoy some stress relief, but I knew that was simply a delaying tactic. Okay, it would definitely relieve some stress, but I’d still have to go and do this thing no matter what.

He slid me a look as we walked, a hint of a smile twitching his mouth. “It would be a shame to dishevel the braiding Faruk made in your hair,” he murmured, telling me clearly that he’d read my impulse. His own hair was once again perfectly contained in a complex braid, its utter blackness beautiful against the grey and silver brocade of his tunic coat.

“I bet you could find a way to do it without messing up my hair,” I said slyly.

His hand briefly tightened on mine. “If I were to take you now,” he said, “your hair and clothing would be quite disheveled.”

I laughed. “Tease.” But even the simple banter was enough to quell my nerves. Well, somewhat. This was still a huge thing we were about to do. And neither of us had any doubt that Rhyzkahl would make an appearance.

Our footsteps on the stone path seemed loud in the still morning air as we headed to the grove’s tree tunnel. The others were there waiting—Idris, Safar, Ilana, a big reyza I didn’t know, as well as two zhurn and two kehza I also didn’t know. Gestamar was still recovering, his absence palpable. Everyone was so damn quiet that I had the brief urge to shout, “Let’s do this thing!” but I decided it wasn’t the right moment. Still, I smiled at the thought.

Mzatal paced beside me, contemplative. “If you remain open to me during the ritual, it will be helpful,” he said. “After last night, I am certain there is much we can accomplish together that we cannot alone.”

I smiled. “I know we can.”

Idris glanced up from his papers as we approached. His eyes flicked to our joined hands and then back up to my face. He gave me a nervous smile, one that I knew would vanish as soon as he was involved in the patterning.

“Hey, Kara,” he said. “Big day.”

I exhaled. “Yeah, not sure I’ll ever be able to top this.”

Puzzled, he furrowed his brow as he looked from me to Mzatal, then back to me, expression deepening into a frown.

“Yes, you will need to make adjustments,” Mzatal told Idris. “The shift is likely permanent.”

Idris cleared his throat and nodded, perplexity seeming to deepen.

Mzatal and I entered the tree tunnel, and the others fell in a few paces behind us.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

Mzatal smiled and squeezed my hand. “You and I are…different, and he must make adjustments in the ritual and support parameters.”

A slow smile spread across my face as I explored the connection and merging of the two powers. Our energy signatures had changed, as if we’d exchanged a portion of our auras, bringing us into a beautiful flow of connection. “Yeah.” I grinned. “We’re better, stronger, faster.”

“With all going as planned,” Mzatal said, “we will bring a measure of stability that is sorely needed.”

“Nothing ever goes as planned,” I said with a grimace. I’d been on enough search warrants and other operations to know that all too well. “What’s our worst-case scenario, Boss? Rhyzkahl, right? Are we ready for that?”

“Worst-case scenario would be Rhyzkahl intervening and our failure to recover the blade,” Mzatal said, but then he shook his head. “No. Worse would be if he captured the blade once we had it.” He gave me a look filled with confidence and reassurance. “I am prepared for Rhyzkahl this time, and we are together.”

“We will kick all the ass,” I told him, grinning.

Mzatal smiled back, eyes unveiled and filled with unaffected peace. “And the best case scenario is that there will be no ass to kick, and we return with Vsuhl.” He stopped in the center of the grove, eyes traveling over everyone and everything, assessing and assuring that we had all we needed. He took my hand to prepare for the transfer, but then paused and gave me a questioning look.

“What is it?” I asked.

He pursed his lips in thought. “You lead. I will support for the group.”

I blinked. “Me? Are you sure?”

Giving my hand a light squeeze, he nodded. “It feels right.”

“Right,” I echoed, then took a deep breath, soaking in the comfort of the grove to calm the sudden rush of nerves. It was here for me, ready for me when I needed it. And now I had a stronger understanding of it—its strengths and limits, and how to engage and control the semi-sentience.

“Right,” I repeated with a firm nod. “I can do that.” Extending, I asked the grove to take us to Szerain’s palace, and within three heartbeats we were there.

I drew a deep breath, tasting the subtle difference in the air. After traveling with Helori, I knew that sharp edge, like a faint continuous flow of arcane electricity, was localized here and likely exuded from the cataclysm-born rift to the east.

Mzatal drew my arm up to link with his, tucked his free hand behind his back, and we headed out of the tree tunnel. To the north, the honey-blond stone of Szerain’s palace shimmered with golden iridescence beneath a bright, cloudless morning sky. When we left nearly two months ago, Mzatal had closed and warded the double doors to the arched passage that led to the interior and the main courtyard. Now they stood open, so I had to wonder who’d visited since. The paved path rose toward the arch and, halfway there, split into three: one continuing on, and the other two branching right and left to flank the east and west wings of the palace.

“Juntihr, seek interlopers and warding,” Mzatal said to the reyza I didn’t know, voice focused and intense. “Idris, you know what to do, but—” He paused, frowned. “Add an additional layer. Double the pattern.”

Juntihr snorted assent and leaped into the air with a bellow. Idris’s brow furrowed with a quizzical look as though considering the implications. A second later he gave a sharp nod, likely having analyzed the possibilities in the time it took me simply to register the statement. With total focus suffusing his face, as if slipping into a second skin that fit better than his own, he turned and loped off down the path toward the passage. The zhurn scuttled on in Idris’s wake and the kehza took flight, heading up and over the palace. Safar and Ilana paced us some distance behind.

Mzatal and I followed Idris in comfortable introspective silence, stopping only to close and ward the doors behind us. It wouldn’t stop Rhyzkahl, but it would delay him or encourage him to flank the palace. Either way, it bought a little time.

We exited the passage into the overgrown tangle of the courtyard proper. Nothing had changed, yet it felt as if every thing had changed. The raised circle of stone with its enigmatic eleven columns still stood among sorely neglected pathways and flower beds. The wings of the palace still angled off to the east and west. But me? I couldn’t even begin to quantify the changes in me since I’d last stood here. Blatant rape of naïve innocence tended to shake things up a bit.

Letting my cop-senses assess the area, I released Mzatal’s hand and headed toward the columned pavilion. I wasn’t the best tactician by any stretch, but it wasn’t tough to figure out that the pavilion was horribly indefensible except with the arcane.

Uneasy, I scanned the area, then looked back toward Mzatal. “Can you ask Safar to station himself on the tower there?” I asked, gesturing to a section of the palace above the arched passage that offered a good view of the grove on the other side. He nodded and turned to give the instructions while I continued on to the pavilion. Idris was already there, laying out the initial diagram. I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling, but doing something would help. I’d spent the last couple of weeks learning everything I needed to know about my part, and now it was show time.

“Watch out, dude,” I called out to Idris, “I’m coming in.”

He grinned and gave me a look of mock horror before slipping back into total focus. “Mzatal wants the patterns double-layered to amplify the resonance,” Idris said without a hitch in his flow of tracing. “That doesn’t change anything in the initial set-up, but when we start on the overlay, you’ll have to feel into it to get the two layers to mesh.”

I gave him a nod. “I can totally do that.” Creating the sigils by feel for the recovery of Gestamar last night had skyrocketed my confidence in my intuitive ability. I began to work the opposite side of the pattern from Idris, delighted at how smoothly the tracings flowed. All that practice with Mzatal this morning, I thought with amusement.

The main ritual pattern dominated the circle of stone, reaching almost to the columns themselves. With the double layer, it pulsed in multicolored beauty at about chest-level, quiescent sigils shifting subtly, primed and ready for ignition. Once we’d checked it over for continuity, Idris gave me a grin and thumbs up then moved out to his designated place about halfway between the pavilion and arched passage. I wasn’t keen on him being exposed like that, but it was the right place for the damn support diagram.

After a brief assessment, Idris traced a compact pattern and ignited it. With an impressive burst of heat that stirred my hair even twenty yards away, he seared a neat circle in the overgrowth, efficiently clearing the ground for his patterns. Damn, the dude had skill.

I still couldn’t shake the sense that I was forgetting or overlooking something. Nearby, Mzatal danced the overlays for the main ritual with such grace I couldn’t help but smile. I cast my gaze out, seeking the demons. Safar perched on the roof. Juntihr flew high above. One kehza stood atop the wall of the western tower, and the other flew circles above the ruined eastern tower. I didn’t see the zhurn or Ilana. Surely we have enough eyes, and I’ll feel it if Rhyzkahl comes through the grove, I reminded myself.

Before I knew it, the diagrams were prepared, and it was time to begin. Mzatal joined me in the center of the main diagram while Idris took up his position within the support structure. Smiling, Mzatal caught my face in his hands and kissed me, tender yet with a heat beneath it that whispered hints of what he’d done to me this morning. I relaxed into the pleasure and comfort of the kiss. I could trust him utterly. I knew this deep in my essence. Yes, we were lovers now, but we were still friends and partners, and that trust would never waver.

He gently broke the kiss and gave me a radiant smile. Releasing me, he turned and lifted his hand to trace the first sigil of his shikvihr, but before he could do so I took hold of his braid and gave it a not-very-gentle tug.

Mzatal froze with a sharp intake of breath, then turned on me with demonic lord speed, catching my head between his hands in a move that should have struck fear of neck-snapping death into my heart. Instead, I smiled up at him, meeting eyes that shone with playful heat over shadowy depths. He bent and touched his forehead to mine, closed his eyes and murmured, “Dak lahn, zharkat. Thank you.” I felt his gratitude far beyond the words, and encompassing so much more than this moment. He pulled me into a quick embrace, then released me, smiling. “Now, work. Vsuhl awaits.”

I grinned, turned, and set about doing my part of the tracings. The potency of the ritual rose, the three of us working in a harmony that I wouldn’t have thought possible until the Gestamar summoning last night. It was even better today. Beautifully unified power flowed between Mzatal and me, but Idris followed and maintained with astounding ease and adaptability. He traced sigils with a keen efficiency that would have likely left me gaping if I’d been able to spare the attention.

With a torrent of arcane power, the patterns ignited, flowing through me with sweet perfection. In a perfect dance of tracings and dispersals we wove the summoning, called to the blade named Vsuhl. I’d thought it kind of superfluous and weird before—to name a blade like it was a sentient creature—but not now that I could sense it. With the first touch I felt it, knew it: Vsuhl. Gooseflesh crawled over me, and I wanted to feel it in my hand. The blade’s power began to infuse the ritual, and I smiled as I met Mzatal’s eyes, seeing nothing within them but certainty that we would succeed.

The tingle of the grove reached me as a new harmony within the pattern. “Rhyzkahl comes,” I calmly told Mzatal without pausing or stopping my tracing. We’d known this would likely happen, and Mzatal was prepared to hold him off until I had Vsuhl.

Mzatal’s face went to the intense, unreadable mask. He nodded once and worked through the patterns to exit the diagram. “Maintain and continue. I will meet him.”

The grove activated again, and I nearly fumbled my tracing in shock. “Wait! Mzatal, it’s not just him.” Swallowing hard, I extended toward the grove to get a better sense of what was happening. “Oh, fuck.”

Mzatal reached the outer edge and turned as soon as he was fully out, already tracing new protections. “Who?”

Cold seared through me as I felt who was in the grove. “Rhyzkahl, Jesral, Amkir, and Vahl.” Four! There was no way in hell we could stand against four. Maybe they’d play by their own rules and only engage one-on-one? Amkir hadn’t intervened during the grove fight, so I had a measure of hope. In any case, it was far too late to shut down the ritual and make a run for it.

Mzatal’s eyes narrowed, but otherwise he displayed no reaction. “Idris, lay pure defense with a support core.” His voice dropped to Scary-MoFo intensity. “Kara, these chekkunden have already gone far down a dangerous path and the stakes are high. They may well dishonor our ways.” Anger flared in his eyes, and I sensed it was directed at least partly at himself for not anticipating this level of treachery.

Crap. “What do we do?” I asked, doing my best to keep my cool.

He turned back to me, eyes hard on mine. “You must get the blade,” he stated. “With Vsuhl and Khatur, we can hold against them even if they come in force. It is too close to let go now.” He lifted his chin. “You know what you need to do. I will meet all of them.”

I nodded, but worry knotted my gut. “Boss, be careful.”

A whisper of a smile curved his mouth. “And you, zharkat.” He turned away and took up a position about twenty feet from the edge of the main diagram, then began to lay a mobile foundation of glowing sigils around himself. The distance did nothing to diminish our bond, and I smiled in the comfortable rightness of it.

The bellows of multiple reyza sounded in the distance, and Safar took flight. The odd trumpeting call of our kehza signaled their rise to challengers. Fuck. The game’s really on.

I spared a glance to Idris in the support diagram where he moved in a ceaseless flow of tracing. “Kick ass, Idris!” I said, giving him a wink and a smile.

He glanced over and grinned. He was pumped full of adrenaline. Probably had no idea how bad a direct combat situation could get, and I wasn’t about to inform him. Then again, he was dug into a damn good defensive position with his diagram. Plus the pattern here not only mirrored the one at the nexus on the beach, it also linked fully to Idris’s support diagram in the unique way developed by Mzatal and Idris. We were a kickass unit. I could only hope it would be enough.

I continued to trace and work the ritual. This was what I needed to do. The blade was close, but I knew I didn’t have time to complete the next three rings and make the call before the lords could engage Mzatal. But I did have time to finish another ring before those assholes made it to the courtyard.

With the fullness of the ritual and the light merge with the grove, I felt Rhyzkahl in the tree tunnel. He moved through it and away from the grove with a speed that made me wonder if perhaps he didn’t like being within those leafy walls since nearly being crushed by that power. I smiled at the thought as I continued tracing.

A few minutes later, Rhyzkahl rounded the base of the west tower, striding with arrogant confidence, badass and beautiful in full-blown potency. Behind him Jesral stalked with contained precision. Vahl trailed them, glancing around, wary and watchful. Through the connection with Mzatal, I sensed Amkir delayed by the warding on the passage door.

Why Vahl and not Kadir? I wondered. Kadir was one of the Four Mraztur, as Seretis had called them. Maybe the other lords don’t like dealing with Kadir any more than humans do, I thought with a curl of my lip. That actually made sense. I couldn’t help but feel a shimmer of disappointment that Vahl had thrown in his lot with this crowd. Then again, he didn’t seem all that fired up to be here.

Rhyzkahl’s eyes locked on me. I smiled and flipped him the bird while continuing to trace, and I also pulled more grove power. We were fucked. I had no doubt about that. Best I could do was keep on doing what I was doing.

Rhyzkahl bared his teeth and held up his right hand in a motion I knew would call his blade to him. His hand moved stiffly and without any of its normal fluid grace, and when he opened his fingers to receive the blade, it exposed an ugly, ropey scar.

I laughed out loud at the sight of it. I knew damn well how he’d gotten it—when Mzatal had sent potency through the blade in order to disrupt the torture ritual and save me.

“Fuck you, you worthless piece of shit!” I shouted at him. “Guess you’ll have to learn to jack off with your other hand!” What the hell, I might as well have some fun before we all died horrible deaths.

I felt Mzatal at the other end of our bond, balancing me out with deadly and silent potency as he wove sigils into a complex pattern in preparation for the lords’ approach.

The blade coalesced into Rhyzkahl’s hand. Rakkuhr wrapped itself around his fist in shimmering reds and coiling shadow, and he visibly shuddered. With blade in hand, he lowered his head, focusing fully on me with a palpable intensity.

Rowan.

I sucked in a breath as the name smothered me and slid through my essence. I faltered in the construction of a sigil, trembling to my very core. The entire ritual flickered and dimmed as I stared, stricken, at the unfinished sigil.

Kara!

My eyes snapped to Mzatal. He wasn’t looking at me, but I knew that touch had come from him. The name drifted before me like a life preserver before a drowning person. In that instant I knew I had a choice. My choice. Slip under the sea of fear, or reach out and take what was offered, reclaim what was mine.

“I. Am. KARA!” With the proclamation, the trembling gave way to exultant determination. I know who I am. I bared my teeth and finished the sigil, relieved when the ritual stabilized.

“Not for much longer.” Rhyzkahl didn’t shout or seem to raise his voice, but the words carried to me as if he’d used a megaphone.

I flipped him off again and continued flowing through the ritual, though I did check the perimeters of the diagram to be extra super sure they were secure. Rhyzkahl advanced on Mzatal, Jesral to his right rear by only a pace. My hope that they’d engage singly evaporated. Their combined potency crashed on the verge of the ritual like storm-driven surf, and I struggled to maintain both the perimeter and my connection to the ritual itself.

Sealing the ring of sigils, I ignited it. I stood silent and unmoving for a moment as the power of the growing ritual suffused me with a tingling arcane heat. My awareness expanded with the power. I could sense where everyone was in the area—five lords, two humans, and damn near too many demons to count. I sensed Amkir moving through the passage. I saw my connection to Mzatal—not like a strand but as a constant flow and melding of energy between us. We were greater than the sum of our parts, and my faith deepened that we would succeed.

Breathing deeply, I began work on the next ring. Only two more. I felt the blade on the periphery of my awareness, a roiling sun of power. Fear rose. Within a heartbeat I recognized it as a remnant of Elinor, made myself breathe, and separated from the reaction. With unexpectedly gratifying recognition of the blade, I bared my teeth and breathed its name. Vsuhl.

“Mzatal.” Rhyzkahl spoke the name with dark vehemence, words carrying clearly on the sea of power. “I give you this single opportunity to return that which is mine.”

“Nothing here is yours, nor ever was,” Mzatal said, continuing to weave and trace sigils with calm, elegant speed and precision. “We offer you this single opportunity to withdraw.”

I laughed. “You don’t get to keep the toys you break,” I called out. “Didn’t your mama ever teach you that?”

Rhyzkahl turned on me and went demon-lord still. The potency surrounding him sucked in so close and tight, I thought he would break into a billion pieces if anything touched him. I locked my gaze with his and continued to weave and trace.

His stillness shifted into dynamic motion in the blink of an eye. He gave an unnerving cry as he threw his arms wide, expanding and drawing to himself the fullness of the shadow and blood of rakkuhr. I’d sure as hell struck a nerve in Rhyzkahl, but I didn’t have time to wonder about it right then. Shifting darkness illuminated by brilliant red arcane discharges surrounded him and lit his eyes with glowing intensity. I’d only thought he looked badass before.

Mzatal moved only to widen his stance, opening his left hand low and slightly out to his side, and raising his right hand open, palm toward Rhyzkahl. He gave every indication that he was acting purely in defense, but I knew from our shared connection that he had plenty of options for attack and wouldn’t hesitate to use them.

Amkir emerged from the passage and headed straight for Idris and the support diagram. Fuck! I knew Idris had a strong pattern, but I wasn’t sure how well it would hold up if Amkir decided to truly attack it. In the sky and on the ground, demons battled. I knew that ours were sorely outnumbered, but at least for now they seemed to be holding their own. I hated that I couldn’t spare any energy to try and help them, and could only hope that they would handle themselves and that none would get hurt.

Rhyzkahl’s face revealed fury, certainty, and triumph as he brought his fully ignited blade in front of him and cast a heavy strike at Mzatal. In the split second before it reached him, Mzatal called Khatur to hand and lifted it high. The blade summoned the strike like an umbrella lightning rod, the rakkuhr channeling into it, and the residuals shedding off like rain. With his other hand, Mzatal shot forth a very sneaky left-handed strike, catching Rhyzkahl fully in the chest.

Rhyzkahl staggered back from the unexpected assault, shaking his head to clear it. Jesral strode forward two paces and sent a shimmering net of potency toward Mzatal. With practiced ease, Mzatal deflected the net, then moved in sweeping strides to fully engage in a perilous dance with both Jesral and Rhyzkahl.

On the other side of the courtyard I sensed Amkir moving closer to Idris and his diagram. The lord made a motion to strip the outer perimeter, but the well-constructed pattern thwarted his efforts. Amkir snarled, gaze traveling over the support diagram, the ritual, and then to Mzatal. Anger swept over his face as he realized that all were tied together. It had been a brilliant move on our part to link the diagrams and support together when we’d assumed that at most we’d be facing one lord. But now I worried. Four lords was an entirely different story. Mzatal currently handled Jesral and Rhyzkahl masterfully, especially with the support from Idris and his ability to draw on the grove power through me.

What the hell was Vahl doing? He hung back near the palace wall, a good thirty feet or so from either Rhyzkahl or Amkir. But Amkir, unopposed, had all the time in the world to pick apart Idris’s circle, and he did so now, prowling around its perimeter, unweaving a strand at a time.

I cursed under my breath and tried to channel power toward Idris and his diagram so that he could reinforce his defenses, but I wasn’t sure it was working. I watched Amkir warily and nurtured the connection with Mzatal. Amkir’s eyes were on Idris, dark and intense as he sent spikes of disruptive energy toward him.

“Dispel your perimeter, little summoner,” Amkir said with a sneer. “And this will not hurt nearly as much.”

Idris merely scowled, continuing to maintain the perimeter and tend the support core. His scowl seemed weirdly familiar, but I couldn’t spare the focus to try to place it. I finished the ring of sigils and locked it down before igniting it. One more. The blade blazed clearly in othersight. Tears stung my eyes, surprising me with their onset and the sense of kinship that accompanied them. Vsuhl. Once you are in my hand, all of this will be over.

My entire circle wavered abruptly, as if in a brownout, and I hesitated in the preparations for the final ring. Mzatal still held his own against the two lords, but now Idris was deeply involved with fending off Amkir. Idris shot a quick look at me, most certainly noting that I’d set the second-to-last ring.

Amkir sent a spike through the perimeter, and Idris staggered. Then, before I could say or do anything, Idris abruptly unwound a sigil and severed the connection between my diagram and the support core.

I stared at him in shock. There was no way for me to finish the final ring without that support. But then I realized what he’d done. By severing the connection, he was protecting me and my diagram. If Idris lost control of the support core while I worked the final ring, it could jeopardize the entire ritual and would open me up to attack.

That means he knows he can’t hold it, I thought in dismay. I struggled to think of something I could do, some way to help Idris, yet with the connection severed I could do nothing with the arcane. I extended through to the master ritual on the beach, felt its power, but I didn’t have the skill to draw upon it. I touched the grove energy, but it flowed through and down into the patterns, feeding the ritual, feeding Mzatal.

Amkir sent another spike through the breach he’d created. Idris went to his knees, then tipped forward, barely getting his hands in front of himself in time to keep from fully collapsing. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth onto the ground beneath the patterns, sending shudders of distortion through the entire diagram. In a heart-wrenching effort he sought to stand and regain the unraveling patterns, but the strands of both the support core and ritual slipped away.

I sucked in a breath as his circle fractured completely. Idris had severed the connection just in time, but was now completely and utterly vulnerable. Having Vsuhl in hand would kick all the ass but—although I could feel the blade so close, so present—I couldn’t finish the damned ritual without Idris’s support. I had to do something. No way was I just going to stand there and let Idris get smeared by that fucking asshole.

Amkir had his back to me, between Idris’s circle and the full ritual, and I made a quick decision. After making certain that the completed rings were stable and that the entire diagram was keyed only to me, I called grove power and tapped the connection with Mzatal. I’d never tried anything like this before, but I wasn’t going to let a little thing like that stop me. All I needed was a burst. I slid out of my ritual and ran for Amkir.

The lord meticulously ripped through the circles of the diagram now that Idris could no longer hold them inviolate. He lifted a hand, and I knew it was only a matter of seconds before he called deadly potency down on Idris.

With everything I had, I pushed a barb of power before me. Lowering my head, I slammed into Amkir as hard as I could, tackling him to the ground. He let out a surprised oof, and in that moment of advantage, I grabbed his shoulder and turned him over. I came down hard with my knee on his groin, and at the same time punched him hard in the face—backing it all with grove power. Then I slugged him again just to be sure. “I got your chikdah right here, motherfucker!” In that moment, even with pain flickering in his eyes and his precious lord-blood flowing from his nose, he looked more shocked than anything. It’d been a gamble that he didn’t have any physical shielding active, but apparently an attack by a human was way down on his list of possibilities.

I rolled off dickwad before he could recover and hurried to Idris. “Come on. Let’s get your ass someplace you can hunker down.” A recess in the wall of the west wing looked like a damn good choice. It had probably housed a statue at some point, but stood empty now, perfect for tight defense. I hauled Idris up and put his arm over my shoulder while I gripped him around his waist.

He staggered along with me toward the recess. He shook his head, trying to get his bearings, and spat a congealing mass of blood. “Fuck. Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be sorry,” I said. “You kicked ass.” I hurried with Idris toward the alcove. He looked gawky, but in reality he was a solid hunk of muscle and goddamn heavy. Shadows of many engaged demons flitted over us, a reminder of the conflict fought on a different level. A kehza trumpeted and careened through a high window ahead, shattering glass and crashing noisily into furnishings within. As we reached the wall, I glanced back in time to see Amkir getting to his feet. “Crap.”

Idris put his back to the wall of the recess, looked beyond me and saw Amkir. “Shit…shit! I need to re-lay the external aspect or you won’t be able to finish the final ring.” The worry in his face deepened. He seemed oblivious to the blood trickling from his nose and mouth. “And Mzatal. Shit. I lost his support. Not enough time to do a new one with asslord coming.”

I looked toward Mzatal. He was heavily involved, but still maintaining, at least for now. Yet without any support I didn’t know how long he’d be able to hold against both lords, and I had no idea what Vahl would do. Maybe, just maybe, Vahl was honoring something of their codes and not getting directly involved? Amkir moved toward us, head lowered and nose dripping blood, radiating a mega-potency that clearly said he wanted to squash me like a bug.

“Look, you have to survive this, first and foremost,” I told Idris. “I can support Mzatal. You do what you have to do to defend yourself here. Got it?”

“Survive.” He gave me a bloody smile and began to trace rapidly. “Yeah, good plan. Got it.”

I grinned. “Kick some ass, cuz. I’ll hold off Lord Asshole.” I didn’t have any idea if I could really do that, but I hoped that I could at least draw Amkir away from Idris. Taking off at a run, I angled away from the alcove and toward the pavilion, checking to make sure that the lord was focused on me and not Idris.

As I’d hoped, Amkir turned to follow my movement and started on an intercept path. I felt Mzatal take a heavy dual strike from the two other lords, falling back and nearly going down. He needed me back in the ritual so I could focus and maintain our connection. I ran hard for the diagram, but Amkir quickened his pace, and I knew there was no way for me to beat him there.

“Shit.” I skidded to a stop in a move like sliding into third base, pulling grove power into a shield thingy as I faced Amkir. My breath came raggedly as he approached. This was really going to suck ass.

Amkir raised his hand, blood still dripping from his nose, and murderous intent in his eyes. I tried to judge if I could make it around him, but there was no way. He advanced, and I backed. Behind him I saw Vahl skirting the perimeter of the pavilion, eyes on me. Great. From bad to worse. But I was damn glad now that I hadn’t fucked him after all.

Face contorted in fury, Amkir strode forward, breathing heavily. “Insolent cunt,” he snarled as he lifted a hand, coiling potency into his control.

I held the shield of power before me, trying to think of some sort of really witty comeback. “Oh, fuck off, you limp-dicked, piece-of-shit fuckstain,” I yelled. Hey, it wasn’t all that witty, but it would have to do.

His face went dark with rage as he cast the potency at me. I crouched in the utterly wild hope it would miss me. A shadow passed over, and everything exploded in motion as two reyza, locked in combat, crashed hard between Amkir and me, absorbing much of the strike in their own shielding. The rest struck them and seared past me, shattering the stone of the pathway behind and to my left. I swallowed hard. That wasn’t meant to take me down. It was meant to take me out.

I glanced over at the two reyza still locked in combat challenge, and did a double-take. Kehlirik and Safar grappled, potency burns marring both, but the instant I looked toward them, they turned their heads in unison to me for a bare moment, eyes meeting mine. A heartbeat later, they snarled and broke into limping flight, buffeting each other and resuming their challenge in the air. What the hell? Had the two deliberately taken that strike to save me?

I didn’t have time to think about it. Potency crackled, and Amkir gave an angry cry. My eyes snapped to him, and I blinked in surprise to see that Vahl had lassoed Amkir’s wrist with a strand of potency. Amkir, holding a partially prepared strike, turned fully on Vahl.

Vahl spoke in demon to Amkir, but with the grove power running through me, I got the meaning. No, she is not to be killed.

Amkir ripped the lasso away. “You dare to interfere with me?” he growled, calling more power to hand. I didn’t stick around to see how this would play out. I got my ass out of there and sprinted for the diagram. I couldn’t complete the last ring without support, but I could damn well channel everything to Mzatal from there.

In my peripheral vision I saw Idris rapidly completing his defense diagram, and found myself hoping it would be enough to save his ass. A moment later I felt his patterns flare. I did a stutter step in shocked realization and glanced over to him. You gutsy son of a bitch. He’d danced the first seven rings of the fucking shikvihr as a foundation—not for defense but for new support. Well, he’s certainly learning how to deal with distraction, I thought. Doing it on the column would be a walk in the park after this.

With the attention of the various lords diverted, I managed to make it back to the diagram and slide through the sigils. Already I sensed Idris rebuilding support. But will it be enough and in time? Mzatal was damn close to getting his ass kicked. Amkir had abandoned his retaliation against Vahl and had joined Rhyzkahl and Jesral in their attack.

I traced a pygah first and took a precious second to breathe it in, then quickly began to trace the final ring. So close. The ritual spiraled up into a perfect harmony of power. Vsuhl. The name resonated from and with my very essence. Mzatal, with his back against a column at the perimeter of the ritual, took a devastating triple strike that sent him to his knees. I lifted my right hand up above my head as I finished tracing the final sigil with my left. The three lords advanced upon the downed Mzatal.

“Vsuhl!” The name leapt from my throat with startling potency. I felt the glorious heat of the blade coalesce in my hand. White-hot fire surged down my arm and through my core, filling me with intimately familiar power. Gripping the hilt tightly, I lowered the blade. My whole body vibrated from the inside out with the promise of potential, like a swarm of angry bees confined in a sack. I smiled, then sent out a burst of power that knocked the three lords back on their asses.

I breathed deeply. That was more like it. With the combined power of the grove, the culminating ritual, and Vsuhl, I was a motherfucking badass.

Like ripples in a pond, the ritual flared in rings around me. When the perimeter ignited, a sound like a massive gong reverberated, and the carvings on the surrounding columns blazed with prismatic light. Clear tones rang out one after the other around me, unique for each column. The flowering vines encasing three of them vanished in instant incineration. The tones united in a continuous low thrum that fueled me like gas on a fire. The swarm of bees in me doubled in number and furor. I didn’t know how my skin held together with the intensity of the vibration, but I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

Mzatal was on his hands and knees just beyond a column. He tried to speak but coughed up blood instead. The lords got to their feet but I simply knocked them down again, laughing. I didn’t feel at all helpless now. Fuckers. You’re mine now.

Rhyzkahl and Jesral dragged Amkir up and then retreated a good distance away. I took the time to make sure that Idris and Mzatal were all right, though I kept an eye on the three lords. Mzatal struggled up to a standing position, keeping his feet in a wide stance for stability. He turned toward me, breathing heavily, bleeding from mouth and nose, with a deeply troubled expression on his face.

“Kara,” he said, holding a hand up toward me. “Ease your grip.”

I looked down at the blade in my hand and then back up to him. “Why would I do that?” I asked. “It’s okay. It’s perfect.” And it was. Why wouldn’t it be?

Mzatal took a staggering step toward me. I felt him extending and touching me on a level beyond the physical. “Because it is too much too soon,” he said. His voice was ragged, lacking its usual strength. “Remember what happened in the grove conflict. Just ease your grip. Trust me.”

I looked over at the three. They clustered together at least twenty yards away, but I couldn’t tell what they were doing. I frowned, hesitating. But I trusted Mzatal. That much I knew. The power of the grove leapt within me. It wanted to fully join with the blade energy again, wanted to meld into something perfect and huge. Again? The eagerness of the grove lit my cells, a glorious overlay on the supercharged blade energy. More. More! There was an ancient taste to it, but I remembered how easily I’d succumbed to the lure of the power during the previous battle with Rhyzkahl.

I eased my grip on the blade, shuddering at the decrease in power. Vsuhl touched me with whisper-traces of assent. The thrum of the columns eased to barely audible, and the bees settled into a milling mass. Mzatal let out a breath as if he’d just watched a pin put back in a grenade, then began to work his way through the ritual sigils to me. “Good. Keep hold, and balance,” he said. He glanced back at the three, brow furrowing. I followed his gaze and saw that all had their hands on the hilt of Rhyzkahl’s blade. What the hell were they doing?

My cop-sense lit up, that vibe that had served me so well in the past of “something’s wrong.” Those three were up to something. They hadn’t retreated. But we had the blade now. If we could get through the passage and get the hell out of here, then everything would be okay. But they’re not gonna let us just walk out.

“My Lord!” Idris suddenly called out, alarm coloring his voice. “Kara! The perimeter. Something’s happening to it!”

Even as the words left his mouth my bad vibe feeling increased about a hundredfold, and my upper chest, abdomen and right side ignited in a burning itch. Shit! Three of the sigils carved into my torso flared. I shot Mzatal an anxious look. He continued to work his way through the diagram to me, moving with utmost caution through the pattern so as to not leave behind any weaknesses or breaches in the protections. The ritual was over and the blade in my hand, but now we had to keep what we’d fought so hard to gain.

“Mzatal,” I said as the burning itch increased. “The sigil scars—”

I didn’t get a chance to finish my sentence. The three lords lifted Rhyzkahl’s blade and sent a seething mass of shadowy red rakkuhr arcing my way, far too familiar from my time in Rhyzkahl’s ritual. Still gripping Vsuhl, I threw up my hands in pure instinct to shield. The rakkuhr struck the blade, sending a shudder of remembered torment through me. Scintillating strands of ruby lightning strung between the blade in my hand and the one in Rhyzkahl’s, and I steeled myself for the pain that I’d been so well conditioned to expect to follow. Vsuhl leapt in my hand, dragging my arm upward, and with a single surge I felt it expand and consume the ugly potency, sucking the strands into itself with an ear-splitting whine that culminated in an ominous crack.

The three lords staggered back from each other. I jerked as the power slashed through the blade and into me. In the span between one heartbeat and the next every sigil on my body ignited in a sheath of pure agony. My hand spasmed tight on the hilt of the blade, and I instinctively called more grove power. I didn’t even think, simply reacted to fight off the attack, to stop the agony, pushing out and away as hard as I could. I was barely aware of the wall of power I struck out with, only dimly seeing that I knocked everyone in the courtyard flat, human, demon, and lord alike.

I sucked in a burning breath. The three different potencies coiled in a fierce maelstrom within me, like a volatile chemical reaction. These were not meant to exist within one person. It never should’ve happened. The natural perfection of the grove could not exist with the anathema of the rakkuhr. Had blade energy not immersed me, had it not entwined with the grove, the grove and the dark potencies would have simply existed together but separate, like oil and water. But that third power was the catalyst, the trigger, igniting a wrenching cascade of dissonance, like the swarm of bees madly dashing themselves into one another. The unified thrum from the columns shattered into a discordant wall of sound. The prismatic light of the sigils on the columns shifted to inky blackness

Shaking, I dropped to a crouch as I tried to pull it all back in. This was bad. This was really fucking bad. Eyes wide, I breathed in shallow gasps as I carefully pulled the power back, shoved it down. Each heartbeat seemed to last minutes, pounding through me like the tolling of a bell. As I felt the power settle within me, I slowly stood. I could do this. I could fix this. All I needed to do was let go of the grove. That would stop it.

But I wasn’t holding the grove power anymore, not the way I always had before. Now it rushed like a river through me, impacting the lava of the rakkuhr. I couldn’t let go of the river, couldn’t hold it back, and the lava refused to be cooled.

My skin burned, and I looked down, shocked and at the same time not surprised to see that the sigils glowed with a fierce red-orange light. I felt as if my body could barely contain me. I trembled, hot and cold at the same, but a heartbeat later realized that it wasn’t all me, that the entire courtyard shook with a deep tremor. A wind rose from nowhere, whipping my hair about my face.

Mzatal struggled up to a crouch. “Kara!” he shouted above the rising wind, shock and horror on his face. “Drop…the…blade!”

I panted for breath as if somehow that could cool the raging furnace within me. I struggled to ease my grip and drop the blade, but it was as if he’d asked me to drop my hand. “I can’t!” It was a part of me—not physically, but it might as well have been.

The worry in his face deepened to distress. “Idris!” he called. “Take it down! Take it all down!”

Rhyzkahl staggered to his feet, shock written across his features, and still clutching his blade. He started to move toward me, but I flicked the fingers of my left hand and sent him sprawling again. I didn’t want him anywhere near me.

“Kara!” Mzatal took a step closer to me, extending to me on all levels. He held his blade in front of him as if to shield himself from my power. “Kara, you must stop.”

I was trying. Couldn’t he feel that? Another tremor shook us, accompanied by the sharp crack of splitting stone. The demons had all gone to ground, huddling with wings folded close against the fierce gusts of wind. With unnatural speed, dark clouds shot through with purple lightning filled the sky. Rhyzkahl pushed himself back to his feet, teeth bared as he took a step toward me, posture bowed as if leaning into a heavy wind. The sigils burned and throbbed with the triple potency, and I knocked him back again, grinning ferally as he went tumbling.

My vision grew weird, as if everything was far too bright, but with no way to squint or shield my eyes. I felt Idris working frantically behind me, dispelling his circle and then peeling away the layers of my own diagram.

My breath hissed through my teeth. I felt and saw the power coming off me in misty tendrils. It probably looked cool as all hell, but I also knew it was seriously fucked up.

Kara!

“Here,” I whispered, clinging to Mzatal’s essence-touch. It felt as if the echo of our merged energies was the only thing holding me together at all. He took a step back as Idris dispelled the diagrams. Rhyzkahl stood again, blade held in front of him. As he took a step forward, the sigils on my torso flared, sending searing razors of pain through me. I felt the bindings, the wrenching of my shoulders, those ten heartbeats when he brought the pain.

Crying out, I lifted my hand. I only wanted to hold him back, but the power came from me in a heavy wave, knocking everyone flat again. Behind me, Idris let out a choked scream as he lost hold of the pattern. The diagram fractured with a whine that felt and sounded wrong. Light flashed over Idris in a discordant wave, and he crumpled in the grass and was still.

Gasping shallowly, I shook my head to clear it. Idris. I hurt Idris. Panic and terror clawed at me. I couldn’t even think with the cacophony of the columns threatening to vibrate me apart.

Kara!

“Here!” I cried out. My eyes found Mzatal’s. “Mzatal, help me. I can’t stop it!”

Mzatal struggled to his feet again, nose streaming fresh blood. “We will stop it, Kara,” he said in a calm voice that I both felt and heard. He took another step back, toward Rhyzkahl.

Amkir and Vahl both sprawled on the ground as though injured, while Jesral clawed up to his hands and knees. The black and violet clouds boiled overhead. Tremors rolled ceaselessly. The sharp bite of the air increased a hundred fold, setting hair standing on end.

Mzatal turned to face Rhyzkahl as the pale-haired lord moved up beside him. Their eyes met, antipathy and intensity literally sparking in the potency between them. The wind continued to rise to near hurricane strength. The ground heaved, and I staggered to stay upright. A massive crack of stone sounded above the clangor of the columns. Glancing left, I sought its origin, then stared in horror as the western tower lost much of its foundation to a wide crevice. The tower sheered vertically, half of its mass crumbling in a low rumble of stone on stone into the depths of the rift. Flashes of color marked furnishings, paintings, and statuary lost in the tumult. Szerain’s studio. His personal chamber with its hundreds of memories captured in sculptures. All gone. Even amidst all the tumult, my heart clenched at the loss.

The two lords continued to stare at each other for a half dozen heartbeats, and then turned in unison to face me as if they’d come to a truce. Mzatal approached me with Rhyzkahl a step behind. I focused on him, vision shifting strangely. The power burned within me, completely beyond my control, but with it came an awareness of everything. I knew every blade of grass, every stone, every lord. Amkir struggled to stand. Jesral staggered toward the downed Vahl on the other side of the courtyard. I felt every demon, felt Idris behind me—still alive, thankfully, though who knew how long that would last if Mzatal couldn’t help me stop this.

Mzatal reached and grabbed my right wrist, calling deeply to me, touching me through our shared connection.

I sucked in a breath as my blade responded to his. Vsuhl emanated a tone that soared through me, lifting, potent. Not audible, but felt in my essence. Mzatal’s Khatur answered in a harmony that unified the energies, wound them together, and I heard them, knew them, expanded into the new joining. Everything vibrantly translucent.

Mzatal called to me, and I answered: “Here. Here. Here.” I turned my head to look at him, looked into him. A pinpoint of blinding light in vast darkness. “Mzatal,” I breathed. “So lonely.”

He froze, hand on my wrist, eyes locked on mine, acknowledging. Rhyzkahl stepped forward with a scowl. My gaze shifted to him. I saw him. All of him. Crystalline leaves adrift on swirling water, far from the tree. Pushed by inexorable winds into foul depths. “Dear one,” I whispered. “So lost.”

He straightened, face going liquid for a brief flash before returning to the mask of determination. Vsuhl extended to Rhyzkahl’s blade, to Xhan, and then recoiled violently sending a crashing wave of discord through the entwined melody of Vsuhl and Khatur. I trembled with the discordance, grateful that Vsuhl withdrew. The blade song wrapped around me, wrapped around us. Vsuhl, Khatur, Mzatal, me. I expanded. Xhan sought to join, but the rakkuhr dominated it, smothered it.

“All of you, so lost,” I whispered. The wind ripped my words away, yet I knew they carried to all corners of the courtyard. “Foolish dear one.”

A syraza appeared behind Mzatal, laid a hand on his shoulder. Ilana. Not the one I wanted. Needed. Not my syraza. “Eilahn!” My voice carried through the universe, unstoppable.

Mzatal shifted his grip so that it covered my hand over the hilt of the blade. I returned my burning gaze to him. “Take it from me.”

Mzatal’s mouth pressed into a hard line as he gripped Vsuhl’s hilt and tried to wrest it away, backing it with potency when he found it immovable. “Ah, zharkat,” he murmured such that it touched my very essence with its sorrow. Ilana stepped back, vanished.

My expanded awareness flared an instant too late as Jesral threw his dagger at my exposed back. I jerked hard as the steel buried deep, piercing my heart. Rhyzkahl gave a cry of rage and cast a powerful strike at Jesral, sending him into a tumbled heap. Pain seared through me even as deep memory stirred. Time swirled and slowed. I slid between the moments.

The gate, so perfect, has become a wild maelstrom. How? What did I do wrong? Now the ritual tears at me, tears at the world. I cannot stop it! Lord Szerain’s face is cast in alternate mottled patterns of light and dark as the patterns flicker and fail. Help me. My lord, help me! He will stop this. He will save me. He steps close and wraps his arm around my waist from behind, murmurs something in demon against my ear. I don’t understand what he means, but I trust him. He has me now. He will save me. Pain blossoms in my chest.

My entire body convulsed as the memory collapsed into darkness, the Elinor aspect recoiling. “No!” I screamed at everything, needing to see beyond this moment, recognizing in Elinor of then an echo of what raged within me now. Vsuhl vibrated against my palm, whispering just beyond my understanding, its tone shifting and winding through the grove energy. Whispering. Rakkuhr churned within me and over my skin. Molten metal dripped to the stone as the seething potencies in my body expelled Jesral’s knife, healed the tissue in its wake. For all Jesral’s many and terrible faults, he’d known the way to stop the breaking of the world, but had not the means.

I knew who had the answer. Knew who’d stood at the center of the destruction of the world. Knew who wouldn’t look at what came with the pain. Burning, I felt Mzatal and Khatur calling to me, through me, Mzatal’s hand wrapped around mine, around Vsuhl, around us. I willed time to slow. Slid between. Called up the pain, called to Elinor.

Pain blossoms in my chest, and I look down. Lord Szerain’s fist is wrapped around the hilt of his blade. No. No! I don’t understand. I don’t understand! He bears me to the floor. Cold face. Cold stone. Cold inside. Pain. More pain. Only pain. Giovanni’s face. Save me. Elinor Elinor Elinor…Elinor Elinor Elinor…forever. Pain.

I sank to my knees, this pain eclipsing the roiling power. Vsuhl whispered. Held within. Entrapped. Rakkuhr. Pain for all. Rakkuhr entangled. Elinor. And more that came through from the blade, beyond words. And then the pain receded to be replaced by the burning of the three potencies. Wind, cracking thunder, and shaking ground greeted my return from the time slide, and I breathed heavily.

I understood so much more, yet I had no time now to process it. I bared my teeth and climbed to my feet. Mzatal and Rhyzkahl stood before me, small, but not insignificant.

I spoke to Vsuhl. You stopped this before. How do I do it now?

Vsuhl whispered, its meaning flowing through me. Two blades. I will open the way. I will hold you. Not them. I am here. Waiting.

My gaze touched the two lords. “Both. You both must end this. Strike me with both blades. It’s the only way.” I understood. No normal blade could take me down now, no strike of a lord’s potency. Nor could a single essence blade. Too much was in motion. Too much boiled within me. I shuddered, or perhaps it was yet another quake. The tremors grew more severe. Chaotic dances of lightning lit the near black sky. “I won’t be the cause of another breaking of the world.”

Mzatal touched me deeply through our connection, sharing with me his stricken resignation.

My tears burned away before they could fall. “Do it. Do what you must.”

A syraza appeared two paces beyond the lords, and my heart leaped with a fierce relief and joy. Eilahn, aroused from stasis by the potency of my call and the sheer fucked-up-ness of my situation. She stretched her wings and placed her right hand on Rhyzkahl’s shoulder and her left on Mzatal’s. She wasn’t here to save me, I knew. No one could do that. But she would be with me here, now, at the end of it all.

Rhyzkahl’s free hand tightened into a fist. “There is no other way,” he said through clenched teeth. As I watched, I felt him detach, his face taking on that icy look I knew so well.

Mzatal’s eyes were deep wells of pain as he shifted his grip on his blade. I felt their blades, knew their blades. Like the first ignition of the columns, the Three should have resonated in harmony. But the rakkuhr spiked the melody, fractured it, punctuating it with bone shuddering disharmonies a hundred times worse than fingernails on a chalkboard.

Eilahn left the lords and moved behind me, took hold of my shoulders. I leaned back against her, deeply grateful for her support. I tipped my head back and looked up at the roiling sky. I never got the chance to say goodbye to so many people. “Please find a way to let my aunt and the others know,” I said to Eilahn. Let them have closure at least. The wind screamed around us, but her chiming came to me even through the noise and discordance, and I knew she’d heard and would do as I asked.

She slid her arms around my shoulders, holding me close to her.

<>

A cold touch wound around me, a razor coil of ice.

The two lords exchanged looks that said everything from I fucking hate this to Do it now.

The cold touch deepened, and something tugged at me through the maelstrom of power.

<>

Mzatal shifted his grip again. “Zharkat,” he murmured, then moved in for the strike. Rhyzkahl moved barely a fraction of an instant behind him, yet before either blade could touch me, a flash of something like comprehension came over Rhyzkahl’s face. With demonic lord speed he knocked Mzatal’s strike wide to cut deeply into my right forearm instead of driving into my chest.

“Summoning,” he hissed to Mzatal.

And then the breaking world dropped away.