Touch of the Demon

my eyes shut. No. Mzatal wasn’t here to ease the nightmare. And now I understood his words, his desire for me to “reconsider my quarters.” He’d kept the dreams at bay while I stayed with him, let me sleep in peace.

But I need to be able to stand on my own at some point, don’t I? I couldn’t expect him to be there every second of the day to ease my boo-boos or hug away my fears. And I had no desire to live my life so thoroughly protected. Rhyzkahl had made sweeping decisions about my “safety” as well, such as when he’d denied me the grove. This situation was nothing like that, I knew, for Rhyzkahl’s intentions had little to do with my personal safety and everything to do with his own goals. Yet, in a way, knowing Mzatal had the best of intentions —while deceiving me into an agreement that could trap me here forever—was the hardest part. At least I thought he had the best of intentions. But how could I really be sure?

I returned inside and went to the bath chamber. My thoughts tumbled over each other as I took a long soak. Dawn came, but when the faas arrived with food, I could barely choke down a few swallows of chak. I tried again to study, but at the morning bell gave up, gathered up all my papers, and headed to the workroom.

Sitting at a table against the back wall, I spread out my notes and sought calm, which proved tough to do when I felt haggard on innumerable levels. I gently pulled power from the grove, as much to mask my thoughts as to seek an elusive peace.

Mzatal entered, and I stood. I didn’t do the “Lord Mzatal” thing. He got that message clearly last night.

“Greetings, Kara Gillian,” he said, eyes on me and holding himself with a too-smooth facade that spoke volumes more than any expression of hurt or anger could have.

Taking a deep breath, I gave him a nod of acknowledgment. “We could engage in some bullshit about getting down to work, or we could talk about the other shit. Which would you prefer?”

He stepped forward. “The work has no value or substance while the other hangs between us.”

“Agreed,” I said, a bit surprised at how calm I sounded. I sure as hell didn’t feel it. “A question for you then. Assuming we had no agreement stating otherwise, if I were to ask you to have Idris send me home, would you?”

Mzatal shook his head slowly. “No.”

I gave a snort of humorless laughter. At least he wasn’t lying to me. Though it felt like too little too late, at this point. “Then why did you even bother with that bullshit in the agreement?” I asked. “To lull me into some sort of false ease?”

His eyes narrowed. “You asked what I would do if there was no agreement,” he replied, voice oddly tight. “Were there no agreement, there would be many other factors considered as well. There is an agreement and it is not…bullshit.”

“And where in all of those factors is a trust in my own judgment?” I demanded, feeling the hurt of it all keenly. “Am I a toddler who needs her hand held to keep her from running out into traffic? Or am I a grownup who can be told, ‘Hey, there are cars out there that’ll flatten you. You need to look both ways.’” I shook my head, eyes on him. “After Helori took me away, I came back here, back to you, for two reasons. First, was that I’d come to understand the danger to myself and to my loved ones if I went back to Earth, and I knew I needed further training.” I paused, took a deep breath. “But second was because you told me I wasn’t a prisoner.”

His head lowered, eyes remaining on mine. “Under the agreement, you are not a prisoner.”

My mouth twisted. “And you made damn sure I’d agree to it, too. You used that well-honed qaztahl deceit to fudge your answer to my question so that I’d buy it. You knew damn well what I wanted to know.” I met his gaze steadily. “You’ve said yourself—repeatedly—that you can’t help reading me. But you chose to give me the answer that would ensure I became your prisoner by my own goddamn agreement.” I spread my hands. “By all means, let me lock myself in this gilded cage you’ve created for me.”

A whisper of anger or frustration passed over his face. “And what has changed in the time frame given? Nothing. I fully intend for you to complete that term and pass the shikvihr initiation. You are creating your own cage by doubting your ability to do so.”

Anger churned in my gut. “My doubt or lack of doubt has nothing to do with this,” I retorted. “What’s changed is that I see the fucking bars now. And you still refuse to admit that you employed deceit, because you don’t fucking trust me to judge for myself what my best course of action is!”

A shimmer of silver-blue potency flashed in his eyes. “Kara Gillian, you have four qaztahl holding you at the top of their target list,” he said, near spitting the words. “I had no time to toy with the devastating introduction of doubt into your process of learning the shikvihr. You do not consider doubt a factor. I do. I have watched it eat away at the potential of so very many. You see bars because you choose to see them rather than the door that is open for you.”

“Yeah,” I said, giving a slight nod. “Well, at least you admit it. And yeah, you did all this for my own safety and for the best reasons, blah, blah.” I shrugged. “Only problem with all that is, now I know I can’t trust you. From here on out I’ll always be wondering what the catch is, where the hidden trap is. Wondering what else you do because you know what’s best for me.” I slowly released my hold on the trickle of grove power. I didn’t want to shield my hurt from him any longer. “You said you want to work with me. That can’t happen. Not like this. I’ll work for you.” I lifted my chin, mouth tight. “I’ll abide by the terms of the agreement. From here on out we are student and Lord.”

He didn’t move or speak for several heartbeats, then abruptly turned and exited to the balcony, hands in fists at his sides as he went to the far end rather than his usual place right outside the door.

My anger didn’t abate with his departure. In a swift, decisive move, I yanked the ring off my right hand and hurled it against the wall as hard as I could. Breathing raggedly, I seized my papers and got the fuck out of the workroom and away.

Chapter 35

I returned to my room and dumped my papers on the bed, tried to pace away my fury and angst, but it was like attempting to put out a house fire with a garden hose. I finally gave up and changed into the first bathing suit I could find, dragged on my robe, and stalked to the pool, all the while praying I wouldn’t run into anyone—human, lord, or demon. It wasn’t simply that I didn’t want to talk to anyone; in my current mood, there was too much chance I’d do or say something I’d no doubt regret later.

Kinda like what I’d already done. My right thumb kept creeping over to where my middle finger met my palm, feeling the absence of the ring as if I’d lost a part of me.

I guess I’d had a hidden fantasy that once we talked openly, everything would sort itself out and somehow be okay again. Yeah. That happened. Why did he have to screw everything up by tricking me?

I stripped off my robe, threw it onto a chaise, and dove into the pool. I didn’t count laps, simply focused on my strokes and the rhythm of the turn at each end, yet still my mind whirled. With Mzatal’s bullshit dumped on top of Rhyzkahl’s treachery, and the Four Mraztur targeting me, I now had five lords on my shit list and could say with conviction, lords suck.

Even as I thought it, I knew lumping Mzatal with the others wasn’t fair. But damn it, he’d consciously duped me. I told myself it wasn’t the end of the world that we weren’t BFFs anymore, but it just felt wrong, like a series of sigils with the harmonics off. And I was at an impasse, unable to do anything about it.

I pushed hard off the wall, stroked savagely for the other end. I’d survived a lot of shit before. I could get through this. All of it: recovering from the torture, learning the shikvihr, getting Szerain’s blade, being the target of the Four Mraztur, Mzatal’s distance. I could do it. Yeah, it would’ve been better in all sorts of ways with Mzatal’s close support, but oh-fucking-well.

The anger wasn’t helping and neither was thinking. I kept swimming until I didn’t have to think anymore.

By the time I stopped, my muscles burned and trembled, but the fury was gone and my thoughts were clearer. I rested my forehead on the stone at the end and closed my eyes. Yep. My plate was piled high with shit,