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
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
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 naive innocence tended to shake things up a bit.
