Legacy of the Demon (Kara Gillian 8)

More than a quarter of an hour later, the normal world supplanted the void. The stench of rotting fish flooded in, accompanied by a wash of sound: waves, the calls of demons, wind through trees. Pellini crashed into me where I stood gasping in relief.

“Jeez, Kara.” He grabbed my arms to steady me as I staggered. “Didn’t see you stop. Sorry.”

“Uh, no prob,” I said, trying to get my heart rate under control. Apparently time didn’t pass for statues. I considered telling the others what I’d learned and what befell Lannist, but immediately realized how dangerous that could be. I had shielding from the mindreading lords and demahnk, but the others didn’t. Lannist had sacrificed himself to pass on the information, and I intended to keep it safe.

Pellini’s gaze focused beyond me. “We have company.”

I turned to see a demahnk a dozen feet away, pearlescent wings glimmering in the sunlight. Trask. My distress call through Rho had brought in the one-demahnk cavalry to pop the dimension bubble, but I had no idea if he was ally or enemy. “Hey, Trask.” I gave a casual wave and smile. “How’s things?”

“Grievous, with the calamitous southern anomaly, Kara Gillian,” he said, his voice like soothing chimes. “Seretis is needed.” He remained cool as ever, giving no hint that anything was amiss, even though he’d just released me from the bubble and had to know by now that one of his fellow demahnk was gone. According to Zack, the demahnk lived in constant telepathic connection. Was Trask maintaining an implacable demeanor in order to protect enemy interests, or save his own skin, or snub me, or all of the above? Even a brief knowing look would have taken the edge off my unease.

Instead, my worry escalated. With Lannist out of the picture, how could Seretis possibly cope with day to day pressures, much less hidden enemies?

“I am ready.” Seretis stood at the garden entrance, one hand on the stone arch as if for support. A droplet of sweat trickled down the side of a face rigid with a megadose of focused control.

He fixed haunted eyes on mine. “I am ready.”

Those three little words told me everything I needed to know. Though the unthinkable loss of Lannist wasn’t as overtly devastating as a broken bond, it still struck Seretis to the core. Yet he wasn’t going to show any vulnerability. Not now. He was undeniably the most “human” of the lords I knew, but maybe that aspect contributed to his immense strength in the face of adversity. Other lords considered Seretis a minor player. Kadir dismissed him as weak. They were wrong.

I gave him a nod. “Yeah, I guess you are.”

He approached, briefly placed a trembling hand on my shoulder, then continued past to Trask. A second later, they vanished.

“What got into him?” Pellini asked.

A vision rose of a distraught Seretis singing to soothe a panicked infant Kadir. “He’s exhausted,” I said. “And he has no choice but to keep on fighting.” I blinked back tears and started toward the grove. “Let’s pick up Michael and get out of here.”

Chapter 27

Cool sea air touched with the scent of conifers welcomed us upon our arrival in Mzatal’s grove. I caught myself smiling as we trekked up the tree tunnel toward late afternoon sunlight. I’d missed this place more than I realized. “Pellini and I will go for Elinor’s journal and search the upper levels . . .”

The rest of my words lodged in my throat as I stepped out of the grove. I was vaguely aware of Pellini catching my elbow to steady me. My chest squeezed tight, and a weird numbness crept through my whole body. Mzatal’s palace still occupied the top of the sea cliff ahead, but it was all wrong. The balconies he loved and needed as a refuge from the confines of indoors had been sheered away, lost to the sea far below. The demon-glass that had given an all-window effect to the entire structure was gone as if blasted away from the inside out, leaving a stark skeleton of wood and basalt held together by arcane reinforcement. Where the waterfall should have cascaded from the midst of the palace to tumble to the sea pool far below, a sickly trickle of brown sludge stained the cliff face.

Someone was talking to me. Pellini. I felt his arm around my waist, supporting me.

“We can sit for a few,” he said gently. “Take it nice and slow.”

I wanted to collapse right there, sob my heart out and wallow in the bullshit unfairness of it all. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Mzatal didn’t have that luxury, and neither did I. Not as long as we still held hope for our worlds. I disengaged from Pellini, squared my shoulders, and swallowed the pain. “Better get moving,” I said, voice thick, and started down the basalt steps toward the palace.

Pellini didn’t say a word as he followed, but I felt his eyes on my back.

“This place is a big ol’ mess,” Michael said.

I glanced at him over my shoulder and plastered on a smile. “No worse than other places. And see? Mzatal has fixed it up a little with potency.”

“Mzatal’s sad,” he said as we reached the bottom of the ravine and started the climb to the entrance.

“I’m sure he is.” I fought to keep my tone light. “It had to be hard to see his home destroyed.”

“I mean now, silly.”

I whirled. “You see him?”

He nodded earnestly. “Uh huh, but I dunno where he is.”

“What does it look like?” I resisted the urge to shake the details from him. “What’s he doing?”

“He’s smack dab in the middle of a big, black circle, sitting on one knee.” Michael squinched his eyes as if trying to see better. “There’s a blue house and grass. He’s going like this on the black part.” He wiggled and waved his fingers.