Legacy of the Demon (Kara Gillian 8)

We proceeded through the arch and into the corridor—without any zaps to Pellini. Here on the top floor, the damage was most evident. A foot-wide crack ran the length of the basalt corridor that had once been covered in sumptuous blue carpet. Thick timber beams reinforced with potency shored up the ceiling, and all traces of home and comfort had been stripped.

But I couldn’t let emotion overcome our mission. Chest tight, I led Pellini to the solarium. It had become an oversized open air balcony, with nothing but sky at the ragged outer edge.

Pellini gulped and stuck close to the back wall. “Jesus Christ. I’m not usually afraid of heights, but this is fucking unnerving.”

“I loved this room.” My voice quavered. “I wish you could have seen it before all the glass was destroyed.” Grief squeezed at my heart. Mzatal had loved it, too—the spaciousness of the glass ceiling and wall, and the . . .

A wry laugh escaped me. “Oh man,” I said. “I just realized that Mzatal would love how it is now.”

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack. He hates to be enclosed. This,” I spread my arms to indicate the extra-airy floor plan, “would be right up his alley.” I couldn’t count the number of times I’d walked in to find him with the glass wall open to the elements, or out on the balcony—as if his essence was too powerful to be contained. I moved to within a couple of meters from the drop-off, where arcane reinforcements and shielding glimmered. “He has it warded so you can’t fall off, even if you try.” A tremor rumbled through the palace and shook the cliff. I retreated, quickly, from the edge. “But let’s not push our luck.”

Pellini shuddered. “I’m with you there. You said the journal’s in a black enamel chest?”

“That’s what Mzatal told me.” I knew which chest he meant, but it wasn’t in its usual spot. I had a moment of panic that it had tumbled over the edge and into the sea then spied it shoved into a corner behind a cabinet and piled chairs.

Pellini helped me pull the furniture out of the way. Sigils danced over the shiny black surface of the chest, but I had my confidence back now, and it took me less than a minute to deactivate the protections.

The drawer whispered open beneath my touch to reveal a journal bound in indigo leather embossed with the purple flowers I called demon roses. Familiarity whispered through me as I lifted it.

The heady fragrance fills my senses. I stretch in the tangled sheets.

Lord Rhyzkahl props on his elbow beside me. “Another bloom for you, dear one.”

Petals caress my cheek, raise gooseflesh as he draws the rose down my throat, between my breasts. He lowers his head to kiss me. I bury my hands in the fine silk of his hair even as he buries himself in me.

The journal tingled in my grasp. Elinor’s memory, but I had lived it. Even now I felt the velvet touch of the flower like the breath of a ghost, the ripple of his muscles, the sensation of him filling me. I remained still and allowed her experience to unfold.

I writhe in pleasure, lost. Gasp for breath. Cry out as I pulse around him.

He wraps me in his arms, presses deep, groans.

We lie entwined, his hair covering us like a veil.

He murmurs in my ear. “Tah zhar lahn, zharkat.”

Cold fills my belly, and I bury my face against his neck. “Forgive me, my lord. I . . .”

He cradles my head, silent.

My heart flutters like a caged bird.

He kisses my forehead. Disentangles. “I will make the arrangements you desire.”

Then he is gone.

In his place, amaranthine petals lie crushed upon the sheet.

The memory faded, and I drew a slow steadying breath. Rhyzkahl had loved her. And he’d let her go. The arrangements had been for her to reside at Szerain’s where her art could flourish and where her new friend Giovanni lived. Rhyzkahl could have kept her. She knew it. “But he didn’t,” I murmured.

“Who didn’t what?” Pellini asked.

“Oh. Nothing. Sorry.” I used the feel of the journal in my hands to shake off the spell of the memory. “This is the right journal.”

Wards shimmered over its cover—not only to protect it from the ravages of time, but also to discourage prying eyes. Yet the protections were far too elegant and sophisticated for Elinor to have placed them. Plus, I had admin access to these, just like all the other wards here. Mzatal’s work. Interesting and puzzling that he would bother to ward it.

I slipped the volume into a thigh pocket of my fatigues. “All right, let’s find the gimkrah. Makes sense that it would be up on this level, in his rooms.”