Diana Rowland - Touch of the Demon

“Can I come down now?” I called, damn near pleading.

Eyes on me, he nodded. Getting back onto the narrow stairs was the hardest part of the climb, but I managed to crab my way down. By the time I reached the ground I was drenched with sweat.

Scrubbing at my face, I trudged back to Mzatal. Look at me, I couldn’t even stand on the top. Trust me to flunk kindergarten.

Yet when I looked into his face, he was smiling. “Many do not make the climb,” he told me. “Some who make the climb cannot step onto the top. It is a start. Your body rebels more than your mind.”

My spirits lifted a fraction of a smidge. “You mean I didn’t fail?” I had a hard time believing that I managed to get through something others couldn’t, especially as fucked up as I currently was.

He shook his head. “You did not fail, and it was indeed a trial, its outcome determining the course of your training.”

I snorted. “You needed this to find out I don’t know shit?”

His mouth twitched. “That I already knew. I needed to know something more of your heart and your mettle.” He looked up toward the column. “The void can consume the resolve of even the most stalwart.” He returned his attention to me. “And now we train your body.”

He stepped into a wide stance—one arm stiff to the side, wrist flexed, and the other straight out in front, palm forward—and beckoned for me to copy it. I did so, though a thousand times klutzier. From there he led me through a kung-fu-tai-chi-yoga type of routine that left me sweating and shaking. At first everything in me screamed that it sucked—it was exercise, after all—but it was so freeing that by the time we were done, I was almost sorry it was over. Almost.

I felt the grove activate as we finished. “Someone’s coming.”

Mzatal went still. “It will be Seretis. He is early.” He straightened, adjusted his tunic. He wasn’t sweating or even breathing hard, the bastard. Luckily, I was doing enough for both of us.

Though I’d never actually met Seretis, I remembered the lord’s quick smile as he’d passed me on the way to deal with the anomaly at Rhyzkahl’s palace; seen a glimpse of his character as manifest in the residence he shared with Rayst. And Michael Moran had certainly spoken highly of him after our snowball fight. “Why is he here?”

“He asked to meet with me concerning a matter raised at the conclave.” He looked past me, down the steep, rocky slope that dropped from the far side of the column. “Do you see the pile of bricks at the bottom of the hill?”

I peered that way and saw a stack of dark basalt bricks about twenty-five yards away. “Yeah.”

“While I am gone you will move ten of those bricks from the pile to the base of the column.”

I blinked in astonishment and almost asked him if he was fucking kidding, but managed to hold it back. He wasn’t. Not one little bit.

“Sure thing, Boss.” I scowled and picked my way down the hill while he turned toward the grove. Yeah, and I intended to sing “It’s a Small World” in my head the next time his mind-reading-ass was trying to concentrate.

The bricks weighed probably about ten pounds each, which wouldn’t have been too bad to carry over flat terrain. But the hill had a slope of about forty-five degrees, and ranged from rubble to thigh high “steps,” which meant that this particular exercise suuuuuuucked .

Gestamar landed by the column as I reached the top of the hill. “Heya, Gestamar,” I said breathlessly.

He rumbled in what I suspected was amusement. “Greetings, Kara Gillian.”

As much as I liked Gestamar, I didn’t want to waste breath with casual conversation. He simply continued to watch while I lugged brick after brick. The uneven footing and the climb over the big shelves made the whole thing one big pain in the ass. By the ninth brick my muscles were pure jelly. I was so going to hurt tomorrow.

“A long bath in the hot pool will serve you well tonight,” Gestamar said, rumbling louder, and this time I knew damn well he was laughing.

“Yeah, thanks, darlin’,” I panted as I headed back down the damn hill.

I stepped down from a boulder onto gravel, lost my footing and landed on my ass, though I caught myself before sliding. That would have left some ugly road rash. Still gonna have a bruise, I grumbled silently as my posterior protested. I grabbed the last brick and slogged my way back up the damn hill, but when I reached the top, Seretis leaned casually against the column where Gestamar had been. Yep, still totally looked like he belonged on a Spanish-language soap opera. He watched me, smiling, as I staggered past him. Lord or not, I wasn’t about to stop when I was so close to being done.

I stacked the brick with the others, then sat heavily and lay back in the grass, breathing hard. I turned my head to peer at him. “Hi, I’m Kara Gillian. Figure you already know that though, right?”

He smiled broadly. “I know it of certainty now. I am Seretis,” he said, voice light and damn near cheery. “It is a true pleasure to meet you, Kara Gillian, as delightfully sweaty as you are in this moment.”

I pushed up onto my elbows, liking him already. “Michael speaks highly of you.”

“And well he should,” Seretis said with a laugh. “I pay him enough to do so!”

“So, you and Mzatal meet up for weekly poker games or something?” Though even as I said it, I damn near busted out laughing at the thought of a bunch of lords getting together for poker night.

Smiling, he bent and picked up one of the big bricks, shook his head. “Nothing so amusing as that this time,” he said, giving me a wink. “Some qaztahl matters. And questions about you.”

I rolled my eyes and sat up. “I’m so popular!” Then I sobered. “Mzatal told you what happened to me?”

“He did, though I also knew some from them.” Seretis gestured to the three syraza sunning themselves on the roof of the palace. “There are those who think you dangerous, Kara Gillian.”

“Are you one of them?” I had to remind myself that simply because he seemed nice and had a sense of humor didn’t mean he wouldn’t prefer to see me dead.

His face still held a smile, though his eyes were serious now. “I could have been,” he said, turning the brick over in his hands, “had Mzatal’s answers been different, and had you assessed differently than you do.”

The sweat froze on my skin. I knew it would take only a flick of his hand for him to smash my skull with the brick. I swallowed to work moisture back into my mouth. “And you believe him? Trust his judgment?”

Seretis tilted his head and nodded slowly, regarding me with keen, hazel eyes. “If he says it, I know it to be truth to the best of his knowledge. It is in what he does not say,” he offered with a shake of his head, “that his shrewd genius abides.”

I nodded slowly, some of the tension slipping away. “I have no intention of destroying the world,” I said, “for whatever that’s worth,”

“I know this,” he said with quiet power. “I truly do. You carry a ‘danger’ that some would like to harness, and no,” he said with a smile, answering the question before I asked it, “I am not one of them.”

“I said once before that dangerous things are used, destroyed, or contained,” I told him. “Are you content with how Mzatal intends to contain and use me?”

His gaze went to the pile of bricks at the bottom of the hill. “I would rather hold—as Mzatal does—that you have the will, courage, and heart to contain yourself and to make use of your potential. Should that prove not to be the case, then I would need to reassess.”

I let out a low sigh. “I guess we’ll find out.”