My gaze rose to him. “Shifted? What do you mean?”

Helori lowered my arm. “You were initially slated to be used to retrieve Vsuhl, and then to die in a ritual to create a permanent gate to Earth,” he said. “Your value changed once Rhyzkahl became aware of your grove affinity.” He stroked a thumb lightly over the scar on my forearm, then looked back up to my face. “That affinity made you far more valuable and useful, and thus they chose to make you a thrall, so you could be a long-term tool for their use. You would have been powerful, utterly compliant, and obliviously content.”

I’d heard some of this from Rhyzkahl during the ritual, but here, away from the torment, it abruptly clicked into place. “That son of a bitch,” I breathed. I’d never been able to understand why Amkir had treated me with such open hostility from the moment I met him, nor why Rhyzkahl had left me and not intervened in the altercation sooner. It was a test, I realized. Those assholes had set me up. I’d told Rhyzkahl about using the grove power on Mzatal, and they wanted to see if I could do it again.

My anger rose, and I let it keep going, let it burn away at the panic and fear. I scowled up at the pygah, tempted to bat it away. I didn’t want to be calm right now. I dropped my gaze back to Helori. “Tell me about these sigils.”

“United, they are a key to the potency of this world,” he said while dissipating the pygah. “The ritual was not completed, and so this purpose was thwarted.”

I listened carefully, jaw tight. “Why twelve?”

“The twelfth is the unifier, but the ritual failed before it was ignited.”

“So, a sigil for each lord?” I asked.

“Yes, one for each, plus the unifier,” he said, watching me closely.

“Tell me,” I said, holding my anger close to me like armor. “Tell me about each one.”

Helori shifted forward, touched the sigil over my sternum and part of my breasts—the first that Rhyzkahl had carved. “This one represents Mzatal, laid as an anchoring presence for the rest.”

That surprised me. “Why? Is Mzatal stronger than the others?”

“He is the oldest,” Helori stated. “And has proven to be a stabilizer for all of them.”

I pointed to the sigil that spread across my upper chest, above Mzatal’s. “He made this one next.”

“Rhyzkahl,” he said and placed a hand over it while I exhaled a shaking breath.

His hands traveled over my body while he traced the sigils and murmured the names. There was nothing sexual about his touch. It held only ease and recognition.

“Jesral,” he said, touching the one on my lower abdomen that wound up and over the lowest part of my breasts. My lip curled at the name.

“He knew,” I said, hatred flaring. “He walked me to the ritual.”

“He would have shared mastery over you upon completion,” Helori stated.

“Mastery.” I tasted the word. “Fuck him. Fuck them all.”

He nodded agreement, shifted his hand to lay it fully over a convoluted and uneven sigil on my right side. “Kadir.”

A shiver raced over me. “Bad Monkey.”

“Bad Monkey. Yes,” Helori agreed. “Very Bad Monkey.”

I gave a small smile. He understood perfectly.

He shifted around me, naming more, then touched the one on the lowest part of my back, a sigil that dove to my tailbone. “Amkir.”

I snorted. “He’s an asshole,” I said. “Appropriate that he should be close to mine.”

Helori chuckled softly. “Yes, he is. Definitively.”

I exhaled as Helori placed his hand on the only one he had yet to name—the sigil that began at the nape of my neck, flowed over much of my upper back, and coalesced in a focal spiral between my shoulder blades. I’d never seen it, but I remembered fully every slice of Rhyzkahl’s blade across my skin. “Szerain,” I murmured. One of the few I don’t despise, I thought, but then frowned. I only knew Ryan. I didn’t know Szerain. There was every chance I could despise him as well.

“The last, here,” he said, touching my lower back. “The sigil was completed, but not ignited. Idris and Mzatal disrupted the ritual to assure it was not.”

I turned to look at him. “Could it still be?” I asked, speaking my fear.

He shook his head. “The unifying sigil carries its own potency, as does each of the others. But they are not united and cannot be simply through ignition of this last one, now.”

“What does it mean for me, that I bear these?” I asked.

“You are unique,” he said. “I do not know the full implications.”

I fell silent while I struggled to put everything into some sort of order that made sense. My anger slipped away, and I let it go. I couldn’t hold it indefinitely. It felt as if some of the panic went with it, though I knew I still had a lot more to deal with. I reached for my bra and shirt and pulled them back on, then sighed and lay back on the blanket.

Well, I definitely learned one new thing while I was with Rhyzkahl, I thought, as I watched puffy clouds drift across the too-blue sky. I was totally wrong in thinking that demonic lords don’t lie. What else was I completely wrong about? What other misconceptions would come back to bite me in the ass?

Helori set the pygah to slowly spin above me, then left me alone to brood and ponder.

Chapter 22

Apparently I brooded and pondered so hard I fell asleep. Or perhaps Helori added something to the pygah. Either way, when I woke it was morning, with the sun in glorious display over the water. I could get used to starting my days like this, I decided, though preferably without the whole recovering-from-torture bit.

Helori had put a blanket over me and tucked a pillow under my head. When I sat up I saw that he’d also left a mug of juice and an assortment of fruits and nuts on the blanket for me.

He was out in the water, gamboling in the surf with the unabashed enthusiasm of a five-year-old. I ate and drank a bit, then pulled my clothing off, ran down to the water naked, and dove into the waves.

I swam for a while, reveling in the simple feel of the pull of my muscles against the resistance of the water and the rhythm of the waves. After what was probably half an hour, I came out of the water and took refuge in the shade to prevent the appearance of Red Kara. A few minutes later Helori plopped down onto the blanket beside me.

“I met Turek,” I said as I tugged my shirt and pants back on. “The savik at Szerain’s palace.”

He smiled. “Yes, you did.”

“He was clearly incredibly intelligent, with a strong ability in the arcane.” I frowned. “So, why the hell are savik considered only second-level? And, for that matter, why are syraza only eleventh? Y’all totally kick ass and take names as far as the arcane goes.”

Helori grinned. “Because, the summoner Isabel Blackburn made a note to herself as a numbered list in the margin of a text in 1212 Earth time. In 1352, it was discovered and became set in stone. I don’t even know what she was referencing with the list.”

I blinked, then laughed. “Holy shitballs, that’s hysterical,” I said. “I’d always been taught that the order of demons meant something as far as ability and power.” I laughed again. It felt really good.

Helori joined me in the laughter. “I know! That would mean a savik is less powerful than a kehza!”

“I never met a savik as large as Turek,” I said, still astonished. “The only ones I’d ever summoned, or heard of, were about a third the size.”

Helori reached elsewhere and then set a handful of small cakes before me. “The ones summoned are immature,” he explained as I nibbled one of the cakes experimentally. In texture, it reminded me of cornbread stuffed with savory shredded meat, but the crust part tasted more like buttery bacon than corn. Mmmm, bacon.

“Once mature,” he continued, “they tend to strike their names and claim a new one, which they do not divulge for summoners. They are reclusive and solitary during that stage, and mostly discounted because they do not interact. They are, however, highly skilled with the arcane.”