Movement near the lake drew my eye, and I saw Asher doing a low-crawl toward a cluster of bushes. But then my gaze went to a figure standing a few feet beyond the remains of the gazebo: Zack.
His expression might have been carved in stone, and I felt the tension in him even at this distance. He wanted to end his bond with Rhyzkahl. I knew that. Logic—at least, my human logic—weighed heavily in favor of his doing so. Yet logic didn’t factor in the terrible price he’d pay.
What would I do in his place? I tried to imagine a life of complete isolation from my kind—never enjoying another silly meal with friends at Lake o’ Butter, never being able to even talk to another human. I’d felt the ache of it during the months with Mzatal, with only demons and lords for company. Yet even that had been tempered for a while by Idris’s presence, and after that the notes and letters exchanged with my aunt, Jill, Zack, and Ryan had been a solid reminder that, even though I wasn’t with them, I was always welcome back.
I watched Zack, waiting to see what he would do. In front of him, Kadir stepped off the gazebo platform and strode toward Asher.
Mzatal’s touch stroked the edge of my awareness, and I shifted more focus to him though I kept my eyes on Zack. I have no more, his meaning came through. I will call lightning.
“Call, but don’t strike yet,” I murmured as Zack took a step forward, and then another. Rhyzkahl shot a quick glance over his shoulder, and victory shone in his eyes as he faced us again. I felt Mzatal’s cautious acknowledgment of my request as he continued to call the storm to him. My focus remained locked on Zack as he moved toward us. I walked forward, then paused at our implied line of scrimmage, and looked over at Mzatal. I’d be beyond his protections if I continued, and I felt the worry in him, sensed his distraction through the shudder in our defenses.
“Boss,” I murmured. “Trust me.”
He gave me a single nod. “Eturnahl,” he replied softly in demon and sent a confirmation of it through our bond. Eternally. I smiled, returned the touch with a loving one of my own, then turned to watch Zack again.
Zack continued forward and up to Rhyzkahl’s right, laid a hand on his shoulder. Rhyzkahl smiled and lowered his hands, confident. With his demahnk ptarl at his side, he knew he held victory and apparently wished to savor the moment.
“Parasite,” I muttered under my breath, but otherwise remained utterly still, watching Zack. I trust you, I thought to him. I had no idea if he could read my thoughts from a distance, but I sent the assurance out to him anyway. I know you won’t betray us. I’m here for you, no matter what your decision or the outcome. Then I murmured, “Tah agahl lahn, eturnahl, Zakaar.” Agahl—the love of friends.
He inclined his head very slightly to me in acknowledgment, whether to my words or my thoughts, I didn’t know, nor did it matter right now. Either way, he knew where I stood.
Zack continued past Rhyzkahl into the space between the combatants and turned a slow circle. Amkir lay pinned on the ground, utter hate in his glare. Jesral stood immobile on the other flank, eyes narrowed impatiently as if wishing Zakaar would get on with whatever he was doing so that the Mraztur could go ahead and claim victory. Kadir siezed Asher by the hair then stood and watched the tableau.
Mzatal spread his hands to his sides to show his lack of aggression in the moment, though he made no move to release either of the restrained lords. Rhyzkahl observed all with an air of utter confidence. I watched the dynamics with wary amazement. Clearly a demahnk held a shitload of clout to be able to bring everything to a halt like this, and as the lords couldn’t read a demahnk, none knew his purpose. Though, for that matter, neither did I, not for certain.
Zack . . . Zakaar came to a stop barely on our side of the halfway point between Mzatal and Rhyzkahl, then turned and faced the latter. As Zakaar’s eyes passed over me, his gaze lingered for the barest fraction of a heartbeat—long enough for me to feel his need and desire for support.
In the lull of the cease fire, I moved forward. Zakaar’s gaze went from Rhyzkahl to the node and then back to him. “What have you done?” he asked Rhyzkahl, voice as mild as if inquiring whether the milk had expired. He spoke in demon, but the whisper of grove touch through the node was enough to let me comprehend meaning, and I had a feeling Zakaar was boosting my ability to understand as well.
Guilt flickered for a bare instant in Rhyzkahl’s eyes. Although Zakaar and the other demahnk had created the valves and nodes, Rhyzkahl obviously hadn’t expected a need to defend his actions. “We have joined the worlds,” he answered, also in demon, recovering his aplomb. “Now we take what is ours.” His gaze lingered on me before returning to Zakaar. “Come, ptarl. Let us finish this.”
I moved up to stand beside Zakaar. He set a gentle hand on my shoulder, then pulled the neckline of my dress aside and set the sigils on my body aglow with the red wash of the rakkuhr. I drew a shuddering breath and lifted my chin.
“What have you done?” Zakaar repeated, and this time there was no mistaking the vehemence and disappointment and anguish in the words.
Rhyzkahl narrowed his eyes. “I have forged a tool for the good of us all,” he stated. “What does it matter what means I use?”
“I made no secret of my view on the use of rakkuhr for any reason,” Zakaar said, voice carrying far. “For this reason,” he nudged his head toward me, “using this means, I am vehemently opposed.” He released the neckline of my dress and quenched the glow of the sigils, then laid his arm across my shoulders. “I have counseled you before not to take this path. Now I simply say,” he lifted his head and fixed his gaze upon Rhyzkahl, “turn from this path.”
A muscle flexed in Rhyzkahl’s jaw. “Your counsel is unreasonable and needlessly conservative,” he retorted. “This means,” he flicked a hand toward me in an impatient gesture, “is viable and brings Earth into our grasp with minimal conflict.”
“It is . . . unacceptable,” Zakaar replied, voice low but with an intensity that carried it far. He hesitated, and I felt a tremble go through him. This was the moment of decision: continue as Rhyzkahl’s ptarl or stand ground and face possibly unbearable consequences.
I slipped my arm around his waist. I’m here for you.
Rhyzkahl sneered at my gesture, then he gave a slight nod. “Your opinion is duly noted, Zakaar. Perhaps it is time for you to leave your duties here and return to my realm.” He looked pointedly at my arm around Zakaar’s waist. “I fear you have formed unwise attachments that have warped your perspective.”
Zakaar tightened his arm around my shoulders, needing a support that went far beyond the physical. “I will gladly return to your realm if you turn from this path,” he announced, then extended his hand. “Take my hand, and we will go together.”
A low wind swirled around us, lifting Rhyzkahl’s white blond hair and setting the cattails on the lake swaying. The lord remained silent for nearly a full minute while he looked at Zakaar as if not quite certain who he was. The delay told me that Zakaar’s offer at least had him considering. More than I expected. “Zakaar, you have lost your direction,” he finally said. “It is you who must turn away, abandon these,” he waved a hand to encompass all that was Earth and humanity, “mayflies.”
Zakaar lowered his extended hand. Another bone-deep tremble went through him. “I am . . . so very sorry, Rhyzkahl,” he said, voice thick with pain.
If Rhyzkahl noticed Zakaar’s anguish, it didn’t affect him. “As am I,” he replied, mouth tight. “It is time to finish my business here. Step aside, ptarl.” He paused, smiled. “And bring Rowan to my side where she belongs.”