“What?!” I asked, and the clouds answered.
Droplets of flickering yellow-green fire rained down in a nightmare torrent of destruction. Though wards protected the terrace where we stood, the outer surface of the balustrade burned and pitted with the arcane fire. Horrified, I shrank back against Rhyzkahl even though my head told me the fire could do me no harm. Yet an instant later I flung my hand toward the grove as it writhed under the deluge. A scream-not-a-scream resonated through me, and within a heartbeat its leaves vanished as if sucked into the branches. A sob of agonizing loss wrenched from my throat at the sight of the once-glorious and vibrant grove now standing eerie, skeletal, and bone white.
Sickened, I dropped my gaze to the lords. Fire laced their flesh, yet still they danced, igniting their shikvihrs as one on Mzatal’s command. I pressed both hands to my mouth, tears streaming at the destruction. Paul moved in bizarre counter-rhythm beside and with Kadir. Though protective wards flickered around him, charred and blistered scores marked his shoulders and back like those of the lords. The stench of burnt flesh rose in a nauseating tide, driven by the wings of the demahnk ptarls. Their iridescent forms swooped and rose in flight around the anomaly as they wove complex patterns of potency.
It is not enough. The thought, not mine, flooded me. Mzatal’s assessment. Yet he continued to dance and call out orders, never wavering even as a droplet seared over his face and one eye.
Rhyzkahl gripped me close, shuddering against my back as the anomaly savaged his realm. “Awaken me. Awaken me!”
Perhaps he knew a way to help counter the anomaly, even in his diminished state? Or maybe he simply didn’t want to be helpless and asleep on the terrace in the midst of catastrophe. I gave a jerky nod and prepared to withdraw then froze as Mzatal spun and met my eyes, touched me. Through him, I saw what he saw—the ghostly vision of me on the terrace with Rhyzkahl at my back. My heart leaped as I reached for him and connected, gaining in an instant complete awareness of the situation.
A heavy tremor shook the realm and knocked me from my feet. Rhyzkahl sprawled beside me then struggled to rise while keeping his hand pressed to his mark. With single-minded determination, I kept my eyes on Mzatal even as he pulled his attention back to directing the lords and the shikvihr wheel. A craaack of stone accompanied the crumbling of a twenty-foot section of the balustrade, and I scrabbled back with Rhyzkahl. “No, I can’t wake you yet,” I shouted to Rhyzkahl over the din. “I need to stay!” I had no idea how I could help, but surely with Mzatal I could—
“GILLIAN!” The word ripped through the dreamscape, shredding it to leave me gasping for breath and devoid of the arcane in the chill of a smelly holding cell.
Chapter 32
Mouth dry and hands shaking, I blinked to focus on the guard who scowled at me from the door of the holding cell.
“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” he ordered. “You got yourself a visitor.”
“Yeah, I’m awake,” I said, wobbling as I stood. The jarring shift from hellacious destruction to industrial beige concrete and steel had me reeling, physically and mentally, and it took me several seconds to regain my equilibrium.
A clock high on a wall told me I’d slept less than an hour. The only person who I figured would visit me so soon was Pellini’s lawyer guy.
I was wrong. When the guard opened the door of the interview room and escorted me in, it was Boudreaux who occupied the chair on the other side of the table.
Oh, hell no. I planted my feet and shook my head. “I’m not speaking to anyone but my lawyer,” I told the guard, nicely but firmly.
The guard shrugged. “Makes no difference to me.” He took my arm to lead me back out.
Boudreaux stood. “Gillian,” he said. “Kara, wait.”
“Give me a break, Boudreaux.” I shot him a withering look. “I know how this works, and I know how good you are at interrogation. Sorry, not falling for it.”
“I’m not here to interrogate you about the case,” he insisted. Stress wound through his words, but I’d seen Boudreaux put on that act before.
“Nice try,” I said with a smirk. I had no intention of letting the “frazzled cop” information gathering tactic sway me.
“Give me two minutes,” he urged before I could move toward the door. “Please.”
I regarded him. His bloodshot eyes were shadowed with distress. That much wasn’t faked. “Fine,” I said. “Two minutes. For you to talk.”