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I stopped and turned to face him. “What if I never wanted to touch the arcane again?” Because there was a part of me that was considering exactly that. I’d had more than my fill of arcane shit.
His amethyst eyes were deep upon me. “It is most certainly a choice you can make, though it is not a choice you must make now in this moment. Should you choose to shun the arcane, you would still not be a prisoner.”
The syraza was completely serious, I realized. I shook my head as I tried to mentally reconfigure everything. “Then why…” I trailed off, struggled to get my thoughts straight. “But he was going to kill me.”
Helori took both my hands in his. “It was a very present possibility on several occasions, yes,” he said with full honesty. “In the early instances, for the preservation of the realm. In the instance prior to your surprising departure, to keep you from the hand of Rhyzkahl, though in doing so it protected the realm as well.”
“And what if he decides the realm needs protecting again?” I asked quietly.
The syraza seemed to look into me. “He would do what he must,” he replied, not lying—which, I supposed, was better than a line of bullshit. “He takes his stewardship quite seriously. However, I know him well. With all that has happened, he will do everything in his power to see that it does not come to that.”
“But how am I supposed to live knowing that at any moment he could?” I asked, deeply shaken. “And would?” Was I safe anywhere?
Helori lowered his head, gaze intensifying. “That is a question only you can answer. You know something of what is possible on a personal level from your time as a guardian of others.” I knew he was referring to my career as a police officer. “Answer for yourself what you would want in such a situation. Answer for yourself if you knew many others would die so that you may live. Speak to Mzatal of it. He will not lie to you and will tell you precisely where he stands. And you can tell him precisely where you stand.”
Even though I understood Helori, and agreed, I still felt myself trembling at the thought of having such a conversation with Mzatal. “I’m not ready to do that.” I’d never be able to hold myself together for a talk like that. Not now, not feeling so fucked up. Will I ever be not fucked up? I couldn’t even imagine it.
“No, you are not ready,” he said. “And you do not need to be yet. We will not return until you feel more yourself. And I will care for you until then. You have my word on that.”
Throat tight, I nodded as the truth of it wound around me like a warm blanket. Pulling away from his hand, I turned away. I knew I was about to start crying, and I quickly ducked under the water to get my face wet so it wasn’t so obvious. I didn’t want to have to deal with any of the shit that went along with crying, like being comforted, or anything like that.
“I want to swim,” I told him, and didn’t wait for a response before diving into an oncoming swell.
He didn’t appear to take any sort of offense. He retreated to the beach with a smile then took to the air in a graceful leap. Probably to better watch over me, I supposed, while I did my swimming and crying thing.
I continued until I was fairly tired out—which didn’t take all that long since I was still recovering from a lot of crap. I made my way back up to the beach. Though Helori wasn’t in sight, he had spread out a blanket beneath the shade of trees as large as oaks, but with graceful draping limbs like a willow. I still felt empty, but in a slightly better way than before.
A pile of neatly folded dry clothing lay on the blanket. I changed quickly, grateful to Helori for the consideration. A few minutes later, he landed neatly in the sand a few yards away.
“The water is lovely, yes?” he said.
“Yeah,” I said with a small smile. “It’s pretty awesome.”
He crouched near me. “You chose one of my favorite destinations for swimming.”
I gave him a puzzled look. “I chose?”
“Yes, you chose.” His mouth curved into a syraza-smile. “You let the grove know what you wanted, even if you did not realize it.”
I processed that for a few seconds. “It’s nice and calm here.”
“And it is safe.” He placed a three-fingered hand on my arm. “Would it trouble you if I changed to human form?”
“No,” I replied. “I’ve seen Eilahn do it. Do you need help?”
“Thank you, Kara. I am able to change independently, as can all of the Elders.” He stood. “It is the younger syraza who need assistance.”
He stretched his wings out as far as they would go, then pulled them in tightly, at the same time drawing a gauzy cloth from…elsewhere. “It is a fascinating process,” he said. “You should tell me if Hollywood special effects are better than the real thing,” he added with a syraza-laugh.
I made mental note of his casual Earth references and understandings. I’d seen Eilahn shift, but Helori’s was a seamless morph that kicked the ass of any CGI. Only a few seconds later he smiled at me from a human face, then drew the gauze cloth around his waist and tucked it in a fluid motion. About the height of Mzatal, lean and lithe, he wouldn’t have stood out in a crowd. That kind of surprised me since Eilahn was an absolute knockout in human form, and most of the lords seemed pretty damn good-looking. He did have the same multi-racial quality as Eilahn, but it served to make him blend rather than stand out.
He came over to sit cross-legged on the blanket, then planted his elbows on knees and chin on fists as he peered at me. “Hungry? Thirsty? Sleepy?”
“Not sleepy,” I said. “Tired, but not sleepy. I could eat, though.”
He seemed to go distant for a moment, then reached and drew cheese, a knife, and a round loaf of bread from…elsewhere and set them all before me. That was a pretty cool trick.
“I’ll be right back.” He winked, leapt up, and disappeared into the trees. I watched him go, then cut some bread and cheese and began to eat. A few minutes later Helori returned and deposited a double handful of cranberry-looking things on the blanket. “That should help tame your appetite,” he said with a smile.
