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He surprised me by actually answering the question. “A summoner of adequate aptitude from your seventeenth century, trained by me for a short time, then fostered by Szerain and Rhyzkahl.”
“If she was merely adequate,” I asked, frowning, “then how the hell did she damn near destroy this world?”
“That, Kara Gillian, remains clouded.” He turned back to me, shaking his head. “Something of her nature, of her essence, escalated the ritual beyond recovery, and Szerain remains mute.” His eyes narrowed with a touch of what looked like disapproval. “I know it was not within her skills as a summoner to call such power.”
I put what few pieces I had together. “I’m not this Elinor, so what’s the deal?” I knew I wasn’t some sort of reincarnation of her, but I also assumed she and I had a connection. I just didn’t know what it was.
“No, upon assessment it is clear that you are not a direct essence transfer,” he said, echoing my own thoughts. “Your innate energy signature mirrors hers, but is fully yours.” He narrowed his eyes. “But there is another piece of your essence, one that has the feel of an afterthought. This is the part that holds and generates the memories of Elinor and houses a fragment of who she is. Its encapsulation is unconventional, yet it is somehow integral to you.”
I blinked and tried to make sense of that but gave up. “I have no idea what you just said.”
He leaned toward me a smidge, not seeming at all annoyed by my cluelessness. “An energy signature is much like a fingerprint, though not utterly unique. Close matches are possible. Though, without extraordinary means, the chances of locating a specific signature are infinitesimal given the sheer number of possibilities. I can only speculate at this point. It is as though this fragment of Elinor attached to you, became a part of you, because of the energy signature match. Why or how,” he said with a shake of his head, “I do not yet know.”
The fact that he took the time to explain it obviously meant something. Too bad I had no idea what.
“Like donating a kidney,” I said, folding my arms over my chest.
Mzatal lifted an eyebrow, head tilting a bit. “Perhaps, though with a deeper influence.”
Pieces fell into place. “Ah, and that’s why I’m so popular—because I have Elinor’s magic kidney.”
Mzatal’s face shifted from the hint of curiosity to the impassive mask. This dude had zero sense of humor. “Yes, it is,” he said. “Some seek through speculation, and some through smatterings of knowledge.” His eyes were hard upon me. “You are a dangerous unknown, Kara Gillian.”
I lifted my chin, mouth tight. “And dangerous things are either used, destroyed, or—” I thought of my bare feet and black shift and obvious prisoner status. “—contained.”
“Unless the unknown becomes known,” he said. “Then the possibilities shift.”
And how the hell was I supposed to make the unknown known in a way that would keep me alive and whole? I sighed inwardly. Right now I wanted coffee and real food, in that order. Might as well wish for a personal visit from Santa Claus while you’re at it, I chided myself.
He approached me, intense and coiled and calm as he reached and gripped my chin in his hand. His eyes were like ancient pale grey flint shot with silver. A palpable potency radiated from him that sent goosebumps skimming over me. “What is your heart’s desire?” he asked, as if my life depended on my answer.
And it most likely did. I returned his gaze as steadily as I could. “To reach my full potential.”
He held my chin for several long heartbeats before releasing it, only to seize my left wrist and pull my arm forward. I clenched my teeth as he dropped his eyes to Rhyzkahl’s mark and laid a hand over it. He went utterly still for a moment, then drew a deep breath and brought his gaze up to mine.
When the lord spoke it was as if he forced the words out through gritted teeth, though his face betrayed no tension. “This mark does nothing to further that desire. Nor does it serve my purposes for you to bear it.” Mzatal released my wrist and clasped his hands behind his back. “I will remove Rhyzkahl’s stigma and determine what possibilities unfold,” he said with icy conviction.
I shook my head in denial at the thought of having the mark removed, an unnamed dread stilling my breath. “Use, destroy, or contain?”
The lord lowered his head. “Your parameters. Use is preferable. Destruction, if use is impractical or impossible. I choose not to maintain a prisoner,” he said with a smile that held no comfort.
My throat tightened, and my mouth felt full of sand. As he’d promised, he made the decisions on how I was to live or how I was to die. “And what sort of use would you make of me?”
Mzatal looked upon me as though seeking to determine some unknown. “The destruction aspect is far simpler. Slay and then disperse the essence.” He paused. “Use depends upon what remains of you when I remove the stigma,” he said, eyes dropping to the mark.
I fought to control the cold panic that thrashed within me. “‘What remains’? What the fuck does that mean?”
The skin around his eyes tightened. “Hostile removal of a mark is extremely rare and the process extreme. Madness is a possibility. Removal of this construct of Rhyzkahl’s risks essence sheer,” he said, with a shake of his head and a touch of a frown. “Nothing of use to either of us would remain.”
I stared agape then recovered enough to speak. “Are you fucking kidding me? Then why…?” I shook my head in disbelief that anything could be this convoluted. “You’re going to try it anyway, aren’t you? You don’t give a fuck if I end up broken. It accomplishes the same thing. My destruction. You have nothing to lose by trying.”
“No, I do not,” he said as though my destruction meant nothing. “And much potential to gain. As do you. The risk is worth the consequences to both.”
I snorted a laugh at the absurdity. “Oh, sure. A little madness or fucked-up essence is a walk in the park for me and totally worth it for some magic tattoo removal.” Sweat trickled down my sides beneath the damn shift.
“Your ignorance in the matter does not change the potentials or the values.” He shifted his attention to Gestamar and spoke in demon. I caught the summoner’s name twice—Idris—but couldn’t get any other sense of what was said. Gestamar grunted and bounded out.
Mzatal drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “Kara Gillian,” he said in a potent melodic tone that drove straight through to my core. “You are a dangerous unknown. I prefer you to become a dangerous known with possibilities other than death.” He paused and regarded me with keen intensity. “But if deep assessment reveals full essence-binding by Rhyzkahl, then I will have no option but to slay you.”
