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A soft smile returned to his face. He reached and brushed my cheek lightly with the tips of his fingers. “And you are here, forged in fiery torment,” he pulled his hand back, rested his forearm on his knee, “prepared to kick the ass, as Michael would say, of the Four Dickwads.”
A shiver of lingering terror raced over me, but I gave him the low chuckle he no doubt expected. I didn’t feel anywhere near strong enough to even look any of them in the eye, much less kick any asses.
He laughed, a beautiful sound that helped disperse my residual fears—and his as well, perhaps. “Trust me, you don’t want to look them in the eye. Ugly, the lot of them.” He stood smoothly and held a hand out for me.
I allowed him to pull me to my feet and gave him a more genuine smile. I didn’t even mind that he’d clearly read my thoughts. He kept hold of my hand, laughing eyes on mine as he bowed toward me and brushed his lips across my knuckles—sharp contrast to Jesral who hadn’t bowed at all, though I doubted Seretis was aware of it.
“And now, my sweaty, fiery summoner,” he said, releasing my hand. “I must take my leave of you as Mzatal awaits me again.”
“It was my pleasure to meet you, Lord Seretis,” I said, actually meaning it.
Seretis beamed. “And a delight to meet you, Kara Gillian.” He turned and began to walk away, then stopped and looked back. “You could surprise Mzatal and carry all the bricks down again.” He took two steps, then stopped again. “On reconsideration, surprising Mzatal is not always the wisest course of action.” He laughed and continued toward the palace, whistling.
Grinning, I watched him go, then looked over at the bricks.
Nope.
Instead I lay down in the soft grass in the shadow of the column, and took a nap.
Chapter 28
I felt as if an entire new universe was opening up for me. Mzatal introduced me to the concepts of constructing floaters, starting me out with floor glyphs: chalk first, then transitioning to pure arcane energy. That alone took several days, which gave me plenty of time to get frustrated at my lack of success and apparent inadequacy. Mzatal, however, was the model of patience, though he sure as hell wasn’t always Mr. Nice Guy, and it was clear he had no intention of coddling me or easing me into training. As Idris had warned me oh-so long ago in our first conversation back on Szerain’s tower, Mzatal had no problem letting me know when I’d screwed up. Yet, he also was quick to offer deserved praise and stuck with me until I finally had my lightbulb-over-the-head moment of understanding.>I pushed up onto my elbows, liking him already. “Michael speaks highly of you.”
“And well he should,” Seretis said with a laugh. “I pay him enough to do so!”
“So, you and Mzatal meet up for weekly poker games or something?” Though even as I said it, I damn near busted out laughing at the thought of a bunch of lords getting together for poker night.
Smiling, he bent and picked up one of the big bricks, shook his head. “Nothing so amusing as that this time,” he said, giving me a wink. “Some qaztahl matters. And questions about you.”
I rolled my eyes and sat up. “I’m so popular!” Then I sobered. “Mzatal told you what happened to me?”
“He did, though I also knew some from them.” Seretis gestured to the three syraza sunning themselves on the roof of the palace. “There are those who think you dangerous, Kara Gillian.”
“Are you one of them?” I had to remind myself that simply because he seemed nice and had a sense of humor didn’t mean he wouldn’t prefer to see me dead.
His face still held a smile, though his eyes were serious now. “I could have been,” he said, turning the brick over in his hands, “had Mzatal’s answers been different, and had you assessed differently than you do.”
The sweat froze on my skin. I knew it would take only a flick of his hand for him to smash my skull with the brick. I swallowed to work moisture back into my mouth. “And you believe him? Trust his judgment?”
Seretis tilted his head and nodded slowly, regarding me with keen, hazel eyes. “If he says it, I know it to be truth to the best of his knowledge. It is in what he does not say,” he offered with a shake of his head, “that his shrewd genius abides.”
I nodded slowly, some of the tension slipping away. “I have no intention of destroying the world,” I said, “for whatever that’s worth,”
“I know this,” he said with quiet power. “I truly do. You carry a ‘danger’ that some would like to harness, and no,” he said with a smile, answering the question before I asked it, “I am not one of them.”
“I said once before that dangerous things are used, destroyed, or contained,” I told him. “Are you content with how Mzatal intends to contain and use me?”
His gaze went to the pile of bricks at the bottom of the hill. “I would rather hold—as Mzatal does—that you have the will, courage, and heart to contain yourself and to make use of your potential. Should that prove not to be the case, then I would need to reassess.”
I let out a low sigh. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Seretis looked back to me, held the brick out. “You disliked carrying these up the hill.”
I took it, weirdly relieved to have it out of his hand, even though I knew damn well there were a hundred other ways for him to kill me before I could even blink. But by passing it to me it seemed as if he relinquished my fate back over to my control. “Exercise and I don’t always get along.” I told him. “We agree to disagree.”
He crouched. “Amkir. Jesral. Rhyzkahl. Kadir.”
My gut clenched, and I made a sour face. “You mean the Four Dickwads?”
