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His words confirmed what Bryce had relayed about treachery at home but, dramatics aside, there had to be a deeper motivation at work than saving his skin. He couldn’t speak openly with said mortal enemy in range of hearing, but perhaps he’d drop enough clues to let me figure it out on my own.
“Right or wrong, it is done,” I said. “What was the bargain?”
He let out a soft breath, eyes on mine. “The honored Dekkak agreed to assess you before fulfilling her unblooded agreement with Xharbek. In exchange, I am hers.”
Holy fuck. I wrenched my focus to an unruly twist of hair above his right temple, knowing too well that my uber-tough attitude would crumble if I looked into his eyes. Seretis had made an unbelievable end run around Xharbek and absolutely, hands down, saved my ass. If Dekkak had come through the rift with the intent to kill me rather than to talk, I’d be dead, along with everyone else in the compound, leaving Xharbek free to fuck up both worlds. This dude had balls. Gigantic and brass. And apparently well-hidden, with the rather hairy pair in plain sight a mere facade.
Tough-as-nails mien intact again, I dropped my eyes to his.
He’d sensed my brief struggle for control and waited a beat, but now his mouth curved in a sad smile. “I gave a blood oath that you will deliver the essence blades to her. If you do not . . .” He offered a barely perceptible shrug.
If I did not, his life would be at an end—or not worth living. I forced my mouth into a sneer. “Why would you do that?”
“Because acquiring the blades is near impossible, and she would agree to no less.” His uninjured eye fixed on me. “And though I would give my life a hundred times over to rid the worlds of the anathema of the blades, I had not the direct means. But you, zharkat of Mzatal, you are my tool. Through you, I make my mark.”
He’d couched his words in lordly eloquence, yet the meaning rang through, loud and clear: Seretis was willing to live and die as a captive if it meant getting the knives out of the hands of Szerain and Mzatal. More astonishing—to me at least—was his clear and unswerving belief that I was up to this incredibly difficult task. This really holy crap crazy what-the-hell unspeakably nigh near impossible task.
I stiffened my spine and bared my teeth at Seretis in the necessary show of disdain. “Through my actions I will make my mark,” I snarled in my best potency-backed imperious voice.
A dark tentacle snaked around his waist and dragged him back against Slugthing. Fear shimmered briefly over his face before he regained his composure. “Then make your mark, Kara Gillian,” he murmured.
Chapter 39
I turned my back on Seretis and reimmersed in the comfort and security of the super-shikvihr. Though his current situation tore at my heart, my estimation of him rocketed to infinite heights. Seretis had more strength of will and character than the rest of the lords combined—including, I had to admit, Mzatal. I loved my zharkat deeply, and he was a serious badass, but I couldn’t deny that the blades and their origin and influence were a cancer in his essence.
Calm determination filled me. Though I was by myself on the nexus, I wasn’t alone. With me was the gentle support of Rho and the strength of Seretis. Rhyzkahl watched me steadily from where he sat beneath the tree, while my friends and comrades stood firm and resolute around me. And, as always, the touch and resonance of Mzatal surrounded me in the super-shikvihr.
With my confidence bolstered, I instructed Pellini to have the DIRT teams wait outside the gate upon arrival, then I settled into the negotiations. Dekkak and I laid out terms, specified points and clarified details, while I also ruthlessly hunted down loopholes. The imperator would lunge at any opportunity to interpret wording to her advantage—like a genie who grants a man’s wish to never be sick again by promptly killing him.
After at least a dozen exchanges, we reached a point where neither of us would concede the slightest detail and finally agreed upon acceptable compromises.
Dekkak would rescue Elinor and bring her to me, which was, of course, my primary concern. To my dismay, she refused to agree to my “no harm to humans” addendum and stated only that she and her demons would show restraint. Mzatal or Rhyzkahl could have driven a harder bargain, but I’d reached the limits of my powers of persuasion. Yet deep down I understood that for a mission such as the one I’d outlined, where her forces would be facing armed resistance, she simply couldn’t swear to do no harm.
Didn’t mea
n I had to like it, though.
Incursions by her clans would cease until the spring equinox. She advised me that she had no control over the actions of other clans, but with her demons out of the picture, rift activity would drop by seventy-percent or more.
Also, any viable pods left at Fed Central, including David Hawkins from Grounds for Arrest, would get the ilius support needed to successfully complete the pod process.
Lastly, before this full moon had waned to half, she would surrender the remains of the Dirty Thirty via the rift by the nexus.
In return for these concessions, I would deliver the blades to her no later than the spring equinox. Rather than the six warlords she’d originally demanded, four would remain on my property until I turned over the blades. Two reyza, a kehza, and the zhurn, all responsible for hunting game animals on their own for food. No humans, pets, or livestock. The warlords were also forbidden from attacking or deliberately causing harm to any resident or guest on my property—whether human, demon, animal, or lord—except in self-defense. At the same time, all sentient creatures under my authority would similarly refrain from attacking or deliberately causing harm to the “visiting” warlords.
The rift by the nexus would remain open until I fulfilled my end of the bargain.
And, finally, Dekkak would return to the demon realm with one human “guest”—a.k.a. hostage—who would be condemned to slavery and/or death should I fail or break my oath. Though I’d managed to negotiate her down to just the one hostage, sick heartache remained that anyone would have to go at all.
We repeated the terms one last time. The whole thing sucked from top to bottom, but my head and heart told me this was as good as I could possibly get under the circumstances.
“I agree to the terms and give my oath that I will abide by them,” I pronounced.
Dekkak inhaled, as if drawing in my words. “My honor and my blood bind me to this covenant,” she intoned, then with a claw the length of my forearm, gestured toward where my knife lay on the slab.
I picked it up, abruptly aware that I hadn’t the faintest idea what the protocol was for blood oaths. For summonings, I’d always made cuts in my forearm, just deep enough to nick the surface veins. But that felt insufficient for an oath of this magnitude.
A twitch of movement from Seretis caught my eye. Face carefully blank, he made a fist with his right hand then relaxed it, palm up. Grateful, I gave a small nod, as if merely psyching myself up. He’d seen my befuddlement and offered a hint, reminding me of how Mzatal always cut across his palm for ritual work.
