Vehemence laced the word as he spoke it. “Ritual.”

“Wait!” I tugged him to a stop halfway down the tunnel while Eilahn, Steeev, and Gestamar continued on. “We need a plan,” I told him. “Or at least I need a plan since I can’t go in throwing potency spikes.”

Mzatal laid his free hand against my cheek. “Forgive me, beloved,” he said. “You are correct. Steeev has gone to gather what information he can, but while we wait for his return I can share what I have assessed of this.” He caressed my grimy cheek with his thumb. “Rhyzkahl and Jesral are with Idris, approximately ten miles from here, and are stationary. The other you sensed but could not identify is Katashi.”

Isumo Katashi. Once Mzatal’s marked summoner, and now a traitorous ally of the Mraztur. And no way had they walked ten miles in the few minutes since they arrived, which meant either Jesral’s ptarl agreed to provide transport or they had syraza with them. The demahnk could teleport multiple people long distances, while a mature syraza had the ability to make short teleportation hops with a single person. Now I understood why Mzatal had asked Steeev to come with us. “What kind of ritual?”

He took my hand again and continued down the tree tunnel. “It is odd. I sense a nexus that should not be here, and therefore suspect they have located a natural potency confluence and created a rudimentary nexus.” A nexus was a focal point of power—like a massive arcane generator that could supercharge a ritual laid atop it. Mzatal’s eyes went briefly distant as he continued to monitor. “A dual ritual.” His mouth tightened. “Possibly to conduct an Earth transfer.”

To send Idris to Earth. Far easier to hide him there. “And they developed a nexus out here to keep you from finding out what they were up to,” I noted.

We stepped out of the tree tunnel, and the source of the acrid tang became apparent. The grove stood in the center of a charred area the size of a football field. Though verdant rainforest hugged the perimeter, not a single blade of grass or touch of color broke the blacks and grays of the sea of ash. Remnants of potency writhed on its surface like dying worms, and a graceful pavilion of pale stone columns glimmered at the fringe, as if uncovered by whatever had nuked the forest.

Could this be a remnant of the cataclysm? A few hundred years earlier, a summoner by the name of Elinor had performed a ritual with the demonic lord Szerain. For reasons still unknown, the ritual collapsed and global catastrophic destruction ensued—earthquakes, volcanoes, rains of fiery acid, tsunamis, you name it. Moreover, the ways between the demon realm and Earth slammed shut and had remained so until early in Earth’s twentieth century.

But I had a personal stake in all that ancient history. During the ritual, Szerain stabbed Elinor with the essence blade Vsuhl, killed her, and trapped her essence in the blade—again, for reasons still unknown. Yet somehow, a chunk of her memories and emotions latched on to my own essence, and during my first months in the demon realm I experienced a number of odd dreams and weird déjà vu experiences, all of which stopped when I retrieved Vsuhl. Perhaps coincidence, but still, another mystery amongst so many others.

I’d been around remnants of the cataclysm before. At Szerain’s palace a crater the size of a small city lay not far to the northeast, and a rift still spewed gouts of arcane flame. In Rhyzkahl’s realm, part of a mountain range looked as if a planet-devouring monster had taken a ragged bite. But the devastation before me now felt newer . . . and disquietingly familiar.

I licked dry lips. “What happened here?”

Mzatal’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly on my hand, but he remained silent.

I searched his face. “Mzatal? What is it?”

“It is a flash burn,” he said quietly, focus remaining straight ahead.

I swept my gaze around again. Freshly disturbed ash nearby marked where Rhyzkahl and those with him had passed. Centuries-old char would surely have settled more. “This didn’t happen all that long ago,” I observed.

“No. Not long. Months.” Mzatal’s gaze followed Gestamar as the reyza leapt into flight.

I took in the magnitude of the destruction, felt the ripples of arcane residue, unable to deny that it felt like . . . “Mzatal?” My voice quavered for an instant before I controlled it. “Tell me what happened here.”

He continued to watch Gestamar. “I caused it. I unleashed flash potency.”

I stared at him, shocked and baffled. “Why?”

Mzatal’s eyes dropped to mine. “Because when you escaped me and used the grove to flee to Rhyzkahl, I . . .” He paused, jaw tightening. “Rather than taking you by force from the reyza Pyrenth, I retreated. I lost you not only due to your cleverness, but because of my adherence to agreements subsequently ignored by Rhyzkahl.” Remembered pain flashed silver in his eyes. “I vented my rage.”

I shifted close and rested my cheek against his chest. “I’m sorry,” I murmured.

Mzatal wrapped his arms around me. “I cannot allow myself to lose control thus again.”

I sensed the turmoil within him, held him close. “I will try very hard not to be so unspeakably clever again.”

A quick laugh escaped him, and I felt some of the tension ease away. “Impossible,” he said, then cradled my face between his hands and kissed me.

I returned the kiss and did my best to conceal how gobsmacked I was at the amount of power it must have required to wreak this much devastation, pushed down the quick flare of Holy shit, I’m dating a demigod, what the hell?

“Well, if this demonic lord gig doesn’t work out for you,” I said with a smile, “I can hire you out to clear cropland.”

Amusement touched his mouth. “An interesting proposition, zharkat.”

“Just something to keep in mind.”

A touch like a brush of leaves caressed me as the grove activated. “Someone’s coming,” I told Mzatal, then scowled. “Amkir.” One of the Mraztur. King of the assholes.

Mzatal growled a curse. “He will be a thorn in our side if we do not turn him away now.”

“Then we’d best kick his ass quickly so we can get on with our business,” I advised with a tight smile.

“Agreed.” His expression darkened with annoyance over the distraction. With me at his side, he strode toward the stand of white-trunked trees. Ten yards from the grove he stopped, took a wide stance and coalesced a glowing ball of potency in his right palm.

I prepared to trace the sigils and direct the flows that would augment his attack, should it come to that. I no longer traced a standard summoner support diagram to feed him potency. We’d become a team, unique, communicating without words or even direct thought, in more of a unified awareness. All of the qaztahl—demonic lords—lacked the ability to create portals, and so I was able to supply those aspects, along with touches of grove energy. As he formed either attack or defense, I wove in flows, added my tweaks, and together we created pure awesomeness.

Amkir emerged from the tree tunnel trailed by a syraza and a venerable-looking reyza. I knew—or at least was pretty sure—we didn’t have to worry about the two demons since they all tended to stay out of any direct conflict with the demonic lords. Sometimes the demons would fight amongst themselves for their “side,” though I had yet to figure out the dynamics, and their explanations of the rules left me baffled. It was easiest to let them do their thing and not try to make sense of it.

Hard-faced, with dark eyes and a slightly olive complexion, Amkir came to a sharp halt at the sight of Mzatal. His confident smirk slipped into a scowl, but then he lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. “I have no business with you, Mzatal.”

Mzatal’s aura flared with menace. He swept his hand up to send potency in a scintillating veil to block the entrance to the tree tunnel. “If you travel with your syraza to your allies,” he snarled the word, “I will hunt you, and I will hurt you.”