I pulled my unsteady attention back to Mzatal. His hair was braided in a complex weave that looked like it needed at least seven or eight strands. Did he do that himself? Or did he have a demon valet do it for him? And where did he get the tie that was currently tucked partially in his shirt to keep it clear of his work? And for that matter, where was I going to get new clothes? Especially bras. I knew the one I had on was pretty well soaked in blood.

“The zrila Anak fashioned the tie, and the faas Jekki braids my hair,” Mzatal said as he slid a hand beneath me to reach the entry wound. Pain flared at the movement, and I hissed a breath. “When we return to my realm on the morrow,” he continued, “the zrila circle will create what garb you require. They are quite skilled.”

I managed a slight scowl. “You’re reading…me.”

Mzatal looked from the wound to my face. “Yes, of course.”

“Rude.” I swallowed, breathing shallowly. “Stop.”

“That I cannot do,” he replied. “It is as impossible as stopping the taste of wine upon my tongue, or the feel of your skin beneath my hands.” In the next instant heat flooded the wound, and I gasped, hands tightening in the sheet. Gradually, it subsided into a warm pulse, spreading in gentle flows from the wound to the rest of my body. I exhaled in relief as the pain faded, noticing that it was already far easier to breathe.

“The sigils fascinate you,” Mzatal said almost conversationally, “but it is clear you do not know many of them. What training have you had?”

“My aunt,” I replied. It was a lot easier to talk and breathe now, but I was as tired as if I’d run a marathon uphill. Not that I had any intention of ever finding out how tiring a marathon was. “She taught me protocols…rituals. I summon demons…to learn…ask questions.” I caught myself drifting and dragged my focus back to him. I didn’t want to sleep. Too much chance I might never wake up. “I’m…getting better?”

Mzatal drew in a deep breath. He looked damn near as tired as I was. He shifted and placed a hand on my solar plexus. “Yes, better,” he said. “Gestamar will splint your leg. I have done much work with the impalement and the internal damage.” He gave me the barest ghost of an actual smile. “You will not die this day, Kara Gillian.”

I smiled weakly, then slid my hand over his. “Thanks,” I mumbled as I allowed my eyes to drift closed.

I came awake abruptly. “Eilahn?” I called groggily, before realizing where I was and what had happened to her.

“Eilahn is not here, little one,” came a rumbled response. I blinked to focus and saw Gestamar crouched beside my bed, carefully knotting a splint around my injured leg.

“You know Eilahn?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“She was killed on Earth.” My brow furrowed. “Yesterday, I think. Is today the same day as when we fell?”

“Yes, it is the same day,” he replied. “You have been asleep for several hours. And yes, she has returned.”

“She has?” I exhaled in relief, smiling weakly. “I was so worried.”

Gestamar tightened another binding, then shifted and touched my cheek with the back of a claw. “Yes, though Ilana says that she will be in stasis for a time, to recover herself.”

“Good…good. What about Safar?”

“Mzatal tends Safar’s damaged wing now,” he replied calmly.

Pain shot through me as Gestamar shifted my leg. And Safar was messed up, too. Wow. Today was turning out to be an even shittier day than the one before. I hadn’t thought that was possible. And damn it, the fucking collar was back on. It’d been such a relief to have it off during the healing.

“You roused him,” Gestamar said, and it took me a couple of seconds to realize he was referring to Safar. “Neither of you would have survived had you not.” He shifted and returned to knotting bindings.

“Good thing he didn’t like having his ear twisted,” I said with an unsteady smile. The pain was beginning to make its presence known again, pulsing in waves like radio signals from my leg.

Gestamar snorted. “Our ears are quite sensitive. You chose well.”

“And what about the syraza?”

“Olihr. Recovered enough to return to Rhyzkahl by midday,” Gestamar said casually.

That got my attention. What was one of Rhyzkahl’s syraza doing at Szerain’s palace? Hope rose. Did Rhyzkahl know I was here?

“What happened?” I asked Gestamar. “I mean, why did we fall?”

“Olihr is young and eager.” The reyza gave a low snort. “He sought to close the anomaly above on his own and became incapacitated by the backlash energies,” he explained. “When Safar touched Olihr, he received a jolt of it.”

Like touching a live wire, I mused.

A scrape of boot on stone gave me enough warning to be prepared as Idris entered and hurried to the side of the bed. It was obvious he was trying hard to not flutter, but the poor kid was clearly way out of his comfort zone. His eyes kept flicking to the swollen mess of my leg and skittering away, face pale and worried.

“Kara, do you need anything?” he asked, practically wringing his hands. “Water? I have water. Or tunjen? Tunjen might be better.” His gaze shifted to my leg and away as he gulped. “I’ll get you some juice.” He wiped his hands on his trousers, scanning the table for anything that resembled juice.

“Painkiller might be better,” I said, biting back the urge to tell him to find a Xanax for himself. My voice had an annoying rasp to it, and I grimaced. “Any sort of painkiller. That’d be good.”

He stopped fluttering and blinked at me. “Ibuprofen! I have ibuprofen. Be right back!” He turned and headed for the door at a near run, coming to an awkward sliding stop about six inches before barreling into Mzatal.

The lord stood still in the doorway, hands behind his back, as usual, as he gave Idris a hard look. Idris managed to straighten and get fully upright with some semblance of decorum, though the wild mane of his hair ruined the effect a bit. “Sorry, my lord,” he said and hurriedly stepped back out of the way.

Mzatal kept his eyes on Idris for another few heartbeats before continuing into the room and allowing the young man to flee. He moved to the other side of the bed from Gestamar, face expressionless and gaze intense as he took in my overall condition. Even through the collar I had the sense he was probing, likely assessing my mental outlook as well as how mangled my physical body was.

I bit back a cry of pain, hands clenching in the sheets as the reyza shifted my leg. Yeah, my mental outlook was just peachy right now.

Mzatal’s eyes narrowed a hair. He shifted his attention to Gestamar, said something in demon, and received a deep-voiced answer. Neither’s face or manner betrayed the subject, to my deep annoyance.

Mzatal shook his head, spoke again in a slightly more commanding tone. Sick fear pierced through me as the reyza seemed to hesitate. Were they talking about amputating my leg or something extreme like that?

Gestamar gave a huffing snort, replied in demon, then turned and exited the room.

“What’s going on?” I asked as I worked on unclenching my hands from the sheet. “Can y’all fix my leg?”

Mzatal slid his gaze to my face. “I have sent Gestamar to create a particular medicinal blend for you.”

“Please tell me it’s a painkiller,” I said, swallowing. “Or at least an antibiotic.” I risked another look at my leg. I didn’t see any dirt anywhere, so apparently it was cleaned while I slept. “Can’t you do one of those sigil things again?”

“You need not worry about infection,” he continued, tone unnervingly mild. “And yes, the draught will ease the pain. It is too soon for you to tolerate another analgesic sigil. The bleeding has been stopped and the break set as well as is possible.”

As well as is possible? What the hell was that supposed to mean? “Wait…you can heal this, right?”