I tightened my hands into fists and glared daggers of white hot hatred at him. He met my eyes, not even a flicker of perturbation in his, as he spoke in demon to the faas Jekki and Faruk, who quickly scurried out. I caught Idris’s name in what he said, but there was no way to tell from his tone or demeanor what the context was. This dude could read Pat the Bunny and make it terrifying.

My pulse beat a rapid staccato as sick fear clenched my gut. He was going to hurt me again. I had no doubt. I wanted desperately to be tough and strong and not give a crap, but it was pretty fucking difficult considering the circumstances.

He turned to face me, standing about five feet away. “Rhyzkahl will make an attempt to retrieve you,” he said. His eyes dropped to the mark on my left forearm. “That must be removed.”

The cold fear ratcheted up another notch, and I struggled for something resembling calm. “You can’t do that,” I said. “You don’t have the right.” I knew it was an empty protest, but I was sure Rhyzkahl’s mark was my only possible lifeline. If Mzatal was truly able to remove it, then how the hell could Rhyzkahl possibly track me and get me out of here? Unless I find my own way to bust out, I thought. But how? Ilana had said only the lords and Elders could operate the groves, and I had zero idea where Rhyzkahl’s realm was in relation to Mzatal’s. I rather doubted it was within easy walking distance.

“Were it a true and complete mark, perhaps not,” he said with a shake of his head. “But it is neither. And I will not honor it or him in this.”

I scowled down at my mark and then back up to him. “What are you talking about?”

He traced a sigil in the air and floated it toward the perimeter of the circle, then began another. “Key elements are missing, and its full purpose is shrouded.”

I watched the sigils as they slowly formed a circle around me. I honestly had no idea if what he said about the mark was true, but I also had no reason to trust or believe him. Not that it made any difference. He was clearly determined to strip it off me. At least he no longer seemed to be quite as eager to kill me, but my essence still clenched at the thought of the mark’s removal.

The bindings of potency holding me in place didn’t budge as I tested them. “What are you going to do?” I asked, though How much is this going to suck for me? was what I really wanted to know.

“Unwind it. Forcibly if necessary,” he said, utterly calm as he continued to build the pattern around me. “The components connect him very strongly to you, and you to him. Should he come here,” he shook his head, “anything from extrication to your death is possible.” His gaze met mine, hard and intense. “And I will not allow it.”

I knew damn well that the only possibility of death came from Mzatal, not Rhyzkahl. I resisted the futile urge to struggle against the bindings again. One of the faas returned and set a copper bowl full of steaming liquid on the low table near the perimeter of the diagram. The cloying scent, dense and heavy like a mass of decaying roses, wafted over me.

“Why don’t you simply kill me?” I asked with a slight frown. “Why the hell are you going to all this trouble?”

He laid a tracing directly in front of me, then stopped and lifted his eyes to mine. “Because there is yet potential for you to work with me,” he said. “And, in this moment, I still have the ability to keep you from him, though as long as the mark is on you, that ability decreases with every heartbeat.”

I could only stare at him for several seconds while I processed his statement. “Work with you?” I asked, incredulous. “Like what? Open a fro-yo shop together?”

His expression didn’t shift as he placed another beautiful sigil in the inner circle. “I would much prefer to train you and have you work with me as a summoner.” He spoke as though having me bound in the center of a ritual was as natural as discussing this over coffee.

“Wow,” I said. “That’s a tempting offer. And you’ve been so nice in your approach.” I loaded my voice with sarcasm. “Gosh. What to do, what to do!” I tipped my eyes upward and pretended to contemplate. “Hmm. I can stay with the lord who’s been pretty damn decent to me so far and who swore not to harm me. Or I can go with the one who kidnapped me, hurt me, and now has me tied up inside a ritual diagram.” I threw my hands up. “Gosh! It’s a motherfucking conundrum!”

I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of hold Mzatal had over Idris to get him to cooperate so fully and eagerly. He seemed like a sweet kid. Had the lord messed with his mind somehow? The thought left me cold.

Mzatal released a sigil into the pattern and dropped his hands to his sides as he regarded me with the barest flicker of what might have been anger or annoyance. “Kara Gillian, you are ignorant and naïve in these matters, both of which are correctable. I will help you see things more clearly.”

My own anger flared in response. “Y’know, I’m not always the sharpest knife in the drawer, and I’m well aware that there are some serious gaps in my knowledge, but I do know that your people skills suck the sweat from a dead dog’s balls.” I clenched my hands, true fear of mind manipulation thrashing beneath the anger. “Don’t you dare fuck with my head. Don’t you fucking dare.”

“I do what I must,” was his infuriating—and terrifying—reply as he began to move around the pattern and behind me. “Proper training and perspective are crucial.”

His words dropped like acid into my belly. There was nothing to stop him from stripping my will and personality, and I realized I was far more terrified of that than of dying. “Don’t,” I said, disheartened to find myself begging. “Please don’t take my mind from me.”

I felt his presence close in on me from behind and let out a gasp as he took my head between his hands in a disturbing echo of when he’d been on the verge of snapping my neck. “It frightens you to your core,” he murmured. “Why?”

I fought to push down the terror with anger. “Because I like me,” I snapped. “Because I have goals and dreams, and if I’m not me then I won’t ever get there.” I swallowed hard. “I won’t know to…push and strive and learn. If I’m not me I won’t fall in love or help others, and I won’t have my friends and Tessa anymore…and all that shit matters to me and other people. I matter!”

He held my head for a heartbeat more. “Then never lose yourself,” he said before releasing me and stepping back.

I took several deep breaths, more than a little confused by his mandate, though utterly determined to do just that. I tried to think of some possible way to resist, but my options were pretty damn scant.

Idris entered, silky white shirt stuck to his body with sweat. He looked at me, then his eyes skittered away to Mzatal. “The wards are laid, my lord.”

Mzatal moved around in front of me again. “Well done,” he told Idris. “I will assess them. While I do so, lay a hakihn perimeter here, and I will begin the mark removal upon my return.” Clasping his hands behind his back, he strode out, leaving me alone with Idris.

I kept my eyes hard on him as he began to work. “Mzatal’s going to hurt me,” I said, keeping my voice as even as possible. “You know that, right?”

Idris paled and shook his head. “I…No. I mean…” He trailed off.

My focus remained locked on him. “Nah, it’s cool,” I said with a casual shrug I sure as shit didn’t feel. “You’re just following orders. I get it.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I’m sorry. I gotta…” He traced a sigil, then dispersed it as it shimmered unevenly, clearly wrong. “He’s…well.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know enough about what’s going on.”

I wanted to flay him for that, lay him open with a verbal barrage about taking some personal responsibility. But I didn’t. I knew it wouldn’t make a difference in the end. It was obvious he was already torn and feeling guilty, yet he still continued to work the perimeter. I did take a not-insignificant amount of pleasure in the fact that every third sigil had to be dispersed and reset. Good. At least I was getting to him.