Vi, only works on family, and sometimes not on boys. You—”
“You’re not my father,” Vi said. “You’re just a sick fuck who’s about to die. Kylar!”
“Now Vi, let’s not get all teary-eyed,” Garoth Ursuul said. “You’re nothing to me but five minutes of pleasure and a spoonful of seed. Well, that’s not true. You see, Vi, you’re a wetboy I can trust. You will never disobey me, never betray me.”
Vi was gripped by terror tighter than the magic that bound her limbs. Possibilities were dying on every side.
Kylar stirred. His eyes came back into focus. He wiggled his eyebrows at her, trying to be charming. The outrageous cuteness of it cracked her paralysis. His pale blue eyes said, You with me?
Hers answered him with a fierce, desperate joy that needed no translation.
Under his breath, Kylar said, “You take his attention, I’ll take his life.” He smiled and the rest of Vi’s fear blew away. It was a real smile, with no desperation. There was no doubt in Kylar’s eyes. Any additional obstacle—whether magical bonds or the loss of an arm—would only sweeten his victory. Killing the Godking was Kylar’s destiny.
“You leave me no choice,” Garoth Ursuul said. He pursed his lips. “Daughter, kill Kylar.”
The ka’kari opened and devoured the bonds holding Vi and Kylar. Vi was moving, beginning a flashy, eye- grabbing stunt.
Then . . . everything stopped.
There was a gap of volition. In her mind’s eye, Vi was leaping through the air, flying toward the Godking, her blade descending, his face twisting into a rictus of fear as he saw that his shields were gone, as he realized she’d defeated his compulsion—
But that was only her imagination.
A shock of impact ran up Vi’s arm. Her wrist flexed as if to complete a horizontal slash through a heart, but she saw nothing, knew nothing except that there was a blank.
The gap cleared, and Vi was aware once more. Her fingers were uncurling from the familiar grip of her favorite knife. Kylar—so slowly, so painfully slowly—was falling. He drifted toward the floor, his head arcing back in a slow whiplash from having her knife rammed into his back, his dark hair rippling from the shock. It wasn’t until he hit the floor that Vi realized that Kylar was dead. She had killed him.
“That, my dear daughter,” Garoth Ursuul said, “is compulsion.”
69
Kylar pushed through the fog in a rush. In a moment that seemed out of joint, as if time didn’t work the same way here, he was back in the indistinct room, once again facing the lupine, gray-haired man with his hair pure white on one temple.
“Two days isn’t going to cut it,” Kylar said. “I need to go back now.”
“Impertinence last time, demands this time,” the man said.
The man cocked his head, as if listening, and Kylar was again aware of the others. They were invisible when Kylar looked directly at them, but definitely there. Could he see them a little better this time? “Yes, yes,” the Wolf said to a voice Kylar couldn’t hear.
“Who are they?” Kylar asked.
“Immortality is lonely, Kylar. Madness need not be.”
“Madness?”
“Say hello to the grand company of my imagination, gleaned from those profound souls I have known over the years. Not ghosts, just facsimiles, I’m afraid.” The lupine man nodded his head again toward one of them and chuckled.
“If they’re not real, why are you talking to them and not to me?” Kylar asked. He was still angry and this time, he wasn’t going to take the man’s chiding or his mysteries. “I need your help. Now.”
“You’ll find such urgency hard to hold onto as the centuries pass—”
“It’ll be real hard if Garoth Ursuul takes my immortality.”
The Wolf tented his fingers. “Poor Garoth. He believes himself a god. It will be his undoing, as it was mine.”
“And another thing,” Kylar said. “I want my arm back.”
“I noticed you managed to lose that. You actually pulled the ka’kari out of every cell of the arm you lost. Was that intentional?”
“I didn’t want the ferali to have it.” Cell?
“A wise thought, but a poor choice. Do you remember what they call your ka’kari?”
“The Devourer,” Kylar said. “So?”
The Wolf pursed his lips. Waited.
“You’re joking,” Kylar said. He felt sick.
“Afraid not. You didn’t have to fight. What the ka’kari did while coating your sword it could have done while coating your body. You could have just walked through the ferali.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. Because you cut your arm off instead—and pulled the ka’kari out of it first—your arm