Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [162]
The wind died.
A tall man stood in the center of the star, a silver chain wrapped twice around his bare chest and pinning his arms to his sides, so tight the links strained. Immense wings striated like an eagle's sprang from his shoulder blades, free of the chains. Incandescent blue-white sparks flashed in his eyes and a terrible, terrible brightness hung about him.
Everyone was very quiet.
I shifted into the twilight. He looked the same, only brighter. It hurt my eyes to look at him. He glanced sidelong at me and smiled. I shifted back.
Claire Fourcay said something in a tentative tone.
"You may address me in your native tongue," the tall man said pleasantly. "I am Focalor, Grand Duke of the Fallen, not some lesser spirit to play at foolish pranks and pretend to less knowledge than I possess."
Most of the members of the Circle relaxed. I didn't. My fury vanished, giving way to a rising sense of alarm. This spirit was far, far more powerful than any we had summoned before. I could feel my strength ebbing steadily and I could sense the malice in him. I squeezed Raphael's hand hard, remembering the promise he'd made me. "Bid her dismiss him," I said urgently. "Now!"
He hesitated. "So soon?"
"Moirin, shut up!" Lianne Tremaine hissed. "Claire, don't listen to the spirit! It's just another trick. Give the proper invocation and demand his gift!"
Ignoring them, I tried to close the doorway myself.
It didn't work.
Focalor's wings spread open wide with a crack of thunder, shedding droplets of bright light. He was blocking the way, absorbing my efforts. The chains around his torso strained. He beat his wings once and the thunder cracked again. A sense of menace rose from him like steam.
"Claire!" Raphael shouted. "Dismiss him!"
"Too late!" Focalor's voice broke in waves against the walls of the chamber. Lightning flashed in his eyes. With a sharp crack, the chain that bound him burst and fell uselessly to the flagstones. "Ahh." He rolled his shoulders and shuddered with pleasure, smiling beneficently around at the Circle. Everyone stood frozen. I stood, weak and helpless, no more able to move than if my feet had taken root in stone. "You." He pointed at Claire Fourcay. "You mispronounced two words in the spell of binding. And you." He pointed at Balric Maitland, clucking his tongue. "A single drop of solder obscured the sigil on the seventeenth link of your chain."
Balric flushed and muttered under his breath.
"Poor silversmith." Focalor stepped lightly out of the coils of his broken chains, out of the center of the six-pointed star. He towered over the smith, lifting his chin with one hand. "Lucky for you, you're here out of love for your craft." He moved away. "Let us determine who else among you can claim such purity of heart, for you and you alone will enjoy the protection of your Elua and my apostate brethren." Blue-white sparks flickered in his eyes. "As for the rest of you, your gods cannot save you from yourselves."
Orien de Legasse fainted dead away before Focalor's regard. The spirit chuckled. "Silly little scholar," he said in affectionate tone. "Be glad your love for the arcane arts surpasses your gift for them this day."
Focalor paused before Lianne Tremaine, stroking her cheek with one wingtip. She shivered violently, but held his gaze with a measure of defiance. "Ah, poet," Focalor said with false sympathy. "You yearned for great tales and a greater gift to tell them. Be content to survive this one."
He moved on to Denis de Toluard, who squeezed his eyes closed briefly. "All knowledge is worth having," Focalor quoted. "Isn't that what you say, Shemhazai's scion?" He chuckled. "You have learned today that you are foolish. I hope you find it worth the price."
Four reprieves had been granted.
Three of us were left.
I felt Focalor's regard settle