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speculation, and some through smatterings of knowledge.” His eyes were hard upon me. “You are a dangerous unknown, Kara Gillian.”
    I lifted my chin, mouth tight. “And dangerous things are either used, destroyed, or—” I thought of my bare feet and black shift and obvious prisoner status. “—contained.”
    “Unless the unknown becomes known,” he said. “Then the possibilities shift.”
    And how the hell was I supposed to make the unknown known in a way that would keep me alive and whole? I sighed inwardly. Right now I wanted coffee and real food, in that order.
Might as well wish for a personal visit from Santa Claus while you’re at it,
I chided myself.
    He approached me, intense and coiled and calm as he reached and gripped my chin in his hand. His eyes were like ancient pale grey flint shot with silver. A palpable potencyradiated from him that sent goosebumps skimming over me. “What is your heart’s desire?” he asked, as if my life depended on my answer.
    And it most likely did. I returned his gaze as steadily as I could. “To reach my full potential.”
    He held my chin for several long heartbeats before releasing it, only to seize my left wrist and pull my arm forward. I clenched my teeth as he dropped his eyes to Rhyzkahl’s mark and laid a hand over it. He went utterly still for a moment, then drew a deep breath and brought his gaze up to mine.
    When the lord spoke it was as if he forced the words out through gritted teeth, though his face betrayed no tension. “This
mark
does nothing to further that desire. Nor does it serve my purposes for you to bear it.” Mzatal released my wrist and clasped his hands behind his back. “I will remove Rhyzkahl’s stigma and determine what possibilities unfold,” he said with icy conviction.
    I shook my head in denial at the thought of having the mark removed, an unnamed dread stilling my breath. “Use, destroy, or contain?”
    The lord lowered his head. “Your parameters. Use is preferable. Destruction, if use is impractical or impossible. I choose not to maintain a prisoner,” he said with a smile that held no comfort.
    My throat tightened, and my mouth felt full of sand. As he’d promised, he made the decisions on how I was to live or how I was to die. “And what sort of use would you make of me?”
    Mzatal looked upon me as though seeking to determine some unknown. “The destruction aspect is far simpler. Slay and then disperse the essence.” He paused. “Use depends upon what remains of you when I remove the stigma,” he said, eyes dropping to the mark.
    I fought to control the cold panic that thrashed within me. “‘What remains’? What the fuck does that mean?”
    The skin around his eyes tightened. “Hostile removal of a mark is extremely rare and the process extreme. Madness is a possibility. Removal of this construct of Rhyzkahl’s risks essence sheer,” he said, with a shake of his head and a touch of a frown. “Nothing of use to either of us would remain.”
    I stared agape then recovered enough to speak. “Are you fucking kidding me? Then why…?” I shook my head in disbelief that anything could be this convoluted. “You’re going to try it anyway, aren’t you? You don’t give a fuck if I end up broken. It accomplishes the same thing. My destruction.
You
have nothing to lose by trying.”
    “No, I do not,” he said as though my destruction meant nothing. “And much potential to gain. As do you. The risk is worth the consequences to both.”
    I snorted a laugh at the absurdity. “Oh, sure. A little madness or fucked-up essence is a walk in the park for me and totally worth it for some magic tattoo removal.” Sweat trickled down my sides beneath the damn shift.
    “Your ignorance in the matter does not change the potentials or the values.” He shifted his attention to Gestamar and spoke in demon. I caught the summoner’s name twice—Idris—but couldn’t get any other sense of what was said. Gestamar grunted and