Page 212 of Anathema

The sound of a dark chuckle skated down his spine. “You will give me your loyalty. Or I will take everything that matters to you away.”

CHAPTER SIXTY

MAEVYTH

Light danced across my eyelids, and I winced at the brightness, stretching and yawning. A strange vibration shook the bed, the sound of grunting from behind me. I opened my eyes and turned to find Zevander lying beside me, his entire body convulsing. A thick sheen of sweat dampened his skin, his hair plastered to his face. His arms flexed at his side, fists clenched tight.

Frowning, I pushed up from the bed, staring down at his eyes—as black as coal, with tiny black veins branching out from his sockets. A numbing cold tingled across my chest at the sight, the ghostly caress of terror springing goosebumps across my skin.

“Zevander?” I dared myself to touch him, and when I did, a searing heat scorched my fingertips. “Ouch!” I retracted my hand, curling my fingers. Panic rose into my throat. I scrambled out of the bed, careful not to disturb him, and swung the door open. On the other side, Elowen wore a curious expression on her face. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him! I woke up, and he …. He’s not responding to me. He’s burning up.”

She tipped her head and hobbled past me into the room, coming to a stop alongside the bed. Without laying her hands on him, she held her palm over his trembling body and shuttered her eyes. “Abyssal binding.”

“What is that?”

“Something has gripped his mind and refuses to release him. Can happen when you slip into a state of caligorya.”

Caligorya. I remembered the term Dolion had mentioned, the day in the training room when I’d passed out. He’d called it the dark side of the mind.

I glanced to Zevander, whose muscles clenched so tight, it was a wonder they didn’t split right through his skin. “How can we stop it?”

“No way to stop it. That’s why it’s called abyssal. No way to reach him. But we need to bring his fever down.”

“His power is a black flame. Might that have anything to do with it?”

She shrugged and hobbled past me again. “Might. It’d certainly explain his eyes.”

“I … I’ve controlled the black flame before.” I twisted around after her, following her as she made her way to a bowl on the countertop in the kitchen.

“You.” She snorted and headed for the door.

Wearing nothing but Zevander’s tunic, I darted across the room for the cloak he let me borrow, pausing to stare down at his suffering form. An ache wrenched my heart, and careful not to touch his skin, I pushed a strand of his hair from his brow.

“Stay with me,” I whispered and threw the cloak around me.

Instead of opting for the flat slippers I’d worn with my dress, I shoved my feet into his oversized boots that reached to my thighs. With clunky steps, I chased after her into the snow, shivering at the icy cold that bit my exposed skin. A clanking sound drew my attention to the other side of The Hovel, and I jogged as fast as the boots would allow.

I found her beside a well pump, filling the bowl and a pitcher with water. “I’m telling you the truth. I’ve controlled his flame before,” I said, watching her swap the pitcher for the bowl, which she shoved into my chest, sloshing some of it onto my arm.

“No one controls sablefyre. It’s wild and chaotic and does what it wants.” A few pumps of the well filled the pitcher, and she carried it past me.

“Well, whatever is inside of me does a fine job of it.”

The old woman swung around. “And what is inside of you?”

I had no idea how to answer that, and the longer I argued with the woman, the longer Zevander suffered. “Nothing.”

She hmphed and turned back in the direction of the cottage. Once inside, she gathered some apothecary jars from the cupboard—herbs, I guessed—and the two of us returned to Zevander’s side.

There, she worked to unlace the trousers he’d loosened the night before, but never removed. As she gave them a hard yank down his hips, I threw my arm across hers.

“What are you doing?”

“Removing as much of his clothing as possible.” Her bushy brows practically creaked when she raised them. “Have you never brought down a fever, girl?”

I stepped back and turned away, as another hard yank sent his trousers halfway down his thighs, springing his manhood free.

“Dear gods …” The disturbance in Elowen’s voice had me turning back toward him, and my heart shriveled inside my chest.

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