Page 87 of Anathema

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. His majesty speaks highly of you.”

Something about the woman struck him as untrustworthy, and as subtly as he could muster, he removed his glove beneath the table and pushed an invisible veil of protection around him, in the event she attempted to scour his memories. Without responding to her comment, Zevander turned his attention back to Captain Zivant. “I’m afraid I know nothing of these missing soldiers. Or whatever a Corvikae might be.”

The Magelord cleared his throat, shifting in his chair. “The Corvikae are an ancient civilization that existed centuries ago. A very hostile people. They raided villages, plundered, and raped. Spread diseases throughout all of Nyxteros.”

Lies, of course. What fuckery, to falsify the history of a people that was nearly extinct.

Magic pulsed around Zevander as something prodded to get past his defenses. A glance toward Melantha showed her staring back at him, unabashed.

“An ancient civilization. As in, no longer existing?” Zevander asked.

“Yes,” Magelord Akmyrios answered. “Though, it is our understanding that one of our colleagues, a rogue mage, had spent some time in Corvus Keep. We think it might be possible that he acquired scrolls and may have practiced a bit of demutomancy.”

It was then Zevander knew for certain that they had knowledge of the stones and reminded himself to tread lightly. “What does demutomancy have to do with the missing guards? Or my quarry, for that matter, seeing as I’ve already disposed of him.”

“Precisely as I said,” King Sagaerin sat forward, placing his palms on the tabletop. “Zevander is my best Letalisz. He does not fail.”

“Still, we’d like to confirm,” the Captain chimed.

The king sighed and drummed his fingers. “Zevander, the captain and Magelord Akmyrios have asked that you take Nilmirth. I’d personally like to lay this matter to rest and begin searching for our missing men.”

Nilmirth was a known toxin that, when ingested, assured only truth was spoken. If a lie happened to slip past the offender’s lips, he’d spend the next hour in excruciating pain while the poison worked its way through the system. If the offense was serious enough, he’d be swiftly executed after. Lying to the king and his advisors would’ve certainly added Zevander to the list of upcoming executions scheduled.

Fortunately, he’d also trained to tolerate Nilmirth. While it did nauseate him, it would fail to elicit pain, no matter how many lies he might tell them.

“If it pleases Your Majesty, I’m happy to oblige.”

“It would, and I thank you for your cooperation.”

“Very well.” The Magelord reached into a satchel clipped at his side and retrieved a vial of black liquid. The very sight of it churned Zevander’s stomach, but he schooled his expression and reached out for the proffered toxin. “If you’d be so kind as to consume the entirety of it.”

It’d taken small increments over the course of a century to build up the tolerance to an entire vial, and Zevander had suffered his share of agonizing pain in the process. He certainly wasn’t looking forward to swallowing it right then. After popping the cork, he tipped back the fluid, and it assaulted his tongue with the horrific flavor of charred wood and ashes. Left an unbearable aftertaste in his mouth that had him yearning for a sip of ale to wash it down.

“Now, let us begin …” the woman said, her lips curved to a smile. “State your full name.”

“Zevander Rydainn.”

“And where were you born, Zevander Rydainn?”

“Castle Eidolon, north of the Aeramere River.”

“And what is your sigil?” She continued to pry, much to his irritation.

“May I ask why all the banal questions?”

“To establish that the toxin is working, Your Lordship.” She turned toward the king, who gave Zevander a subtle nod.

Huffing, the Letalisz swung his gaze back toward the woman. “The Scorpion.”

“Ah. The sigil of pain and fear. You are said to be cursed.”

“Yes.” He clenched his jaw, growing more impatient with her questions.

“Who laid this curse upon you?”

“The king’s former Magelord. Cadavros.”

The way she shifted in her seat left Zevander wondering if the name made her uncomfortable. “And you were enslaved because of this curse, is that correct?”

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