Page 90 of Anathema

“Seems to.” Zevander knew it slowed the spread, as he’d already watched his brother suffer the course of it during a time when his family couldn’t afford vivicantem. “I appreciate it.”

“A small show of gratitude for taking care of that noisy and obnoxious mage.”

Zevander wanted to laugh at the image of Dolion lounging in his cell, eating, drinking his ale as he studied the forbidden scrolls of Corvus Keep.

“The absolute lunacy is what I find most difficult to understand. Dolion was a very dear friend before he began all that ranting and raving of Cadavros. Can you imagine? Why on earth would he dream that the beast would rise from the dead?”

“Before I slid my blade across his throat, he spoke of an entity in the mortal lands.” A fresh gurgling stirred in Zevander’s stomach, and acids prickled in his chest with the lie. “He believed Cadavros resides there. That he was banished.”

With a calm smile, the king shook his head. “I feel compelled to show you something, my friend.” The smile on his face faded as he pulled an object from beneath the high neck of his brocade jerkin. A black amulet, or so it appeared, given the small dragon’s claw dangling alongside it that was thought to secure an incantation. Attached to a small black chain, the shiny stone bore a spider etched into whatever metal made up the amulet. “Do you know what this is?”

“An ominous charm of some sort.”

“Ominous, indeed.” He chuckled, holding it in his palm. “It is chaos contained. A veritable Pandora’s box. Sorrow. Disease. Violence. Madness. Death.” In a manner that seemed more admirable than fearsome, he caressed the object with his thumb. “I had it made the day Dorjan was born. I distinctly remember holding him in my arms and feeling this overwhelming emotion to protect him. Furious at the thought of someone ever hurting him, or taking him from me.” Beneath the sadness of his gaze flickered a spark of rage. “What would I do, if someone took my son from me …” His jaw shifted, lips curving to a snarl. “His blood is linked to this amulet. If something should happen to him, a plague will be unleashed, and all of Nyxteros will be destroyed by it. Nothing would survive.” A quiet tension rippled through Zevander as he silently absorbed the information. “I’ve not told anyone of this. My conscience has urged me to destroy it a number of times throughout the years, but you cannot destroy magic like this. Not even destroying the claw which binds it. I’ve tried.” He stroked a thumb over the severed appendage. “It is a magic that comes from the darkest depths, where fear and vengeance reside.” Tucking the amulet back into his tunic, he stood, thoughtful, for a moment. “It was Cadavros who bound the amulet to my newborn son. He was the only one who knew that it carried Dorjan’s blood and not mine. Not even Captain Zivant is privy to this binding. A king is nothing without his legacy, after all. Do you understand why Cadavros had to die? Why it’s absurd to imagine that I would let him live?”

“Yes,” Zevander answered. Though, it made sense that the king would’ve had him killed for such a thing, he didn’t bother to dispute him with the speculations he had about Cadavros in the mortal lands. Doing so would’ve been a slap in the face. Of what little the Letalisz had come to know of Sagaerin over the years, one thing was certain–the king did not like to be challenged. It would’ve had him investigating matters that would’ve unveiled secrets.

“This is why it is imperative that you watch Dorjan closely, in particular.”

“And what of Calisza?”

With a dolorous expression, he gripped the back of his chair and sighed. “I would sooner see my beloved daughter consumed by insects and famine, than to watch her suffer at the hands of my enemies who would surely do worse. It brings me tremendous grief to imagine such a thing.” He set his goblet down and patted Zevander on the shoulder. “All the more reason I’m grateful you’ve taken care of this rogue mage. One less preoccupation as Calisza’s Becoming draws closer. In the meantime, keep your eyes and ears sharp for any mention of what may have happened to those missing guards. While I never once doubted that you took care of the mage, it is a curious coincidence that the aura at Bonesguard turned out to be Corvikae.”

“Dolion might’ve been working with someone.”

“Perhaps. I’d like you to be involved in finding out. Keep it between us. I don’t want Magelord Akmyrios thinking I’m undermining his efforts.”

“Of course.”

He waved Zevander toward the door. “That is all. Safe travels back to Eidolon.”

Zevander gave a courteous nod and pushed up from the chair, the nausea from before tugging at his throat again.

Leaning into the post beneath the bridge, Zevander expelled what he hoped was the last of the toxin into the moat. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head and wiped his mouth on the back of his arm. “Fuck,” he muttered, his guts finally settling down. It’d been years since he’d had to take in that much Nilmirth, and his body had surely reminded him how much it remembered its distaste. He stuffed the vial of vivicantem back inside his leathers–the catalyst for having expelled the last of it—and covered his face with the mask.

“How long have you been immune to Nilmirth?” The feminine voice came from behind, and he turned to see Melantha emerge from behind one of the posts, her head covered beneath the purple, velvet cloak that all of the king’s mages wore.

“A bad batch, I suspect.”

“Not likely. I made it myself.”

In as subtle a movement as he could muster, he twisted his hand, palm up to summon his shield.

“No need. I’ve no intentions of probing you. Not now, anyway. I suspect your mind is a complicated labyrinth just waiting to be explored. Perhaps some other time.”

“Perhaps you might consider a swim with the Koryn in the meantime.”

Arms crossed, she sauntered closer, her lips clinging to a smile. “Is it that I’m a woman seated at the council or you truly do not care for me?”

“I care more for the vomit I just expelled than I do the members of the king’s council.”

Her smile widened and she tipped her head. “I’m offended that you have no interest in knowing who I am, when I’ve taken great care to study you, Zevander Rydainn. The Scorpion of Nyxteros. Lord of Eidolon. How has no one caught on that you’re one of the king’s infamous Letalisz?”

“I’ve made a point to draw little attention. Until today.”

She chuckled, her flirtatious eyes doing nothing for him. “I find that hard to believe. A man as fierce looking as you must draw quite a bit of attention.”

He didn’t bother to respond to that, watching her make her way toward the edge of the moat, not far from where he’d just thrown up.

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