Page 93 of Anathema

“Not before he’d have depleted all of your vivicantem.” It only took one touch from Torryn, as simple as a handshake, to weaken his opponent. But the magic always came at a cost. Depleting more than one person at a time sent him into delirium.

Torryn adjusted the wrappings he wore on his hands during sparring matches to avoid inadvertently sapping his opponent. “Did you come looking for a match?”

“Perhaps some other time. I came to tell you I have a woman in the dungeon.”

Ravezio’s brows kicked up with nauseating interest. “A woman, you say? Here?”

A scratch of annoyance jabbed at Zevander, curling his lip. “You will not lay your hands on her,” he said, more gruffly than intended, and cleared his throat of whatever green-eyed monstrum had spoken for him. “She’s a prisoner. The mortal who crossed the Umbravale.”

“Ah, yes. Is that why you’re keeping her locked in a cage?” Ravezio teased, stoking Zevander’s frustration.

“It isn’t a damned cage.” Again, Zevander had to force his anger away. “Have you forgotten what a true cage looks like?”

“I’ve not. Which is why I certainly wouldn’t wish one upon a frightened young mortal who probably has no idea why she’s been brought here.”

“Why is she here?” Torryn asked, getting to the point of the interruption.

“She’s to be trained,” Zevander grumbled, still bitter about it.

“Trained? What would a mortal need training for?” If only Torryn had seen how easily she’d resisted Zevander’s flame, he might not have found the question so perplexing.

“According to Dolion, she harbors a unique power.”

Torryn sneered. “How does a mortal possess any power? They’re brittle and weak.”

“She’s apparently Corvikae.”

“What is–”

Before Torryn could finish, Zevander shook his head. “I’ll fill you in later,” he said, too damned tired to give a history lesson right then. “The point is, she may very well offer something unique. But she has absolutely no awareness of it, nor understanding of how to use it.”

Torryn snorted. “I feel for the bastard who has to train with her.”

“Funny you should say …. That bastard will be you.”

“What?” The amusement in his expression faded to a frown. “Why?”

“You’re the most skilled at defense. If she begins with something natural, like fighting, it may help her tap into her powers, just as yours manifested.”

Torryn frowned harder. “I’m not certain that I’m right for this.” Except that he’d given Rykaia lessons years ago at Zevander’s request, and she’d come to be quite proficient at defending herself.

“You are most skilled with a blade,” Ravezio added. “Even if you move like cattle.”

“I should’ve stabbed you earlier.”

“What of the flammelian in The Hovel?” Zevander nodded toward Torryn, interrupting their banter.

“Hasn’t attacked in days. No leads, as of yet. I’m chasing a fucking ghost.”

“I’ll join the hunt.” Zevander’s plan was to plant rumor in The Hovel of a possible killer, to keep Melantha off his back and skew her investigation into the missing guardsmen whose bodies had long scattered into the wind.

“And what of this woman you want me to train? Does she have any fighting skill, at all?” Once again Zevander was reminded of her resistance to his flame.

“Very little. But I wouldn’t call her weak. She did attempt to take on three Imperial Guards.”

Torryn raised a brow. “I like her already.”

“You intend to train a girl to fight and wield magic, you may want to consider nicer accommodations. Don’t want her coming after you for a shit night’s sleep, now, do we?” Chuckling, Ravezio yanked his blade out and chucked it across the room toward a log of wood that held a half-dozen other throwing knives.

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