Page 108 of Anathema

“Uhhhh … a bad spirit?”

“A demon?” At her confused expression, I described, “Horns, cloven feet, collects souls.”

“Ah, yes. A demon. Anyway, she wanted all eyes on her for the upcoming Grandetalar, which featured the most exquisite dance ever performed by a single being. She wanted to dance so beautifully that the audience would weep.”

As she told her story, I sat up in bed to reach for a slice of thick bread, and spooned a strange, pink-colored jam onto it. With a dip of my pinky, I sampled the jam. A delicious floral flavor of rose hips delighted my tongue, with a splash of honey and summerberry. I had yet to try something in this place that my palate didn’t relish. Still half asleep, I devoured the bread and jam as Rykaia prattled on.

“The malevol—er, demon, promised that men would weep and women would swoon, and the world would forever know her name. In exchange, she would agree to give him her heart.” She placed her hand over her own heart, dramatizing the story. “She agreed, thinking he meant love. Malevols are sneaky that way, though. On the night of her performance, it was said that she danced with such grace, not a sound could be heard but the swift movement of her feet and the rippling of her dress.” Rykaia spun around awkwardly in her boots, her dress, with black laces at the corset, an even deeper burgundy than the last I’d seen her wear. “She danced so beautifully, the men wept and women fainted. And at the end of the dance, she lay on the floor as if to rest. And she never woke again. Her chest bore a gaping hole where it appeared her heart had been mysteriously torn out by an unseen force.”

“That’s a terrible story,” I said around a mouthful of bread that I swallowed back with a chug of water.

“Well, I called your name three times and you didn’t wake. Anyway, it’s time to train.” She tossed garments onto the bed, and placed a set of black boots by the chair

Leather. Lots of leather.

I lifted one of the garments that unraveled into long legs. “What is this?”

“Your training gear.”

“Leather trousers?” They reminded me of riding breeches worn by the wealthier in Vonkovya.

“You expected a ballgown?”

“Of course not. But leather clings. To everything.” The image of the material clinging to my breasts and hips made me wince. “I can’t.”

“You have to. That’s what makes it perfect for training. Doesn’t catch on swords and daggers.”

“What do swords and daggers have to do with glyphs?” I swiped up the cup of water beside me to wash back the panic rising into my throat.

Arms crossed, she shrugged. “Sometimes, the best way to summon your power is when you fear for your life.”

“Wait.” My heart ground to a stop, and I coughed out water. “Are you saying … I’m expected to fight?” I didn’t know the first thing about fighting. I’d stabbed the guard who’d taken Aleysia in the forearm, of all places. “What am I fighting?”

“Torryn. He’s the best at physical fighting out of all the Letalisz.”

“Letalisz? What is that?”

“The king’s trained assassins. Centuries ago, Torryn, along with my brother and two others were pulled from the Solassion prison to carry out secret murders for the king.” The casual tone of her voice, as if secret king assassins were a perfectly normal occupation, rendered me momentarily speechless.

“Brilliant. That’s absolutely brilliant. I’d make the perfect match for him, then.” Snorting a laugh, I shook my head. “This is a ridiculous idea.”

“You can thank my brother for that. Now, get dressed.”

I glanced toward the outside of my cell. “What about Dolion?”

“What about Dolion?”

“I don’t care to change in front of him.”

“Trust me, he has no interest in you. You have no cock.”

“He’s …”

Brow quirked, she tipped her head. “Into fucking men? Yes. Now, change. Quickly. Torryn has a bad temper.”

Wonderful. I very much looked forward to meeting the bad-tempered man I was expected to fight.

Frowning, I threw another glance past her, to make sure Dolion wasn’t there. It wasn’t just that he was a man, I really wasn’t comfortable dressing in front of anyone, including Rykaia. Unfortunately, I’d made the decision to forego my privacy when I’d chosen the cells over one of the rooms Zevander had offered.

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