Page 126 of Anathema

“Who is he?”

“Our brother,” Rykaia answered for him. “Branimir.”

“Why would you …. Why would you lock him down there? That’s … cruel.”

“You don’t know him, or what he’s capable of,” Rykaia snapped.

“Rykaia, perhaps you might give us a minute and clean up the shattered porcelain.” Zevander’s voice remained calm, in spite of the rage and adrenaline coursing through him. It was then it occurred to him that something else pulsed through his veins, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had him feeling so unsettled. Beyond jealousy. Something deeper. Darker.

Possessive.

Seeing Branimir lying in her lap had scrambled his thoughts to an irritating muddle of anger and resentment.

“Fine. I told you this wasn’t a good idea, having her down here.” Rykaia spun back down the corridor, to where the broken basin lay shattered in front of Maevyth’s cell.

Dolion followed after her, leaving Zevander and Maevyth standing over the locked door.

“What happened to him?” she asked.

Zevander hung the mirror back on the hook. “We share the same curse.” He caught his reflection in the mirror, realizing in his rush to the dungeon, he hadn’t bothered to cover his face.

“But you … you don’t look like him.”

“Branimir went through the ritual when he was much older. I was a baby and didn’t suffer as many side effects.”

“But you have some,” she said, having clearly noticed the gash across his face and the grotesque veins pouring out of it.

“Yes. It’s possible his fate will be my own.”

“Why keep him down there?” Her voice held an accusing tone, and though he couldn’t blame her for it, it nettled him just the same.

He hesitated to entertain her questions. It was none of her business, after all. She had been the one to venture where she hadn’t been invited. But for reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t like her seeing him in that light. It troubled him. “He wishes to hide himself away. It’s not my choice.”

“How does he eat? How does he live down there?”

“His creatures provide for him.”

She huffed, glancing back toward the door. “I think I’d lose my senses, if I were trapped in that dark place every day. But if it’s his choice …”

“Why did you go down there?” he asked through clenched teeth, a fresh anger pulsing through him.

“I was led … by a huge spider who left a trail of trinkets, including the key.”

The spiders had grown clever, it seemed. Luring her either independently, or by Branimir’s command, he couldn’t say. For what, though? “The desire to find a cure and let him live out his remaining years in peace is fading on the horizon.”

“You’re saying it isn’t possible to cure him?”

Zevander wanted to laugh at the irony of her question, that the cure to his affliction was standing there, inquiring about it. He didn’t bother to voice that, though, for fear that she might’ve offered herself up right then.

“I’m sorry if I sounded like I was accusing.” Gaze lowered, she nibbled on her bottom lip, insufferably beautiful with her annoying little habits that seized his attention and left him wondering what she tasted like. If her lips were sweet, like berries, or bitter, like his liquor. “I thought–”

“I know what you thought. As I said, you’ll sleep in the upper level from now on. And you will leave him be.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“He’s killed before.”

“Innocents?”

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