Page 131 of Anathema

Rykaia snorted. “Only when he’s killed something.”

Zevander stood off from us, holding a long stick with two pointed ends. In wide circles, he twirled it like a wheel at his side. Then, like the snap of a whip, he flipped it around his body, over his head, behind his back, and at his sides. The staff moved so fast, it formed a perfect circle.

Mouth hung wide, I watched in awe as he manipulated the stick with ease, pausing to toss it in the air then catch it in perfect cadence.

“Keep practicing,” he said, never breaking his rhythm.

“How am I supposed to concentrate with that going on?”

“I think that’s the point,” Rykaia answered, picking at her own palm. “You don’t always get perfect, quiet conditions to repel someone. It has to be something you can do simultaneously to other things going on about you. That’s the beauty of it. No one knows you’re repelling.”

With a nod, I stared at Zevander, watching him wield his staff around, watching the muscles in his arms flex and the sweat bead across his skin. How gracefully ruthless he must’ve looked against an opponent. I closed my fingers over my palm, giving a brief thought to the glyph there.

My head wandered into a different space this time. An image of two nights before, when he’d stood before me in his loose tunic and leathers, the deep grooves of muscle in his chest. I imagined him pulling me in for a kiss, his rough lips across mine, his strong hands at the small of my back.

“You like my brother, don’t you?”

A panicked breath shot out of me. I swallowed hard and stepped back, releasing her hold of my arm.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t see anything.” Rykaia chuckled and glanced toward her brother and back. “It’s written all over your face.”

“I was just … looking for distraction, is all.”

“It seems you found it.” She offered a wink and a smile, before turning her attention to Zevander. “Brother, I am tired. She has effectively kept me from reading her thoughts. Can we move on?”

At that, Zevander finally lowered the staff. “Go. Rest,” he said to Rykaia, before leaning against the staff, looking painfully, irritatingly delicious. “Would you like to practice Aeryz again? Or should we move on to a new glyph?”

“What’s the glyph?” I asked, and Rykaia patted me on the shoulder as she strode off toward Dolion, who sat with his usual pile of books and scrolls.

“Erigorisz. Lifting objects with your mind. It requires intense concentration, though.”

The very thought of doing something else with my mind was completely unappealing, though I didn’t feel exhausted, as Rykaia had claimed to be.

“How about you teach me to flip that staff the way you did earlier.”

He arched a brow. “You wish to learn fighting techniques?”

“Is this when you tell me girls shouldn’t possess such skills?”

Leaning against the pole, he shrugged. “Not at all. I’m merely surprised you’re interested.”

“If I plan to return for my sister, and I do, I’ll need some skills to defend myself.” I said, with an upward tip of my chin, daring him to dispute me.

“You’ll soon have a very powerful magic to call upon.”

“The bone whip?”

“Yes. It sounds quite unappealing from an enemy standpoint.”

“Are you my enemy?”

With an introspective tension etched into his brow, he lowered his gaze. “I’m everyone’s enemy. There’s nothing virtuous about the magic I wield.”

“And if mine is associated with death, maybe I’m everyone’s enemy, as well.”

Those mercurial eyes found me again, brimming with dark amusement. “Aren’t we a pair …” He jerked his head. “Come, Lunamiszka.”

“I’m beginning to question your interpretation of that word. It seems luna should have something to do with the moon.”

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