Page 136 of Anathema

His screams bled through the wood and iron, until they finally silenced, and the wet squelch of tearing flesh echoed from below.

“Probably should’ve tried to get the answer to the riddle out of him,” Torryn said beside him.

“I already know the answer. It doesn’t bring us any closer to identifying his supplier.”

Ravezio scratched at the back of his head. “Just out of curiosity, what is it?”

“Legacy.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

MAEVYTH

The bath suite in my room wasn’t quite as big as the one in Zevander’s, but it was just as beautiful. A circular, marble and stone basin, with lit candles at its base, frescos on the ceiling, and an entire wall of lancet windows that bowed outward toward a stunning view. Although it was mid-afternoon, the gray snow clouds and perpetual mist cast a gloom that darkened the room, despite the multitude of candles that added a soft glow.

On the ledge was a brass flask I recognized—the one I’d seen in Zevander’s bathing room that’d reminded me of an anointing bottle. Smiling, I uncorked the top for a sniff, confirming the delicious scent. A gift, I presumed.

As I sponged the amber soap onto my shoulder, I stared down at my opened palm, where the glyphs I’d earned had scarred into faint white symbols.

“What a strange dream,” I whispered, still not entirely convinced that any of this was real. My thoughts wound back to training earlier, when I’d channeled Zevander’s power. How utterly consumed I’d felt in the moment.

The bathwater swallowed me in warmth as I recalled his massive arms around me, his hands guiding mine. The way I’d felt small beside him, but powerful. Eyes closed, I summoned the image of the two of us, and a dizzying heat swept through me while I sponged myself, dragging the foamy soap across my skin and imagining the soft caress of fingertips. The phantom brush of his lips tingled at my throat, and at the first prickle of teeth, I opened my eyes on a sharp inhale.

Stop. If I planned to keep training with the man, I’d need to shake the ungodly thoughts he roused.

I set the sponge at the edge of the basin and lathered the soap into my hair, pausing when my finger caught on something at the back of my neck. A series of bumps arranged in a strange pattern that didn’t feel like a scab, or a cut. I gently ran my finger over them, and in the water’s reflection, noticed a scintillating silver glow on my back at my shoulder.

Frowning, I twisted to the side to get a good look at it, my reflection in the dark windows across from me lit up by whatever it was. A shape that I couldn’t quite make out in the brightness. A glyph, maybe. Strange, that it was on my back and not my hand like the others.

I ran my finger over the symbol, feeling a slight vibration beneath my skin. What is this? Had I been back home, I’d have been poked and prodded, banished, or burned, because the governor didn’t always trust The Eating Woods to eliminate the worst cases of evil. Even I found myself to be shaken by the presence of whatever these strange markings meant, but while I couldn’t make out a thing from the angle at which I stood, at least I felt no pain from whatever they were. More concern over the odd little changes happening to me.

I hadn’t even taken a moment to breathe in the time I’d been there, to reflect on how much had changed since leaving my world. How, even as limited as this world had become while confined to the castle—and, at times, to my own room—it still felt bigger than Mortasia. Intriguing, in spite of its strange and dangerous creatures. It saddened me to think that Aleysia was the only reason I’d consider returning to the place I’d lived my whole life.

Once I’d rinsed the soap away and rung the water out of my hair, I made quick work of toweling off and dressed in one of the outfits that Rykaia had supplied in the armoire for me. A long, black velvet, hooded dress, with a lace-up corset and low cut bodice that lifted my breasts. Something urged me to take it off and find something a bit more modest, but I paused, trying to discern whose voice had demanded such a thing.

Certainly not mine.

Agatha would’ve called me a whore, had I worn anything like it back home. A wicked little harlot, as I’d heard her call other women of the parish. I smiled at the thought and decided the dress was perfect, even if it did add more black to my wardrobe. I’d grown to hate the color less since my time here. In fact, I felt a sense of pride, as if I’d finally embraced my aberrant nature.

I padded quietly toward the door, surprised when the knob turned with ease. While I’d returned to my room on my own after training, I’d wondered if Zevander had bothered to lock me in while I bathed.

Seemed he hadn’t.

Peering out into the hallway showed a long, empty corridor in both directions, and I stepped out of the room, walking briskly toward the staircase ahead. Down the stairs, I followed the same path Zevander had led me along two nights ago, but paused when I reached the Great Hall, only to find no one there. Just the entry doors standing unguarded.

Fyredrakes, my head warned, but what if that was merely a tactic to scare me? A story to keep me from trying to escape.

It didn’t matter. I had no idea where I was, or where to go, and after my experience with the guards, I didn’t trust to ask any strangers I might’ve encountered, should I have decided to run.

Instead, I kept on, toward the kitchen. Once there, I found Magdah chopping vegetables.

Not bothering to spare me a glance, she asked, “What do you want?”

“I’d like to help.”

She made a disapproving sound in her throat, but I stepped closer.

“Please? I’m happy to chop those potatoes for you.”

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