Page 144 of Anathema

The boy gave a frantic nod, his long skinny fingers reaching up for the vial that Zevander yanked back.

“You know not take it all at once, yeah?”

“I know. One drop.”

“One drop,” Zevander echoed, handing it off to him. “Don’t need you joining the carnificans.”

With trembling hands, the boy popped open the vial and squeezed a drop of the nutrient onto his tongue. Eyes closed, he smiled and shivered. “It’s tingly.” The red in his eyes sparkled and dulled to a pink. By the end of the week, if he’d taken the whole vial, they might’ve returned to their natural appearance. Unfortunately, his bloodline magic was gone for good. It would’ve taken centuries of consistent consumption to restore his power, and unfortunately for Gavroche, he’d probably never have access to pure vivicantem again. He’d also not likely live that long, either. While the lifespan of spindling children was far longer than humans, it was nowhere near as long as a healthy Mancer, who might live to be nearly a thousand years. At the very least, it made them feel energetic and whole again.

“You know anything about Cadavros?”

The boy shrugged. “Some folks call him a god. Say he’s due to return.”

“Any idea who’s spreading that around?”

He shook his head, stuffing the vial into the pocket of his trousers that fit better than the last pair he’d worn. “I only hear folks talking about the black flame. How it’s supposed to save the Nilivir and restore our power.”

Zevander huffed. “Take it from me, kid. Sablefyre isn’t going to save anyone.” He patted the boy on the shoulder. “Give Madame Lazarine my best.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

MAEVYTH

Freshly bathed, I grabbed the warm mug of tea that Magdah had brought to my room–an herbal concoction she’d wanted me to try after I’d told her of my trouble sleeping. Mug in hand, I padded toward the thick, mahogany door adorned with dragon carvings and ornate hinges, which led out onto a stone balcony that arced outward from the castle. Crisp air had me wrapping myself tighter in the heavy robe I’d found in my armoire. Made of black velvet, with intricately embroidered deep crimson roses and black fur trim, I trusted it to keep me warm.

Flickering torches that seemed to light up on their own casted shadows over the balustrade. I peered over the edge, below which I found gargoyles and grotesques perched on jutting ledges, and beyond those was the dizzying height to the ground beneath, barely visible through the thick fog. The two moons shone high above, their crescent shapes inverted across from one another, and illuminated the dark silhouettes of the distant mountains. I wondered what Aleysia was doing right then, assuming the vision I’d had was true, and she was still alive. I had to believe so, because believing anything else would’ve destroyed me.

A cluster of tiny, glowing specks fluttered in the air around me, and I held out my palm, allowing one to land there. The moment it made contact with my palm, the glyphs on my hand let off a silvery glow. The insect reminded me of the small fireflies I’d seen in The Eating Woods, with its long thorax and human-like face that smiled at me, before taking flight again.

“It’s said to be good luck to catch one.”

At the sound of the deep voice, I turned to see Zevander standing out on the balcony next to mine. He peered upward as the cluster of fireflies danced toward him.

“What are they?”

“Celaestrioz. Some believe they harbor the essence of the gods.” He reached out his palm, allowing one to land there. “As a young boy, I used to feed them to my pet scorpions.”

Horror stricken by the visual, I shook my head. “Why would you do that?”

“The Celaestrioz are known to invade the nests of Noxidae birds. While some consider them a nuisance, the birds are harmless. However, the Celaestrioz swarm the mother and her young, devouring them alive.” He turned his hand over, allowing the insect to crawl over it. “I watched them once. When threatened, the mother bird sings a song to her young to calm them. It’s called Le’Susszia. Death’s Song.” He lifted his palm, and the insect took flight, the swarm dancing around him a moment longer before flying off into the night. “The scorpion is the only known predator that can withstand their venomous bite.”

“They bite?”

“Yes,” he said, staring after the luminescent plume that faded in the distance. “Most die from the venom. They detect hostility and attack on instinct. Which is why it’s considered good luck to successfully catch one.”

“And they didn’t detect any hostility when they allowed you to feed them to your scorpions?”

His lips twitched with a smirk. “I suppose my intentions have always been obscure.” It somehow seemed fitting that even as a child he’d been an enigma.

“I’d have never guessed something so beautiful and enchanting could be so awful.”

“I rarely trust the enchanting.” A fleeting look at me, and he sipped his drink. “Particularly something so beautiful.”

“I’d be inclined to think a man like you rarely trusts anything. Or anyone for that matter.” I took a sip of the warm and soothing tea, staring at him over the rim of the mug. How darkly tantalizing he looked in his black tunic and leathers.

“Yet, there you are, standing on a balcony not far from where I sleep.”

“Yes, given how dangerous I am, it was probably foolish to assign me this room. I might just be ambitious enough to leap over to your balcony one night and hold a blade to your throat while you sleep.” The sliver of humor in my voice withered on a dry gulp when I peered over the edge of the balcony, to the sloping yard a disorienting forty meters, or more, below us.

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