Page 153 of Anathema

Rykaia swung her gaze back to me. “You had tea with her?”

“Yes. She was helping me with a puzzle.”

“And you worked on a puzzle together. Are you friends?”

“I … suppose. We’re pleasant toward one another. What constitutes friends, exactly?”

“No matter. Grab your cloak. Quickly.”

“Why?”

She groaned, scampering toward the armoire, where she threw open the doors and yanked my black cloak from one of the hangers. “No time for questions,” she said, tossing the garment to me. “Or whatever thoughts are swirling in that head of yours. Now, come.” With a yank of my arm, she dragged me to the door, pausing to look down the hallway, then tugged me toward the staircase.

“Where are we going?” I whisper-yelled.

“You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”

Down corridors and stairs, we finally arrived in the dungeons, and Rykaia pulled me into the cell where I’d once slept.

A mischievous smile curved her lips as she came to a stop before the wall. “We’re going on a little adventure.”

“Adventure?” Confused, I watched her draw a vertical line on the wall with her index finger. When the line glowed a bright blue, my eyes widened, and I peered into the slit at what looked like the outdoors on the other side. “How is this possible?”

She pushed her hand through the illuminated seam in the wall, and my jaw slackened for the second time. “It’s called cleaving.”

“Is this how you get from place to place here?”

She snorted. “This is how I get from place to place with a tyrant brother who watches my every move. Fortunately, not everyone can do it, Zevander being one of them. It’s like rolling the tongue. Some can, some can’t.”

As she spoke, I silently rolled my tongue in my mouth. “What about Dolion?”

“He’s in the library. No doubt that … intruder Kazhimyr brought back here went looking for him after she left your room, so I’m certain he’s occupied.” Clearly, she had a distaste for Allura. “All they ever do is study those bones. For hours.”

“Allura is not a bad person.”

“No. She’s a scholar.” Rykaia crossed her arms, her top lip peeled back. “A highbred. Haughty, if you ask me.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“Fine. Would you prefer to sit over piles of bones, marveling at their history and taking notes for hours, days, on end?”

Eyes narrowed on her, I held back a smile. “You sound like you’ve watched them for an awful long time. Were you spying?”

“Of course not.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “I find that woman absolutely insufferable.” Given the fact that Rykaia couldn’t look at me as she said that, I didn’t believe her. In fact, I’d have bet she rather liked the woman. Quite a bit.

“What about your brother? He’ll be furious. Dolion said someone is actively looking for me right now. Going on an adventure seems unwise.”

“Ah. Yes, I almost forgot. We have to do something about your smell.”

“What?” I lifted my arm, taking in a subtle sniff of what smelled like the soap I’d used. “I just bathed.”

“Yes, but every soul in Nyxteros is going to know you’re mortal with that scent you carry.” From inside her cloak, she produced a small vial of purple fluid and popped the cork. As she poured it over top of my head, I flinched on instinct, anticipating the liquid to pour down my face, but instead, it evaporated into a mist that fell around me. “That’s better.”

I scented myself again, not picking up on any difference. “What’s better?”

“You no longer smell like oranges that everyone wants to eat. And believe me, there are those in Aethyria who would eat you. Orgoths, for example.”

“Orgoths?”

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