Page 193 of Anathema

They kept on, until they arrived at the entrance of a massive room with vaulted ceilings and pillars. Still cloaked, Zevander placed his hand through the flickering sablefyre that flanked the entryway and stepped into the room.

Remnants of the black flame blocked a few of the corridors, as he trailed his gaze over the destruction. At the center of the room, black smoke drifted upward, and Zevander came upon two piles of ash that’d begun to merge with each other, half scattered across the floor. He knelt down for the small bloodstones lying in the ash, and held one of them up to the light, relieved to see no silver markings in its surface that would indicate it was Maevyth’s.

An altar of sorts stood at the front of the room, and he made his way toward the stone slab there, finding drops of blood scattered over its surface. On the other side of the altar lay what appeared to be Magelord Akmyrios, though his lack of eyeballs made it difficult to know for certain. Angry red flesh lined two empty sockets, and beside him lay the milky white remnants of his eyeballs. Tucked just under the Magelord’s robe lay an object Zevander recognized—the whistle that Maevyth had worn earlier in the night. He knelt down and pocketed it, scanning for any other evidence of her.

Black steam rose up from the Magelord’s skin, and Zevander turned toward the brazier behind him, where the flame contained within reached out for him. A quick palpation of Akmyrios’s pulse, and the Magelord gasped, convulsing on the floor.

“Who is it? Who’s there?”

Instead of answering, Zevander stepped past him, toward the brazier.

“What happened here? Where’s the girl?” Captain Zivant rushed toward the Magelord, falling at his side.

“She … she escaped! She is … the purest of evil!” the Magelord said in a dry, raspy voice. “Might you have … some water?”

“No.” Captain Zivant said coldly. “Where did she go?”

“I do not know! I can’t see, you fool! Please! Take me to a healer.”

Lips peeled to a snarl, Zivant nodded toward his men. “Get him out of here.”

Zevander scanned over the room and, at the opposite corner, noticed an unusual gap in the flame. A quick glance toward Zivant showed him heading toward the corridor behind the altar with three of his men.

Zevander strode in the opposite direction, toward the gap, and as he neared it, he noticed the shimmering wall across the entrance. A ward. His skin tingled as he stepped through it, and once cloaked by the darkness of the corridor, the fog lifted from around him.

It wasn’t until he’d breached the ward that he noticed a figure lying on the ground up ahead, clothed in a burgundy dress. Rykaia. Groaning, she rolled on the floor, clutching her head. Next to her lay three Solassion soldiers in their gold armor.

He hastened his steps toward her, and as he drew near, the pools of blood surrounding the guards came into view, their armor crushed at the chest.

Before he could reach them, something gripped his arm.

Snapping around, he drew his dagger, holding it to Dolion’s throat.

“I promise you she’s fine. She’s just coming out of a sleeping spell. Go. Find Maevyth. I’ll take your sister back to Eidolon.”

Zevander snarled and sheathed his blade. “What happened here?”

“Solassion guards came for us. I couldn’t move at first. When the paralysis lifted, I was able to fight them off.”

Not wasting another moment, Zevander lurched in the direction of his sister, but Dolion took hold of him again. Growling, he spun around. “Unhand me now, old man, or you will be handless.”

“Zevander! You must go after her!”

“They intend to torture Rykaia to find you and the bloodstones.” Zevander snarled and yanked his arm free. “I’m not leaving her until I know she’s safe.”

“I will hand myself over to the Solassions, if it means sparing your sister.”

He lifted his gaze toward Rykaia, his mind drawn back to General Loyce’s words from earlier, forcing him to choose between his sister and Maevyth. Keeping Rykaia safe had been his priority since the day he’d returned from that fucking Solassion prison. He’d turned himself into a killer for her. As much as he’d grown to care for Maevyth, as much as he craved her, he couldn’t abandon Rykaia. Not now. Not when he knew both the Solassions and The Imperial Guard were searching for her. “The mortal is your problem. Not mine.” Damn the sharp stab in his chest as his cold words betrayed his heart. The urge to rip out his own tongue had his hands curled into tight fists at his side.

“Oh, she is very much your problem.”

Zevander ignored him and kept on toward Rykaia.

“Fuck it all, you stubborn bastard. She’s your mate, Zevander!”

Dolion’s words brought him to a grinding halt, and eyes narrowed, Zevander turned to face him. “What did you just say?”

“I said she is your mate. I saw it in a vision. She wore your sigil, the mark of your scorpion. As did your son.”

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