Page 52 of Anathema

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

His cheek twitched, like the comment had somehow wounded him. “See, I heard a rumor that Mr. Moros is into some strange things. A bit rough, as I understand. You might do well to loosen yourself up a bit.”

“Excuse me, Uncle. I need to get back to the house.”

“Yes, of course. Lunch.” Tongue sweeping over his natural smirk, he tipped his head. “I understand Mr. Moros is due to be here at precisely noon.”

“I have no interest in spending the afternoon with Mr. Moros.”

“Doesn’t matter what you want. Awful thing about these arrangements.” Brows raised, he sighed. “Anyway, if you change your mind, let me know. I’ll be happy to oblige. I’d hate to see an innocent young thing like yourself suffer more than necessary.”

“I don’t intend to suffer, at all.”

His gaze lingered on my lips. “Well, wouldn’t that be something. Young orphan girl standing up to a respected member of this fine parish.” He let out a small chuckle and gave a curt nod. “I’ll see you later. Niece.” On those parting words, he strode out of the shed, and I released a shaky breath, every cell in my body locked in a state of repulsion.

As I let the shock work its way through me, I hustled toward where I’d thrown the cat’s head. I found it behind the wagon’s wheel, and glanced around the shed for somewhere I could bury it quickly without being seen.

A small gap beneath Uncle Riftyn’s carpentry bench.

Grabbing a spade from the benchtop, I fell to my knees and awkwardly hacked at the packed dirt of the shed’s floor, my hand burning with a new blister as the wooden handle raked across my skin with each plunge.

Raivox hobbled up alongside me, his gaze flitting between my digging and what must’ve been an absolute look of disgust etched into my expression.

“I never want to clean up after one of your … mishaps … again.” Air wheezed out of me with the toil of digging in such a confined space. Once the hole was big enough, I gently placed the cat’s head into the grave and covered it with dirt, then pushed to my feet. Brushing away the sprinkling of soil on my dark dress, I pushed the thought of having to see Mr. Moros again out of my head and placed the overfed cat killer back inside his little nest. “No more pets, okay? We have to find something less traumatic for you to eat. If you insist on meat, perhaps I can see about getting some scraps from the butcher in town.” I scratched the underside of his beak, and the small creature lifted his chin, letting out a purring sound that brought a reluctant smile to my face. “In spite of your macabre tendencies, you are ridiculously cute.”

“Maevyth! Maevyth!”

The distant sound of Lolla calling for me had me groaning. Abandoning my murderous, little pet, I headed back toward the house, greeting her at the back entrance.

“Maevyth, come quickly.”

“I know. Mr. Moros has asked me to lunch again. Has the man nothing better to do?” I prattled on. “I refuse to marry an abuser.”

“It’s your sister.”

It was only then I noticed the pallor of her face. Completely drained of color.

“What about Aleysia?”

“She was found to be with child. Your uncle’s child.” Tears welled in Lolla’s eyes.

The panic started small in my gut and curled its way with metal talons up toward my throat, scratching inside my chest. “How … how do they know?”

“She confessed.”

The panic wriggled and lashed, slicing at my lungs. Lolla didn’t have to say what I already knew. Aleysia’s confession had branded her a sinner.

Sinners were fed to the forest.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ZEVANDER

Through a thick, white fog, Zevander and Kazhimyr peered across the mire of dead wood, where, in the distance, the dreaded Corvus Keep perched on a weathered, stone hill. Not much was known about the castle, abandoned long before Zevander’s time. No scribe mage would’ve dared to scrounge the history of it, nor the small village within its crumbling walls that lined the perimeter, not with all the bloodthirsty Carnificans that’d made it their home.

“We’ll continue on foot,” Zevander said, dismounting Obsidyen. The thick muck served as a natural trap that the Carnificans would exploit to eat the horses alive. Not that it was any less treacherous for the two Letalisz, but at least they had the ability to defend themselves. Outside of snapping teeth, Obsidyen would have little at his disposal, while the Carnificans tore at his flesh with long, overgrown nails and teeth grounded to pointed tips.

“What do you say, nine furlongs?” Kazhimyr asked, as he tied his horse to a nearby tree, out of sight.

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