Page 57 of Anathema

“Finish your explanation.”

“The silver markings on that stone are unique to the Corvikae, who were known to worship the Goddess of Death. The very ichor that ran through her veins, ran through the veins of the Corvi people.”

“And?”

“If my vision is correct, the mortal I sent you after may be the first, or the last, of the Corvikae bloodline. She may carry the blood of the death goddess. And while I may be many things to many people, I am not the vehicle for mortalicide.” Lips pressed to a hard line, he shook his head. “I certainly don’t want to fuck with the daughter of a death goddess.”

A flash of the girl’s goddess-like face slipped through Zevander’s mind and tensed his muscles. “As young as she is, she hasn’t had her powers long, then.”

“I suspect not. But what do you mean, hasn’t? Is she …. Is she alive?”

“The girl still resides in Mortasia,” Zevander answered in a flat tone.

“Oh, thank the gods. Thank the ever-loving gods of mercy!”

“Mortasia?” Kazhimyr asked. “You ventured to the feared wastelands and never said a word about it?”

Zevander inwardly groaned. “It was uneventful.”

“How is this possible?” Dolion interrupted. “How does she live?”

Zevander ground his teeth together, the question taking him back to that night, and the thousands of times since that he’d asked himself that very question.

The realization dawning across the old man’s face only prodded his anger.

“You couldn’t do it, could you? Something kept you from killing her.”

Instead of answering, the Letalisz fought the urge to bite off his own tongue and said, “I have seen the egg of this Corvugon. It’s with her.”

“Then, it is true. It is true that they have returned!”

Wicked curls of anger snaked down Zevander’s neck, as he set a hand to his hip, the other stroking his jaw. “The stones we’ve collected, the lives we’ve taken, they are useless, then.”

“Those stones are holding back a castle full of Carnificans at the moment. While they are not powerful enough to prevent a pestilence, the six hold enough power to create a ward. And need I remind you that those you’ve killed were not exemplary citizens. They kept Nilivir as slaves, for fuck’s sake.”

“And need I remind you that I do not kill for charity, or to rid the world of fucking evil. I kill for purpose, and that purpose was the curse you promised to break. And, so, how do you intend to recompense? Before you answer, allow me to advise that we were sent by the king to execute you.”

“I’m afraid I cannot break the curse without the blood stone of the Corvi daughter, and I will not be responsible for ending their bloodline twice. Kill me, if you must.” The bastard had the audacity to tip up his chin, as if such a thing would offer him some dignity. “In fact, I insist. I’ve attempted it a number of days already. I’m a coward.”

“Perhaps I’ll just kill her and take those heavy stones off your hands.”

“You’ve tried and failed. A war is on the horizon, Zevander. To rid yourself of the flame would leave you defenseless. Practically mortal.” With a small bit of struggle, he pushed to his feet, stumbling backward a step. “Your curse, though a burden today, may prove useful tomorrow. It is an unrivaled power you possess.”

Zevander unsheathed his blade. “Or you might just be a raving old man who needs to be silenced.”

“Silence me, then.” He tossed off his own weapon with a clang of metal and held his hands out to the side in surrender. “I’m begging you. It does not change your circumstances. Or your fate.”

Jaw clenched, Zevander snarled at the old mage’s stubborn refusal. His hands shook with the urge to throttle him, for daring to imagine the Letalisz would allow him to so easily dissolve the bargain they’d made.

“What do we do?” Kazhimyr asked, breaking him of his murderous thoughts. “I suspect the moment he’s dead, that ward will fall.”

“It most certainly will.” Dolion jerked his head toward the staircase. “You better leave now while you have the chance.”

“You’re coming with us. You’ll stay at Eidolon.”

“I will be putting you at great risk, Zevander. And if I’m captured by the magehood, I could only hope for a swift execution. So, please. Do your king’s bidding.”

Zevander let out a spiteful chuckle, a mere fraction of his ire. “You owe me, old man. The magehood is the least of your worries now.” If Dolion couldn’t rid him of the curse, Zevander would force the old mage to figure out a way to slow the progression of its transformation in him. He didn’t give a damn about Dolion’s shifty morals, or the fact the girl was the last of her kind. It enraged him that he hadn’t been able to kill her.

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