Page 68 of Anathema

Zevander narrowed his eyes on the guard. “Are you telling me the mortal that crossed is a woman?”

“Well, yes.”

“Describe her.”

“Um. Long, black hair. Very slim. Petite. She smelled of oranges.”

The mere description of that scent had his mouth watering again. “Any notable features?”

“Her eye … it was …. Well, it had a strange, silver marking.”

Zevander growled. “Looks like I’ll be heading to Bonesguard.”

“Shall I accompany you?” Ravezio asked from where he leaned against the staircase, polishing his dagger. “You know how much I adore men in uniform.” His eyes fell on the guard, who shifted on his feet, obviously uncomfortable in the presence of the Letalisz.

With his scaled, Eremician skin, mostly unnoticeable unless touched, Ravezio had suffered the most at the hands of the guards during imprisonment, as they’d sometimes enjoyed the torture of tearing away the scales on his body. Eremicians, in general, were looked down upon, particularly by the royal elite–all deemed thieves and miscreants in the eyes of the king. But as an Eremician prisoner, Ravezio had been seen as nothing more than a caged animal to be poked and prodded.

“No. I’ll do this alone. Keep an eye on this one for a moment, will you?”

“Of course.” Ravezio’s lips stretched to a grin, as he held the blade up, letting the light catch on the steel.

The guard’s throat bobbed with a swallow. “Will you be long, Sir? I didn’t announce that I’d left Costelwick.”

“No. Not long.” Zevander strode from the grand hall and down a corridor, to a stone anteroom that housed a steel door. He pushed through to a narrow, stone stairwell that curved with his descent toward the castle’s crypts.

Centuries of family remains had been memorialized into stone statues, and as he passed his mother’s he offered the sign of the gods, as was the respectable thing to do.

Beyond the memorials stood the dungeons, and Zevander stopped on reaching the cell that housed Dolion. Though the mage had been imprisoned, Zevander had made every effort to keep him comfortable, with fine silk and a plush feather bed. A tankard of ale sat out on the cell floor, along with a half-eaten grimshank pie and a loaf of bread.

“I must say, being your prisoner is not entirely a punishment,” Dolion said, looking up from one of the scrolls he sat reading by firelamp.

“The girl crossed,” Zevander said, ignoring his comment. “She’s here, in Aethyria.”

Frowning, he sat forward and twisted around in his chair. “She crossed? The mortal?”

“Yes. How is this possible? It was my understanding the Umbravale was designed to keep mortals out.”

“Yes. However, this proves she is a descendant of the seven bloodlines. Only they would be permitted to cross so easily. Where is she now?”

“She was seized by The Imperial Guards.”

“Oh, gods.” He sank back in his chair and huffed. “The king will execute her. A mortal in Aethyria? Can you imagine the uproar?”

“She wasn’t taken to the royal dungeons. She was taken to Bonesguard.”

“Bonesguard?” Brows folded in confusion, he shook his head. “Whatever for?”

“I suspect the guards intend to dispose of her themselves. The question is, do we let them?” It would have been a shame, but Zevander didn’t care to entangle himself with her if they weren’t going to turn her blood to stone.

“Let them? Are you mad? Of course we don’t let them! She is the last of her kind!”

“And she is a threat while living. Bringing her to Eidolon will only draw the magehood, and should they seek you out here, they will not only have you, but the final bloodline for the septomir.” Zevander didn’t bother to mention the fact that she’d seemed completely resistant to his power, somehow. That alone made her a threat to him.

“It is as I said, Zevander. She must be protected at all costs. If she should perish, we lose not just a bloodline but an entire ethnicity.”

“I did not ask to take on a ward.”

“Then you will be complicit in mortalicide.”

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