Page 76 of Anathema

The girl lay draped in Zevander’s arms, as he carried her up the staircase to Eidolon’s entrance, her body limp from the spell he’d cast. The scent of her, like mouthwatering oranges, sent a wild rush to his senses. He’d been gifted some relief in the bog, when the odor of rot and sulfur had masked it, but once past the swamp, it had commandeered his every thought. Driving him mad with need. Not even the faint whiff of piss on her detracted from the overpowering smell of whatever the fuck that was.

Sickeningly sweet.

Through the castle’s entrance, he strode past the staircase toward the long corridor leading to the dungeon.

“What is this, Brother?” The air of intrigue in Rykaia’s voice grated on the Letalisz, as she descended the staircase and fell into step alongside him.

“Mind your business.”

“Your business is my business. That’s how it works when you force me to live in the same space as you.”

While she’d weathered the worst of her withdrawals in the last couple of days, confined to her room, she still bore the signs of exhaustion from long, sleepless nights. The red rims of her eyes and white pallor of her skin spoke of the hours she’d hung over the chamber pot, expelling the toxic remnants of the flammapul and tonics.

She followed after him, and at the grip of his arm, Zevander came to a halt. “That smell …” Gathering the girl’s hair, she held it to her face and inhaled. “What is it? I want to eat it from the air.”

He knew the feeling, unfortunately.

“She’s mortal, isn’t she? What in the gods are you doing with a mortal.”

“Taking her to the dungeons.”

Rykaia bristled at that. “The dungeons? Do you really think that’s safe?”

“She’ll be fine. Dolion’s been down there for a few days now.”

“Okay, but curiosity quite literally killed our cat, if you’ll recall.”

He did recall. He’d been the one to clean up its carcass all those years ago. “She’ll be locked in. And if you touch the keys, I will know, so none of your tricks.”

Scoffing, she crossed her arms. “I beg your pardon, they’re not tricks. You’re just mad that I happen to be one step ahead of you, sometimes.” She toyed with the girl’s long locks, running them through her fingers, which left Zevander curious to know how they’d feel tangled in his fist. “She’s beautiful, and she smells delicious. How long do you think she’ll be safe in a cell? Hmmm?”

“I said she’ll be fine. Get some rest. I’ll have some broth sent to your room.”

Rykaia released her hair and chuckled. “If I relied on you to keep me fed, I’d be a rotting corpse by now. Thank the gods for Magdah, or I’d have withered away to nothing.”

Instead of responding to that, Zevander grunted and kept on toward the south tower, away from his sister, who seemed far too interested in the girl. The fact was, the mortal was Dolion’s problem, not his. Better to be with the old mage, than in any other part of the castle where she’d undoubtedly make trouble. He had his hands full with his sister. No need to stoke his headache with another young woman that he could already tell would get along swimmingly with Rykaia.

When he’d finally reached the castle’s undercroft, he passed the memorial stones, shifting the weight of the girl to offer the sign of the gods for his mother, until he reached the cells.

Dolion stepped forward, pushing the door to his cell open, eyes wide with fascination. He didn’t seem to pose much threat, so Zevander had granted him freedom to leave his cell. “It’s her.”

“It’s her.”

“You cast a sleeping spell over her?”

“She wouldn’t stop talking.”

“Such a brute,” he muttered under his breath. “The daughter of the Corvikae.” He stroked his hand down her hair, and tilted his head to admire her face. “She’s quite filthy, isn’t she? Smells delicious, but a bath would certainly be in her best interest.”

“I did not agree to bathe her.” Zevander hoisted her over his shoulder and opened the door to her cell, the same one he’d occasionally assigned to Rykaia as she went through withdrawals, seeing as his sister had found ways to escape her room every time. With silk sheets, a feather mattress and plush pillows, it was hardly a discomfort. He’d also had a private chamber pot installed for her many bouts of vomiting. Zevander lay the girl down on the bed, ignoring the way her dark tresses fell around her face in a way that made her almost angelic. Like a goddess.

“She must be exhausted from whatever hell she’s suffered to look so … disheveled.”

“She was chased in the woods by a figure. The same one I saw when I ventured to the mortal lands. A man that looked more beast, with his antlers and hooves.”

“In the mortal lands, you say?” Dolion looked thoughtful for a moment. “I wonder if it’s possible …”

The pensive expression on his face had Zevander’s mind spinning. “You believe it’s Cadavros.” It wasn’t a question.

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