Page 79 of Anathema

“What then, indeed.” Bracing one hand against the stone wall, Zevander rubbed the other hand down his face. “I’d hoped to cure him of this affliction. That is what you promised with the stones.”

“This plague in my vision. It is not the first we’ve seen of its kind. The priestess spoke of one during the aegrogrian age. A wide-spread scourge of locusts that turned Mancers into flesh eating beasts.”

“If you’re asking me to kill my brother …”

“The Corvi were the only ones to survive.”

“How?” Zevander asked, intrigued.

“I don’t know. We don’t know the extent of their power. What this girl may offer alive.”

“If the girl has any power, she certainly doesn’t know a thing about it.” Zevander stepped past him, heading back toward the cells, and Dolion followed after.

“She will need to learn how to tap into it. Which will require training.” An irritating, expectant lift of his brows suggested he wanted Zevander to train her.

“No.” Zevander snorted and shook his head. “I know nothing of the Corvi and their power.”

“And I know very little. Only what I can scrounge from these few tomes. But there is someone who may be able to help. She’s a bone scribe for The Citadel. Her uncle was renowned for his work.”

“A historian.” Zevander’s tone couldn’t have been any flatter. “How does that help, when there is no history of the Corvi to be found, aside from what you’ve already stolen?”

“Borrowed. As we do in libraries. And I don’t know yet. At the very least, she can read bones. Perhaps there might be history buried beneath the girl’s flesh. In the meantime, you can train her to call upon her power. That is a basic skill for any mage–whether born, or made.”

“So, now I’m to seek out this bone scribe, as well.” Zevander wanted to laugh at how ridiculous it was—opening the doors to the castle he’d spent years protecting, like a fucking inn and tavern. Instead, he snarled. “This sounds far more complicated than merely turning her blood to stone. It would take seconds. Educating and training her would take months. Years, even.”

“Think of what we may stand to lose. Yes, we possess all seven stones of the septomir, but you said it yourself, that is too much power for one person.”

“Enough of this feigned altruism, old man. Was it so long ago that you can’t recall having ordered her death yourself?”

Chin tipped up, Dolion stared back at him in challenge. “And I’m curious, as well. Have you ever hesitated to kill anything?”

Zevander didn’t bother to answer that. His reputation spoke for itself.

“Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to kill her. If only you could! Yes, I suppose these horrible visions would be laid to rest, and I might find peace in sleep. But the gods stepped in, and they demanded another path.” The old mage shrugged. “Who am I to challenge them?”

“You said in your vision that I would join Cadavros in his destruction. Why would you trust me? If this power makes me such a threat, why not eliminate it now?”

“It’s not you that I trust. It’s the signs of the gods that I put my faith in.”

“And I fear they will lead you astray.” Zevander jerked his head toward the door in the floor. “You still wish to remain in the dungeon after having seen that?”

“I lived amongst the Carnificans in an abandoned castle. A few spiders seems manageable. I’ll put a ward to keep them out of both cells.”

“Fine. Your choice.” On those parting words, Zevander strode out of Dolion’s cell. After pausing for one more glimpse of the girl, sleeping peacefully, he growled in frustration and kept on.

CHAPTER THIRTY

MAEVYTH

“Wake up, Maevyth,” Aleysia whispered. “You must wake up.”

I opened my eyes to find my sister standing over me, her closely-shorn hair a startling confusion in my half-awakened state. As I focused on her, scanning over the bruises and cuts and bites on her naked body, a niggling dread sat on the outskirts of my thoughts.

The Banishing Ceremony. Running through the woods. The archway.

Rapid images flashed through my mind like an all-too-vivid nightmare.

I trailed my gaze over my surroundings, visually swallowing the gray water-stained walls, stony dirt floor, bars that closed me in. A cage. Beside me stood a nightstand with a flickering lamp that illuminated the teary gaze of my sister.

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