Page 94 of Anathema

“She may try to flee. Her sister is apparently in danger.”

“You of all people should relate to such a thing,” Ravezio said, and strode off after his blade.

Groaning, Zevander turned for the door. “I relate to nothing with a mortal.”

“You did remember to feed the little mortal supper, though, didn’t you?” Ravezio called out after him.

Zevander squeezed his eyes shut and quietly growled as he strode from the room.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

MAEVYTH

Knees pulled into my chest, I watched through the small window of my cell, as the moon rose and darkness swallowed daylight like a fading flame. Another day my sister might’ve been suffering alone, cold and terrified.

I hated that I was grateful to be safe and sheltered, even if the lingering chill of the dungeons still nipped at my bones. But most of all, I hated that even if I wanted to help her, I wouldn’t have known where to begin.

My stomach gurgled with new hunger, and I rested my head against my knees, breathing through my nose to stifle the gnawing ache of starvation. Much as my heart wanted to mourn my sister’s circumstances, my body reminded me there was never time to focus solely on someone else’s pain.

Heavy boots thudded against the concrete, unlike Rykaia’s delicate steps of earlier, alerting me of someone’s approach. On instinct, I backed myself to the wall. The echoing fear from the guards attacking me still rattled my nerves. I held my breath as a shadowy form strode into the light of the flickering sconces and revealed himself to be Zevander.

Why I still held my breath at the sight of him was a mystery.

Although he wore the same mask as he had the last time I’d seen him, the hood of his cloak had been lowered away from his face, showing hair as black as mine curled at the nape of his neck. Finger-raked back from his face, with a few strands reaching his brow, it gave him a rugged, disheveled appearance.

He carried two wooden bowls and strode past my cell with both of them. The lingering scent of meat prickled my tongue. Seconds later, he appeared before my cell, still holding one of the bowls, but instead of shoving it under the bars, as Rykaia had earlier, he opened the door to my cell.

My whole body remained on guard as I watched him step inside, his massive size devouring the small space. I imagined my height, though not entirely petite, would’ve brought me to about his mid-chest.

Without a word, he handed me the bowl, which I scrambled toward with a level of gratitude I’d never felt at the sight of food before. The delicious scent of the chicken pottage filled my nose, and I sat back on the edge of the bed with the bowl, surprised when my captor didn’t leave right away. Instead, he grabbed the wooden chair propped at the corner of my cell, which looked exceptionally small, more like a stool—even more so when he sat down on it.

Not daring to look at him, I sprinkled the pottage with a bit of purslane that was draped over the bowl’s edge, sparing one of the succulent leaves to nibble. A delicious, tart lemon flavor puckered my tongue, and I spooned a bite of the warm soup. And another. Another warmed my belly, the meat not quite filling the vacuous hole of my appetite. While the breakfast had certainly taken off the edge of starvation, it hadn’t completely sated the hunger that continued to gnaw at me.

Guilt knotted the pangs in my stomach. Had my sister eaten a single bite in the time I’d been offered two meals?

“You asked to speak to me,” he said, breaking my thoughts.

I’d forgotten how deep that voice was, or how easily it sent a shiver over my skin. I swallowed back another bite of food and cleared my throat. “I wondered … how long you intend to keep me here. And why you’re keeping me here.”

“Has Dolion not offered any insights?”

“Um … well, I thought I’d introduce things slowly on that front.”

Both of us turned to find Dolion peeking in on the cell.

“Perhaps you might sup somewhere else,” Zevander said in an annoyed tone. “I need to speak with you, as well.”

“Of course, of course.” Bowl in hand, Dolion scrambled past the cell and disappeared down the same corridor from which Zevander had arrived.

“He’s not your prisoner, yet you keep him down here. Why?”

“He enjoys the solitude.”

“And, so, what are these insights you mentioned?” Picking at my food, I stole brief glances of my captor while he sat across from me, those few fleeting glimpses highlighting the differences in appearance between him and the sister that I’d met earlier. The way his black hair and light bronze skin bore a stark contrast to her silvery hair and pale complexion. An observation that left me wondering if they were related by blood.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

“Why is every question I ask met with another question?” The ire in my voice was a mere spark of the anger stirring in my gut. Not so much that I was confined to a cell, but that even if granted my freedom, I’d have no idea how to navigate back to my sister, or what vicious things I might encounter along the way. When he didn’t answer, I lowered my gaze and stirred the pottage with my spoon. “I find it difficult to eat when my sister might be starving.”

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