Chapter 36

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

MAEVYTH

T he clank of metal reached through the void, and I opened my eyes to a mantle of dim light that blanketed the cell. Groaning, I shielded my eyes and lifted my head from the pillow.

“Wake up, Bellitula !”

The fog in my eyes sharpened on Rykaia swinging the door open, carrying a tray of something that smelled delicious.

I groaned and shook my head of the last remnants of sleep. “What is Bellitula ?”

“A classic story my mother told me when I was little.” She placed the tray on the table beside me, the savory scent taunting my tastebuds, and it was then I noticed clothes folded on the chair. “Bellitula was a dancer who longed to be the best in all of Aethyria. So, she made a pact with a malevol–”

“A malevol?”

“Uhhhh … a bad spirit?”

“A demon?” At her confused expression, I described, “Horns, cloven feet, collects souls.”

“Ah, yes. A demon . Anyway, she wanted all eyes on her for the upcoming Grandetalar , which featured the most exquisite dance ever performed by a single being. She wanted to dance so beautifully that the audience would weep.”

As she told her story, I sat up in bed to reach for a slice of thick bread, and spooned a strange, pink-colored jam onto it. With a dip of my pinky, I sampled the jam. A delicious floral flavor of rose hips delighted my tongue, with a splash of honey and summerberry. I had yet to try something in this place that my palate didn’t relish. Still half asleep, I devoured the bread and jam as Rykaia prattled on.

“The malevol—er, demon , promised that men would weep and women would swoon, and the world would forever know her name. In exchange, she would agree to give him her heart.” She placed her hand over her own heart, dramatizing the story. “She agreed, thinking he meant love. Malevols are sneaky that way, though. On the night of her performance, it was said that she danced with such grace, not a sound could be heard but the swift movement of her feet and the rippling of her dress.” Rykaia spun around awkwardly in her boots, her dress, with black laces at the corset, an even deeper burgundy than the last I’d seen her wear. “She danced so beautifully, the men wept and women fainted. And at the end of the dance, she lay on the floor as if to rest. And she never woke again. Her chest bore a gaping hole where it appeared her heart had been mysteriously torn out by an unseen force.”

“That’s a terrible story,” I said around a mouthful of bread that I swallowed back with a chug of water.

“Well, I called your name three times and you didn’t wake. Anyway, it’s time to train.” She tossed garments onto the bed, and placed a set of black boots by the chair

Leather. Lots of leather.

I lifted one of the garments that unraveled into long legs. “What is this?”

“Your training gear.”

“Leather trousers?” They reminded me of riding breeches worn by the wealthier in Vonkovya.

“You expected a ballgown?”

“Of course not. But leather clings. To everything.” The image of the material clinging to my breasts and hips made me wince. “I can’t.”

“You have to. That’s what makes it perfect for training. Doesn’t catch on swords and daggers.”

“What do swords and daggers have to do with glyphs?” I swiped up the cup of water beside me to wash back the panic rising into my throat.

Arms crossed, she shrugged. “Sometimes, the best way to summon your power is when you fear for your life.”

“Wait.” My heart ground to a stop, and I coughed out water. “Are you saying … I’m expected to fight ?” I didn’t know the first thing about fighting. I’d stabbed the guard who’d taken Aleysia in the forearm, of all places. “What am I fighting?”

“Torryn. He’s the best at physical fighting out of all the Letalisz.”

“Letalisz? What is that?”

“The king’s trained assassins. Centuries ago, Torryn, along with my brother and two others were pulled from the Solassion prison to carry out secret murders for the king.” The casual tone of her voice, as if secret king assassins were a perfectly normal occupation, rendered me momentarily speechless.

“Brilliant. That’s absolutely brilliant. I’d make the perfect match for him, then.” Snorting a laugh, I shook my head. “This is a ridiculous idea.”

“You can thank my brother for that. Now, get dressed.”

I glanced toward the outside of my cell. “What about Dolion?”

“What about Dolion?”

“I don’t care to change in front of him.”

“Trust me, he has no interest in you. You have no cock.”

“He’s …”

Brow quirked, she tipped her head. “Into fucking men? Yes. Now, change. Quickly. Torryn has a bad temper.”

Wonderful. I very much looked forward to meeting the bad-tempered man I was expected to fight.

Frowning, I threw another glance past her, to make sure Dolion wasn’t there. It wasn’t just that he was a man, I really wasn’t comfortable dressing in front of anyone, including Rykaia. Unfortunately, I’d made the decision to forego my privacy when I’d chosen the cells over one of the rooms Zevander had offered.

At no sign of the older mage, I tossed back the blanket and pushed to my feet, lifting the pants from the bed and staring at the garment as it dangled from my finger.

“What is it?” Rykaia asked, watching me. “Afraid it won’t fit?”

“No … I’ve never worn trousers before.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

Her brows furrowed. “You’re telling me you’ve only ever worn dresses.” She gave me a quick onceover. “And tunics?”

“Yes. And thank you for that, your brother did not appreciate finding me in his bath, nor wearing his tunic.”

Her expression twisted to an evil grin that had me grinding my teeth. “Oh, he actually returned to his room?”

“Yes. He looked angry.”

“ Angry ? Or angrier than usual?”

“Angrier than usual.”

Wearing a thoughtful expression, she stroked her thumb across her bottom lip. “That could’ve been my fault, I suppose. I told him I’d seen something unusual in his bathing room.”

My spine snapped straight. “ You sent him to his room?”

“You make it sound like a punishment.”

“I was naked, Rykaia!”

“Yes, which confuses me on the angrier than usual point,” she said, tapping a finger to her chin. “Are you sure about it? It’s hard to tell with that mask he constantly wears.”

“Why would you send him there, when I asked for privacy?”

“Because I’m horrible at following orders. You should know that going forward. If you tell me to do something, chances are, I’m going to fail somehow.” Sighing, she plopped down into the chair my clothes had occupied. “Now that we got that out of the way, I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around the idea that you’ve never worn trousers.”

“Where I come from, the only women who wear trousers are the ones who live on the streets.”

“Have you ever trained in your life?” It occurred to me that her question only seemed ridiculous because I’d been taught my whole life that women were weak and incapable of fighting. That only wild women, tainted by the devil, longed for skills such as hunting and fighting.

Troubled by that, I shook my head.

“Oh, gods. Torryn is going to crush you.” She rubbed her brow, and suddenly the food I’d eaten stirred in my gut.

“Wonderful. Thank you. That makes me want to hustle to get dressed for it.”

“Okay.” Hands atop her thighs, she huffed and pushed to her feet. “I’m going to teach you a very basic glyph, one every woman should know. This might help you, going in.”

Kneeling to the floor, she yanked a dagger from the wide, leather belt cinched at her waist, and carved three wiggly lines onto the gravelly floor that appeared as white scratches in the packed dirt. “Aeryz.” Holstering the dagger, she pushed to her feet and held out her palm at me, as if she were halting my approach. After breathing in through her nose, she closed her eyes and let out an easy exhale.

What sounded like wind being sucked into something had me glancing around—before a force plowed into me, like getting kicked in the chest by a horse, and knocked me backward onto the mattress.

Objects floated before my eyes, as I lay coughing, my chest throbbing for a sip of air, and I sat up, frowning back at her as I took in one long inhale. “A warning would’ve been nice,” I grumbled.

Unfazed by my irritation, she said, “Now, you try. Close your eyes and imagine the glyph. Then hold out your palm and push it into the universe.”

Curiosity urged me out of the bed, and I jumped to my feet. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, imagining the squiggly lines. As I’d seen her do, I held out my palm.

A faint gust of wind tickled the ends of her hair, but failed to move her.

“That was weak. Try again.”

Once more, I shuttered my eyes, imagining the lines she’d drawn. When I held out my palm again, nothing happened, except for the strange deflating sound that reminded me of a cat being smothered. “Well, at least it made a sound that time.”

“That was my stomach.” Rykaia rested her hand over her belly. “I’m starving.”

Rolling my shoulders back, I cleared my throat. “Fine.” I squeezed my eyes shut, growing frustrated by the repetition. I thrusted my hand out that time, and my body flew backward just like before, landing on the bed.

Rykaia snorted a laugh and covered her face. “Never saw that happen before.”

“Forget it, then. I’m not meant to wield magic.”

“I’m beginning to think that myself.”

“Then, perhaps you should just let me go back to where I came from, just as I’ve been requesting since I got here.”

“Or maybe you should try a little harder, mortal. You’re weak. You need to build up those muscles.”

“I’m not weak!” Hands balled to tight fists, I let the frustration and relentless exhaustion swallow me. “Forgive me for not being interested in playing with symbols, when my sister might very well be dead!”

“If she’s dead, why the hell do you want to go back to her so bad! You said it yourself, you’re unwanted !” Her words slapped me across the face, the sting burning my cheeks.

“You wouldn’t understand. You’re a heartless immortal, like your brother!”

Eyes bright and flickering, she glowered back at me. “If I were my brother, I’d have fed you to the fyredrakes by now!”

I jumped to my feet and waved a hand at her. “Then, do it!”

Rykaia flew backward into the bars. She flinched on impact, before sliding to the floor.

“Oh, my God.” I rushed toward her, falling to my knees at her side. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

She chuckled, rubbing the back of her head. “Finally. You see? Sometimes, it can be physical learning glyphs.”

“What happened?” A burning sensation flared across my palm. I turned my hand over and found the three squiggly lines had appeared like three open cuts carved into my flesh.

“Congratulations, mortal. You’ve earned a new glyph.”

I ran my finger over the wounds, smearing the blood over my palm. “Is that how it works?”

“Yes. The first time you use a glyph successfully, it remains permanently etched on your palm.” She held up her own palms to show seven symbols–four on her left and three on her right. “These are the powers I wield.”

“Seven?”

“You can only summon a glyph based on your bloodline. Hence the training. You need to figure out what your powers are. Some are basic, and they’re known as the minor glyphs. All manceborn master them because they’re easy.” She wriggled her fingers on her left hand. “Some are much harder to summon and require intense concentration. Those are the major glyphs.”

“May I ask what that one is?” I pointed to a scar, a complex symbol of curls and lines and dots contained within a circle.

“I’m an empath. My mother had the same glyph.”

“You feel the emotions of others?” I asked, studying the symbol.

“I absorb the emotions. But only when I want to. It’s a curse, really.” She sneered, curling her fingers over it.

I thought back to Zevander’s horrifically scarred hands. “Your brother …. He has so many.”

“Yes, well, he’s a bit of an anomaly. Most Lunasier only have about one, or two, major glyphs. Sometimes, three, like me. I could learn more, but it takes years, and only those who study at the House of Sages are given access to the other glyphs.”

“What is a Lunasier?”

“Oh … a history lesson.” She raked her hands through her long, silvery locks. “Lunasier is our race of people. So mancers are like humans, in some ways, but immortal, and … quite frankly, more interesting. We’re divided into the Lunasier and the Solassions. The Lunasier get their powers from the moons. The Solassions, from the sun.”

Rubbing a hand across my forehead failed to declutter my head of all the information she’d just offered up. “I thought you got your power from blood.”

“We do, but it requires nutrients and energy. Without the moon, my powers are weak.”

“I see. Is Dolion Lunasier?”

“No. He’s Elvynira. Their power is a bit mysterious, but most can command glyphs, like mancers. It isn’t based on blood for them, but understanding, and nexumis , which is a spiritual connection that the Elvynira have with the glyph. Dolion is a high mage, which means he’s mastered many glyphs.” She pushed to her feet and brushed the dust from her skirt, then offered her hand to help me up. “Our Magelord for the king can wield nearly every glyph, though they’re not as powerful as those who wield by blood. Take my brother, for instance. His power was given by sablefyre. The Magelord can certainly wield sablefyre, but not as proficiently as Zevander.”

“What is sablefyre?”

“It is a black flame, so hot, it can disintegrate a body in seconds.”

My mouth turned dry at the visual of that. It brought to mind the black markings on his skin. “I see. Sablefyre is your bloodline?”

“No. My brother is cursed with it.”

“And the scorpions?”

“They’re his prodozja ,” she said, grabbing a slice of the bread still sat out on the table. Instead of opting for the jam, she opened a second jar of a thick black substance that she smeared over the bread before taking a bite. “Mmmm. Magdah makes the best beetlejam.”

My stomach lurched. “Beetle jam? As in, bugs?”

“It’s good.” She raised the bread up and took another bite. “Crunchy is my favorite.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “And the pink jam?”

“The innards.”

Acids shot up my throat, and my face must’ve blanched three shades whiter.

She snorted a laugh. “I’m kidding. Yours is bitterberry.” She chomped another bite of the bread. “Gods, Maeve, you looked like you were about to vomit just now.”

Though I smiled, my mind lingered on the name. “You called me Maeve.”

“Oh, you don’t like diminutives?”

“No, it’s fine. Aleysia always called me Maeve.” A wave of emotion swept over me, and I cleared my throat. “Anyway, pro … doh … sah . What is that?”

“ Pro-doh- ja . It’s the protective form of blood magic. A creature that unfailingly manifests in the form of whatever magic a person wields.”

“What is your prodozja ?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Don’t have one. Never manifests for some of us. Zevander was lucky to learn his early on.” She stared off as though there was something more to the story. Instead of elaborating, though, she shook her head. “Anyway, now you have something to fight back with. So, get dressed.”

I glanced at the clothing again, noting the absence of a cammyck. “By chance, has Magdah finished laundering my clothes?”

“Laundering? I saw her flinging your old dress into a fire.”

“Fire? She really doesn’t like me, that one.”

Rykaia popped the last of the bread into her mouth. “Just needs to warm up to you is all. To be fair, it reeked of more than just your mortal scent.”

While her comment should’ve been humiliating, a much greater concern occupied my mind. “Do you happen to have cammyck’s here?”

“Cammyck?” Her face scrunched to a frown. “What in the gods is that?”

“It’s a body-fitting suit that you wear under dresses, and the sort.”

“You mean undergarments?”

“Well, I suppose it could be called that.”

“Yes. Did I not give you any last night?”

“No?”

“Oh. Terribly sorry.” She strode out of the cell and headed toward the stone wall just outside of it. It was only when she knelt down that I noticed a small door in one of the stones, essentially invisible in the way it blended so seamlessly with the water-stained rock. After knocking three times, she crossed her arms and huffed. The door swung open, and a hairless rat-like humanoid appeared, slightly taller than the length of my hand, with pink wrinkled skin and beady black eyes. Yet, he wore clothes—tattered pants and a ragged, green vest, with a laced-up brown tunic beneath that clung to his slender body.

I could feel my jaw slowly coming unhinged.

“I need a favor, dear. In my room, there are two brand spanking new undergarments laid out on the dresser. Can you fetch them for me?”

“Of course.” The ratman nodded and, unless I was imagining it, wore a slight bit of blush on his pink, skin-like cheek.

Rykaia pointed a finger at him. “And no rummaging through my lingerie. I mean it.” She booped the little creature on the snout.

“I would not, Mistress.”

“Good. Now, run along.”

The door slammed shut after him, but she remained there.

“What is … was …”

“A golvyn. You don’t have one? Wonderful creatures, but they can be tricky. He likes to sniff undergarments. But no worries, I’ve never worn the ones I intend to let you borrow.”

I began untying my borrowed tunic, to get started on the leather garments, and she held up a finger. “If you’re squirrely about others seeing you dress, you may want to wait just one moment. He’ll return any second.”

“That quickly?”

No sooner had I spoken the words than the door flew open again. The ratman handed over two black garments, far too small to be cammycks, to Rykaia.

“Thank you, love.” She planted a kiss to the top of his head, and his cheeks seemed to redden again, before he slipped back through the door, closing it behind him. “You see? Wonderfully useful creatures.” Rykaia sauntered toward me.

Taking the proffered garments, I couldn’t help but note how small they were—they’d hardly cover much of anything, at all. Whereas the cammyck had reached the middle of my thighs, these looked like nothing more than a small patch of fabric connected by strings. “I hardly think this will keep me from chafing.”

“You’d be surprised how soft caligosian leather is. Particularly between the thighs. Now, hurry along. I’ll wait for you at the top of the staircase.”

“And if nothing fits?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“We may not be the exact size.”

She held out her hand toward the clothing laid out on the bed and jerked her head. “Put the undergarments with the others.”

I did as she commanded, setting them on top of the pile.

“ Fitilia quantya .” Without another word, she turned and exited the cell.

I glanced back at the garments, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Curious, I swiped up the clothes and backed myself to the shadowy corner of the room, where I dressed quickly, sliding on the undergarment that clung to my hips for dear life. While the fit seemed good, I tugged at the edges of the fabric on the backside, but they didn’t budge from where they covered my two fleshy cheeks. How desperately I longed for my cammyck.

Next, I slipped my leg into the trousers and yanked it up over my calf, confused by the sensation. Warm and fitting, it clung to my skin like stockings, and I couldn’t deny, it felt … nice. I yanked the other leg up and tied the string, pulling the waistband in to a perfect fit. Staring down at myself, I smoothed a hand over my leg and smiled. No wonder Ms. Chalmsley had always opted for trousers. Far less chilly than an open-hemmed dress.

Turning away from the cell bars, I removed the tunic, the air against my bare breasts sending a jolt of urgency through me. I pulled on the long sleeve of the hooded leather tunic that fit snugly over my arms, then I fastened the many laces on the front, pulling it tight against my breasts. As close fitting as it was, I was glad not to be wearing a cammyck, which would’ve only suffocated me. A black, leather corset fit just below my breasts, and held small loops and pockets that I imagined housed daggers, though mine were empty.

After tugging on the leather boots, I examined myself, running my hands over the soft leather of the pants and jacket.

“Oh! You’re … dressed.” At the sound of Dolion’s voice, I turned around, not sure if I felt clothed, or fully exposed, the way the garments emphasized every curve of my body.

“Training clothes. For … training. Against a king’s assassin.” Saying it aloud sounded worse than in my head, and I let out a nervous laugh.

“Yes. You’ll be grateful for those.” He nodded at my clothes. “I remember my first day learning glyphs back at the House of Sages. My mentor had asked me to perform the intorquiusz command, and I managed to become completely entangled in my robes. I suspect it was intentional on his part.” He let out a chuckle that brought a smile to my face.

“It’s strange. I’ve worn the same style of dress my entire life.”

“The black dress you arrived in?”

“Yes. I was forced to wear it. And the choker,” I said, running my hand over my neck and realizing I hadn’t bothered to take it off while dressing.

“Whatever for?”

“All cursed women wear them.”

“It seems you and Lord Rydainn have something in common, then.”

His handsome profile came to mind. “The mask.”

“Yes. While he’s required to wear it in public, I think he chooses to wear it most other times.”

“Why?”

“That would be a question for him, I suppose.”

“I don’t think he likes my questions very much.”

“It’s true, he is quite abrasive. I suspect he’ll warm to you in time.” Dolion widened the door and waved me out of the cell. “Now, shall we begin training?”

“You’ll be training me, as well?”

“Yes. Well, I wouldn’t leave you to contend with Lord Rydainn yourself.”

My stomach lurched. “Lord Rydainn? I was under the understanding I’d be training with Torryn.”

“Change of plans. Lord Rydainn has expressed interest in training you himself.”

Somehow, I found that hard to believe. Lord Rydainn regarded me like a mole on his ass that he hoped to burn off at some point.

“I’m afraid I can only serve as a scribe in this case. These glyphs are uncharted territory for me. Zevander is better equipped to physically train you.”

Whatever knots had already wound in my stomach cinched tighter. “Dolion, I don’t think this is a good idea. I appreciate the opportunity to?—”

“A fortnight. Learn the glyphs. Earn your power, and in a fortnight, I will take you away from this place.”

“Two weeks? I don’t have two weeks!”

“The alternative is that you don’t leave, at all. I’ll not dump you in that forest with nothing to defend yourself. The mages who seek you are quite vicious, Maevyth. You’ve no idea what they’re capable of, and they will find you. Whether here, or in your world. They have powers you cannot begin to comprehend. Do you want your sister endangered?”

Of course I didn’t. “Two weeks will drive me mad.”

Huffing, he nodded. “I will attempt to scry. Perhaps that will give you piece of mind, seeing her.”

Hope bloomed in my chest. “I would very much appreciate that. Thank you.”

“Very good.” He jerked his head toward my cell. “Tell me, have you made any headway on the book?”

I glanced over my shoulder to where the puzzle book sat on the table beside my bed. “I managed to open the cover. There was an image on the inside.” I didn’t bother to mention the way the figures moved on the page, seeing as I hadn’t opened it again since the night before to confirm whether, or not, I’d hallucinated that bit.

“Excellent! I’d love to learn how you figured out the mechanisms of it. After training?”

“Sure.” I said, though a nagging curiosity lingered in the air. Although Dolion had told me it was a means to pass the time, I believed it was more intentional than that. “What is this book and why exactly am I being tasked to solve these puzzles?”

“You are the only one qualified to do so.”

“Why?”

Lips pressed together, he seemed to chew on the question a moment, as if he hesitated to tell me. “I have reason to believe the book is one of few relics left behind by your people.”

“ My people? I’m Vonkovyan. Born in Vonkovya.”

“That may be true. But your blood may very well be Corvikae.”

The word brought to mind the Corvus Keep and the Corvugon I’d seen in the book the night before. “What is Corvikae?”

“They are a race of mortals who existed here centuries ago.”

“Existed? As in, they’re no longer?”

Brows lowering, he gave a solemn shake of his head. “They were slaughtered. Cast into the Crussurian Trench.”

“Then, how is it possible that I, a human from the mortal world, could be a descendent?”

He huffed. “Admittedly, I’m not entirely sure yet. It’s why you’re here. So that we may learn more about your bloodline, your abilities.”

I took a deep breath to calm the brewing frustration prodding at me. “I appreciate that. And under any other circumstances I’d be a willing participant, but I am severely distracted by the wellbeing of my sister. I have neither the time, nor mental capacity, for your studies and experimentation, when she is my priority.”

“And I can assure you, we will try to reach out to her. Safely, through a scrying mirror with no harm to you.” He rested a hand on my shoulder and with raised brows, he tipped his head, although I hesitated to agree. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take a look at the image you mentioned, and I’ll meet you in the training room.”

“Of course,” I said, and with a nod, he patted me on the shoulder, as I headed down the corridor to my impending doom.