Chapter 37

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

MAEVYTH

I arrived at the top of the stone staircase, to find Rykaia talking to a man dressed similarly to me, in all black leather. Down his left thigh hung a series of daggers holstered in leather straps. Dark brown, not quite black hair reached his shoulders, straggly strands framing each edge of intense burgundy-colored eyes. His expression held a contradictory mix of dark amusement. I presumed him to be Torryn, but Rykaia turned toward me and said, “Maevyth, this is Ravezio.”

While I gave a polite nod, he reached for my hand, lifting it to his face. I’d expected him to kiss the back of my hand, the way he held my knuckles close enough to his lips that I could feel his warm breath on my skin. Instead, he took in a long inhale and shuttered his eyes.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Rykaia said with an air of amusement. “Her scent is a weapon itself. Utterly distracting.”

“Indeed.” He lowered my hand and tipped his head, studying me. He had a feral quality about him, something that prowled within, like a black cat. At the base of his neck, just above his collarbone, I noticed hash marks, scars in intricately designed patterns that looked like connecting suns, which seemed impossible to have been made by hand. He tipped his head further, undoubtedly noticing my staring, and I cleared my throat, snapping my attention away.

He smiled, and the expression completely changed his face. Stark white teeth, eyes brimming with amusement. He was darkly handsome. The kind who’d have been sought by the women in Foxglove while accused of sorcery by the men there. He reminded me of the transient wanderers who slipped through towns like shadows, never staying in one place too long.

Movement at the corner of my eye dragged my attention away to Zevander, who slowly descended the stairs toward us. Over the top of the mask covering his face, his eyes appeared to be fixed on me, and suddenly, I felt as naked as I’d been in the bathing room the night before.

“And where are you fine gents off to today?” Rykaia asked, her question failing to break his staring.

“The Hovel. Seems someone likes playing with flammapul.” Ravezio bent forward to adjust a dagger just inside his boot, and I caught sight of black arrows protruding from a black leather quiver strapped to his back.

“Torryn will be going to The Hovel with you. I’ll be training today.” Zevander’s attention shifted from Ravezio to me, and my pulse thrummed at the thought of fighting against him.

“ You’re training Maevyth?” Rykaia asked, her eyes flitting between Zevander and me. “And you’re siccing your dogs after the flammellian?”

“I take offense to that,” Ravezio said, but Rykaia didn’t bother to acknowledge him.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she rolled her eyes. “For gods’ sakes, Zevander, leave it alone. You’re only going to stir trouble.”

“You didn’t think I’d let him get away with what he did, did you?” Zevander finally spoke, the sound of malice in his voice sending a strange vibration beneath my skin. He turned toward Ravezio. “When you find him, bring him here. To me.”

“Of course.”

“And you’re bringing him here ? Which means whoever it is, isn’t walking out of here.” Rykaia shifted on her feet. “You know, you don’t need to kill every soul that’s wronged me.”

“And you don’t need to fret. His murder was commissioned by the king.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “If King Sagaerin thinks he’s going to put an end to every mage who dabbles in demutomancy, he’s wrong. They’ll find a way. They always do.”

His gaze fell on me again, but with half his face covered in a mask, it was hard to guess what thoughts occupied his mind. “I do not care about every other mage.” That questionable gaze lingered a moment longer before he turned back to his sister. “He hurt you. End of story. For him.” He gave a nod toward Ravezio. “A quick word.”

The two stepped off to the side, their voices low and indiscernible over the sound of Rykaia huffing and mumbling beside me.

After a quick pat to Ravezio’s shoulder, Zevander strode past the two of us, but paused to look over his shoulder in my direction. “Are you coming?”

The question somehow shifted the air around me, my pulse hammering a steady beat of anxiety, and for a moment I felt like I was suffocating.

With a glance at Rykaia, who frowned back at her brother, I followed after him.

Once out of earshot from Rykaia, I asked, “What’s a flammellian?”

He threw a quick glance over his shoulder. “One who is intensely aroused by control. The name comes from the substance they use to inject into their victims. Flammapul. It’s a poison that renders you useless, so your abuser, or flammellian , can do whatever they wish.”

“That sounds … horrifying. Someone did this to Rykaia?”

“Yes.”

The mere thought sent a bolt of rage through me and Rykaia wasn’t even my sister. “I don’t blame you for wanting to hurt him. In fact, I feel compelled to do the same to whatever took Aleysia.”

“Have you fought before?”

“No.” I’d always wanted some form of training, or defense. Mostly for use against the boys in our parish, who touched without asking. But Grandfather Bronwick had thought it unladylike. He’d always worried that such a graceless past time would’ve only fueled more rumors and scorn. “I stabbed the guard who tried taking her, though.”

“Dare I ask what you stabbed him with?”

“A knife I used to carry. For carving and fruit, mostly. I sort of fought the prisoner who tried to attack me before your scorpion showed up.”

“You fought a prisoner of Bonesguard, as well? How?”

“A knife.” I hastened my steps to keep up with him.

“How did you manage to acquire a knife at the prison?”

“Well, he gave it to me. I think he was toying with me.”

“Or he underestimated you.” The subtle compliment had me hiding a smile.

“I don’t exactly look all that threatening.”

“You don’t have to look threatening to be threatening. Perceived weakness is your most vicious weapon. Remember that, as it will serve as an advantage. You’re small, but your power can make up for your stature, if you learn to wield it well.” He finally led me to an expansive room the size of the cottage back home.

An entire wall of arched windows looked out over an impressive scene of trees and a wintery sky. Candelabras, like those I’d seen in the kitchen, hung from the arched ceiling, and the wall opposite the windows held all variety of weapons. Swords, daggers, and other terrifying items I couldn’t identify, along with armor, gauntlets and shields. At the far end of the room, a painting of a black, scaled dragon spanned the width of the wall, illuminated by sconces that blazed below it.

The image mesmerized me. “Are there winged dragons in Aethyria?”

“Fewer these days. They’re mostly found in Draconysia. Except when they decide to feed on local villagers.”

“They’re aggressive?”

“Extremely.” Zevander led me to the center of the room and removed his jacket, tossing it onto a nearby chair and leaving him in a black leather vest with no tunic beneath.

Carved, muscled arms displayed inky black images of scorpions and black fire that stretched from the top of his hands to his bicep. The honey tones in his skin and the jet black of his hair starkly contrasted his sister’s silvery hair and ivory complexion. Black metal cuffs, with intricately carved designs that had been hidden by the long sleeves of his tunic, banded around both wrists.

Brutal and fierce were the only words that came to mind while I stared back at him.

He was a man who commanded attention, and I found it nearly impossible to avert my gaze. As he strode toward me, my heart drummed a frantic rhythm against my ribs, like the erratic creature might break right out of its cage. The mask he wore only enhanced the strange curiosities tickling my thoughts. It irritated me, the way he consumed my attention. I didn’t even have to be skilled in fighting to know it was already a weakness.

Stay focused , my head warned.

“We’ll start with a basic glyph. Aeryz.”

“Rykaia taught me that one.” I held up my hand to show the healing marks on my palm.

“Show me.”

A gurgling in my stomach warned me against it. What if I ended up flying backward, as I had in the cell? For reasons I couldn’t explain, the prospect of humiliating myself in front of Zevander felt worse than it had with Rykaia.

With an expectant arch of his brow, he tipped his head. “Now.”

I took a deep breath and held up a shaky palm. Closing my eyes brought to mind the squiggly lines Rykaia had drawn, and I prepared to exhale and push that image into the space between us, but at the last second, it flashed to another.

The intersecting crosses I’d seen in my dream.

“Oh, no!” Before I could stop it, a pile of bones flew forth, and I watched as they pummeled Zevander in the chest, before falling into an ungracious pile at his feet. Humiliation burned my cheeks as I held my hands to my face.

Lips tight, he looked down at the collection of spines on the floor. “Well, that was something.”

“That was Osflagulle!” Dolion smiled as he strode into the room carrying books and rolled parchment, like ancient scrolls, he’d tucked under his arm. “No mage in all of Aethyria, not even the Magelord himself, possesses that particular glyph.”

“What exactly is it supposed to do?” I asked, staring down at the bones.

“It’s a bone whip. A very powerful one, if the scrolls I’ve been reading are anything to go by. One strike could shatter the bones of your opponents.”

Shatter bones? “And if I don’t want to shatter anyone’s bones?”

“Not even the bones of the creature that took your sister?” Zevander crossed his arms, and I had to look away. I’d never seen so many muscles flex at once, and the urge to ogle him only infuriated me, especially after I’d made a fool out of myself a moment ago. “We’ll start with easy defensive glyphs. Then we’ll see if we can fix whatever that was.”

“Ah, good plan,” Dolion agreed.

“Show me Aeryz again.” He kicked the pile of bones to the side, reminding me of my blunder.

“You should know I’m a bit nervous,” I admitted, my voice quiet and tight.

“You should be. Who knows what in seven hells will fly out next?” His comment had me biting back a chuckle, given the dry, humorous tone of it. Completely unfitting. And yet, a welcomed side to him.

I raised my hand that bore the glyph, shakier than before. Inhale. On the exhale, I pushed outward, the glyph clear in my mind, and Zevander slid back, the soles of his boots scraping against the marble floor.

I bit my lip in an effort to control the inward squealing of a victory.

With a nod of approval, he straightened himself and strode back to me. “Try again.”

“Did I do it wrong?”

“Do you know what Aeryz means?” At the shake of my head, he continued, “In the ancient language it means wind’s vengeance. Tell me, did that seem like a vengeful gust of wind to you?”

I shook my head again.

“Try again.”

Once again, I held up my palm, imagined the glyph, and exhaled. On a faint squeal, a gust shot out from my palm with a force that felt like a rock hitting the surface, beating against my bones.

Zevander flew back faster than the first time, but still kept his feet planted on the floor. Again, he strode toward me, sighing. “Imagine for a moment that you’re stood before the thing that took your sister.”

A memory flashed inside my head. Aleysia standing on the other side of the archway. Moros grabbing her from behind. Her screams echoing all around me.

Grinding my teeth, I shot my palm out without warning. The blast thumped against my hand, vibrating my bones, and Zevander shot backward, but still, he maintained his unyielding stance. “Again.”

“Again?” I echoed.

“You will repeat this move until I find it satisfactory. Now, raise your palm.” He commanded the same move three more times. Each time, he landed on his feet, despite the power growing stronger. My palm ached with the force, my body growing warm in my gear. Yet, he never tired. Never smiled, nor praised, nor gave any indication that I’d improved from my first attempt.

Dolion’s words of encouragement filled the obvious absence of Zevander’s.

A dozen more times, I fulfilled the command, and dozens more after that, growing weaker as the afternoon wore on.

Every mistake seemed to frustrate him, and his impatience chipped away at my confidence. Hours passed, my palm sore, muscles weak. I felt as if I’d run circles around a village a dozen times over.

“Focus!” Zevander barked, and I bit back the urge to tell him to go to hell.

“What is it I’m trying to accomplish with this glyph?” I asked, catching my breath, confused by my lack of energy. All I’d really done was stand and order a command, yet I felt like my bones were melting.

“It is meant to disarm, or stun, your opponent.”

“Wouldn’t the bones be more effective for that?”

“Do not question my teaching.”

“It’s not your teaching I question,” I volleyed back, “but your relentless pursuit of some invisible goal I’ve yet to understand.”

“Then perhaps you should remain quiet. Now, try again.”

I steeled my nerves, glaring back at him. “No. I’m tired. I haven’t had water all afternoon and I’m practically sliding in this damned suit from all the perspiration I’ve worked up.”

“Again! Now!”

Ice rushed through my veins. “I will not!”

“Then, I am wasting my time with you!” His intimidating voice thundered around me, and I winced at the harshness. Lips gnarled, he stared back at me, his eyes smoldering orbs of ire.

“Zevander, let the poor girl take a break.” Dolion’s voice, calmer by comparison, came as a relief. He waved me over for a pitcher of water he’d fetched for me an hour ago, and poured a glass. “Magic is exhausting, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” It was as I lifted the glass to my lips that I noticed my hands were trembling. Not from fear but adrenaline. I glanced back to Zevander, who rubbed the back of his neck, pacing like an angry wolf. “I think he’s getting frustrated with me.”

Dolion chuckled and nodded toward him. “I knew the man who trained him, after he was released by the Solassions. His name was Solvyn. He was the master of magical warfare for the Imperial Army while I worked as a Magestroli.” He lowered his gaze, and the way his lips twitched, as if to hide a smile, made me suspect he and Solvyn might’ve known each other intimately. “I used to pass the training yard on my way to the library when I lived in The Citadel. Hours, the two of them would be out there. Well into the night, when I’d return from my studies, I’d still catch Zevander training alone.” As he spoke, I sipped my water, watching the devil himself trace his palm with his thumb, his muscles less bunched than before. “I asked Solvyn one day, why do you torture this poor boy, forcing him to train so many hours in the day?” When I glanced back at the older man, he smiled, a nostalgic expression in his eyes. “He said to me, it’s not me who requests long hours of training, but the boy.”

It was strange to think of him that way–a boy so eager to learn. It made me wonder what drove him then.

Dolion tipped back a sip of his own glass. “I suspect he trains this way because he refuses to watch you fail. In his mind, such a thing would be his own failure.”

I sighed and took a long swill of the water, then returned to the floor, standing before Zevander.

“We can stop for the afternoon.” The calm in his voice didn’t match his brutal form and the effortless intimidation he radiated. “It wasn’t my intent–”

“No. I’m okay now. I just needed some fluids in me.”

He cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders back. “Yes, well. Let’s pick up where we left off.”

His sudden flustering had me puzzled, but I drew in an inhale and forced my head to focus. The moment he lowered his arm, I exhaled, and the force that hit my palm sent me flying backward. The marble floor crashed into my spine and stars burst before my eyes. With a quiet moan, I sat up, double blinking, and noticed Zevander across the room, lying flat on his back. A jolting alarm wound through me, as I forced myself to my feet and stumbled toward him. When I reached him, his eyes were closed, his chest wasn’t moving.

Panic flared inside of me. “Dolion! I don’t think he’s breathing!” A shift in my periphery drew my eyes to the shadows frantically weaving in and out of the walls. Deimosi. I snapped my focus back to Zevander.

The older mage scrambled to his feet and shuffled across the room toward us. By the time he reached my side, Zevander gasped a breath that left a concave dip in his mask. He turned to his side, away from me, and unfastened the covering.

I could only just make out what looked like black veins across the part of his cheek I could see. The half of his profile that he’d tried to hide.

He coughed and wheezed, until, at last, he seemed to breathe easy. “Now, that is wind’s vengeance.”

Relieved, I sat back on my heels and huffed. “I thought … for a second …” I stared down at my palm to find the Aeryz glyph glowing a bright silvery blue. “What is this?”

He slipped his mask back over his face and his gaze fell to the glyph on my palm.

“Interesting. I’ve never seen Aeryz as a major glyph before.” Dolion bent forward, reaching out for my hand. “May I?”

I held it up to him, catching a glimpse of Zevander staring back at me, before he shifted his attention toward the mage. “A Corvikae glyph?” I asked.

“Perhaps. It’s always been a minor glyph, a very simple command. But it seems it certainly packed a punch this time.”

“So, the major glyphs glow that way?” I examined the way the silvery blue illuminated the shape of the glyph.

“They are your most powerful, yes.” Dolion released my hand, and the glow faded, leaving only the faint white lines in my palm. “I must record this in the annals. Excuse me.”

The mage jogged back toward the books that lay in a pile on the floor, and I turned my attention back to Zevander. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to … whatever that was.”

“Never apologize for incapacitating your enemy.”

“You’re not my enemy, though.”

“Aren’t I?”

“I mean, you are rude, sometimes. And grouchy. And extremely impatient.” I smiled when he frowned back at me. “But you’re a good teacher. I’ll give you that.”

“Yes, well, we’ll stop for the evening.” He groaned as he pushed to his feet and reached out a hand to help me to mine.

When I stood before him, he continued to hold my hand, staring down at it.

I glanced down to our clasped hands and, for the first time, noticed the thick scars beneath the bands that circled his wrists. Horrific scars, as though something had seared itself into his flesh. “What are they?”

Instead of answering, he slipped his hand from mine, making me immediately regret the inquiry.

“I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll see you first thing in the morning.” Ignoring my comment, he strode off, back toward Dolion. After a few words exchanged that I couldn’t hear from where I stood, he glanced back at me and exited the room.

Exhaling a sigh, I made my way over to Dolion and helped him gather his books and scrolls. “You mentioned the Solassions earlier.”

“Did I? Oh! Yes, when they imprisoned Zevander.” He hobbled over to the pile of bones that I’d thrown at Zevander earlier, examining each one as he gathered them in his robe.

“For what?” I swiped up a couple of them, curious as to why he’d keep them, but much more interested in Zevander’s story to ask.

“All followers of Cadavros and those who’d struck bargains with him were swiftly executed by King Sagaerin. However, due to her bloodline, Lady Rydainn had always had a good relationship with the king, and as such, he spared Zevander’s and his father’s life, by imprisoning them instead.” He held up a connected vertebrae, brushing his thumb over a marking etched into the bone, and frantically grabbed another. “But Lord Rydainn had many enemies. The most notable being the captain of the Solassion Army, who demanded our king hand both father and son over to them. And, well, King Sagaerin didn’t want any bad blood, so he did as they asked.”

“And the Solassions let Zevander go?”

“Not exactly. For reasons that don’t entirely make sense to me, King Sagaerin himself bought Zevander and three other Solassion prisoners. I believe you met Ravezio earlier. There’s also Torryn and Kazhimyr. He had them trained to be his personal assassins.”

After all the bones were gathered, I pushed to my feet, carrying about a half-dozen in the crook of my arm. “So, you’re saying the king imprisoned him and his father, then handed them over to the Solassions, who then sold Zevander back to the king?”

Carrying the bones in his robe, Dolion walked alongside me as we exited the training room for the corridor. “Yes. The Solassions are a brutal lot. They executed his father in front of him, as I understand, and sent young Zevander to work the mines.”

“In front of him?” I knew that my adopted father had been executed on his mission to Lyveria, but I couldn’t imagine having to watch it happen firsthand. It tore at my heart to think of a young boy witnessing something so cruel and traumatic. “That’s horrible. What happened to his mother?”

“That is a terrible story. The Solassions returned to Eidolon. As further punishment to Lord Rydainn, they … did terrible things to Lady Rydainn.” Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and shook his head, and the expression on his face told me I didn’t want to know the details of it.

“And Rykaia?”

“They intended to harm her, as well, but she was spared, somehow.”

Again, I didn’t bother to ask for the details. The look on Dolion’s face told me everything I needed to know. “No wonder he’s so angry.”

“Yes. Life has not been easy or fair for the Rydainns.” We arrived in the Great Hall, and Dolion came to a stop. “Zevander carries tremendous guilt. What happened to their family is a horrible tragedy, and I believe he blames himself for it.”

“But he was just a boy.”

“Yes. We are quite vicious to our younger selves, aren’t we?” Dolion’s question echoed my own guilt, and I stood pondering how many times I’d blamed myself for something I was too young to understand.

A thunderous click echoed around me, and I turned in time to see the enormous entry door swing open. A man dressed in black leathers, with silvery hair, like Rykaia’s strode through, and beside him came a woman, with warm umber-toned skin, long white hair similar in shade to Dolion’s, and eyes like glowing amethysts. When she seemed to catch sight of us, those bright violet orbs widened.

“Dolion Gevarys!” She shoved back the hood of her royal blue cloak and scurried across the foyer toward us. Like Dolion’s, her ears were pointed, sticking up through her long, curled tresses. There was a beautiful grace about her that made me think she was royalty. Or perhaps it was the silver leaf circlet she wore across her forehead, which reminded me of a crown. She wrapped her arms around Dolion, releasing a happy chuckle. “I was told you were dead! My gods, it is good to see you!” Stepping back, she looked him up and down. “I cannot believe it!” Unlike Magdah’s accent, hers was heavy on every syllable, very articulate.

“You have grown into the lovely image of your mother, gods rest her soul.” Dolion laid a gentle hand against her cheek and smiled. “So. Is it Praeceptress Makabe?”

“Ah, not yet. One compelling research paper away from that.” Her gaze fell upon me, and the smile on her face lit her eyes. “And you must be Maevyth.”

“Yes,” I said with an uncertain glance toward Dolion, surprised that she knew my name. I held out my hand to shake hers and the moment she clutched my palm, the smile faded for intense concentration. “You came from Mortasia. Through the Umbravale.”

“Do you read palms?”

“No. Mortal bones tend to be smaller. Much more fragile.” She flipped my arm over and stared down at where the scar marred my forearm, as if she could see it through the leather sleeve it hid beneath.

I lifted the sleeve, showing her the contracted skin there that looked like a feather.

Cold fingers drifted over the grooves and bumps. “You cut yourself on the bone.”

The accuracy of her observations chilled my blood. “How do you know this?”

“Allura is a bone scribe. She has the power of sight from merely touching them.” Dolion rattled the robe full of bones he carried. “We have much to study, my dear! Look at all these incredible specimens!”

Allura lifted one of the vertebrae from the pile and closed her eyes. Not a second later, her eyes shot open. “This bone is two thousand years old. It belonged to a woman named Verena.”

“What? How in heavens would I …” I didn’t bother to finish. How in heavens would I have cast bones from my hands in the first place? As obvious as it was, I didn’t particularly want to know that they actually belonged to another being. “None of this makes any sense to me.”

“Well, that is why I sent for Allura. She can help us better understand.”

The silver-haired man with eyes of molten gold strode up to us, carrying a brown bag that he started to hand off to Dolion, before seeming to take notice of the books, scrolls and bones in his arms. “Where would you like these?” he asked with a groan, his golden eyes locked on me.

“Are they the items I requested from my lab?”

“The items I was charged with gathering from The Citadel.”

“Oh, um. In my room. In the dungeon.”

Allura frowned back at him. “The dungeon?”

“It’s by choice,” he assured with a smile. “I struggle with heights, and I fear the views from this castle will stir my anxiety.”

“Are there no drapes you can close?” she asked.

“I have a very keen awareness of heights. Even without the visual confirmation.”

“I see …. Then, I will stay in the dungeons, as well.”

“No, no, dear.” Dolion patted her arm. “Zevander offered a room in the tower to me, perhaps you could take that one.” He nodded toward me. “And you, Maevyth, I’m certain he’d provide much better accommodations now that he’s a bit more comfortable with you.”

“I’m fine where I’m at.” Though, I hoped never to see that spider again.

“Very good. Well, what do you say we go and read some bones!” Again, he shook them, stirring a peculiar feeling about the fact that they had once belonged to actual beings.

“Dolion … will you still try to reach my sister?”

The excitement in his expression from moments before darkened to something more earnest. “Of course. But, Maevyth … understand, without a personal object, it’s far more difficult to reach the other person.” His lips thinned. “Try not to get your hopes too high.”

“I won’t.” Any semblance of hope had already faded, the moment I’d watched Moros grab Aleysia.