Chapter 41

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

MAEVYTH

J ust as I had the previous day, I met Zevander and Dolion in the training room, escorted by Rykaia—who’d made a point to chide me for having opened the door to her brother’s cellar the night before.

“It isn’t that he’s a danger to you, per se,” she’d said, as I’d scarfed down the milky oats and apples she’d brought me. “It’s just that he’s … well, worse than before. And he can’t really control his emotions, sometimes. I visited him once without bothering to tell Zevander. He ended up nearly strangling me to death. It was Aeryz that saved me.”

Up until we’d reached the training room, I’d promised at least three times not to venture down there alone again. Yet, while the bed in my new chambers was far more comfortable than the one in my cell, I hadn’t slept much at all the night before, my mind not only questioning the vision I’d seen of Aleysia, but what I’d learned of Branimir, as well.

Standing at the center of the training room, Zevander once more wore the mask he seemed insistent on wearing, despite my having already seen what hid beneath. With, or without it, he still looked as exceptionally fierce and handsome as the day before. And just as I had then, I found myself equally annoyed by that observation.

Far from being in no mood to train, I found myself curious for what the day’s lesson would bring. While the method may have been exhausting, my reluctant intrigue with the glyphs compelled me past the ache in my eyeballs.

Rykaia fell into step alongside me.

“You’re staying for this one?” I asked, glad for her presence.

“I’ve been tasked to help train.” The lack of enthusiasm in her voice made it clear that said task held little interest for her. She hadn’t even opted for training clothes, and instead, wore an emerald-green dress.

“Another grueling day of wind’s vengeance?” I asked, strolling up to Zevander.

“No. I’m going to show you a new glyph today, with Rykaia’s help. Another defense mechanism, one that might be most handy to you, and fairly easy to learn.”

“Thank god for that.”

When he opened his palm, a glyph glowed across his skin. “ Propulszir. To repel. ”

I rounded myself to his point of view until standing beside him and studied the glyph. A small square set inside a larger one, its points touching the sides of the bigger shape, and small lines sticking out from each of the bigger square’s sides.

“Propulszir,” I whispered, committing as much of the shape to memory as I could. “This one seems a bit complex.” The other glyphs I’d learned seemed to have simple shapes that I’d found easier to recall.

“The more powerful glyphs are the most complex. Some mages never learn their intricacies.” Unless I was overanalyzing, his voice seemed calmer today, less irritated.

Having committed the glyph to memory, I returned to my original spot across from him, and it was from there that I happened to glance downward, catching sight of the massive bulge in his leathers.

Dear god.

I’d only seen one in my lifetime, belonging to the son of the miner who’d shown me how to touch him there, and it had been nowhere near as big.

“You do not push this glyph,” Zevander prattled on, completely unaware of the intrusive visual swallowing my attention. “You clutch.” He lifted his hand, curling it into a fist. The sight of his muscled arm had me stifling a shiver, as I imagined his hand curled around his massive length. “It’s useful against those who wish to read your mind, or probe your power. We’ll test with Rykaia.”

Tendrils of horror curled down my spine. I swallowed a gulp and turned to Rykaia. “You can read minds?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Zevander answered for her. “In her case, she has to be physically touching you.”

I forced all thoughts of him and his bulge out of my head as best I could, as I stared down at the marble floor, desperate for something else to focus on.

Do not think about him.

“Think of a word,” he said, that deep voice bringing the image forth again. “Any word. And Rykaia will say it aloud.”

A word. A word. What word? My head frantically scrambled for a word, as she took hold of my arm.

The moment her lips curved to a smile, I knew she knew.

“My, my, Maevyth. You are a naughty girl,” she said with an edge of amusement.

A flare of heat warmed my cheeks, my head a dizzying maze of humiliation, as I scrambled to think of something else. I did not dare glance at Zevander.

“Speak the word,” Zevander commanded, and Rykaia’s lips curved higher.

Eyes pleading, I silently begged her not to say the word aloud. Please.

“Oranges,” she said, licking her lips.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I nodded. “Oranges.”

“Good. Now close your eyes and imagine the glyph in your mind. See it clearly. Every detail.” When I nodded, he kept on. “Think of another word. Remember to make a fist.” He lifted his hand again to a fist, and once again, my head betrayed me.

Gnawing the inside of my cheek, I fought to come up with another word. At the first taste of copper on my tongue, she took hold of my arm.

“Blood,” she said.

“Blood,” I agreed.

“Try again.”

Again, she released me.

Focus, Maevyth .

I closed my eyes and squeezed my fist so hard, the bite of my nails left a sting across my palm. My head apparently decided there was no other thought more important, and my muscles tensed with my rising frustration.

Focus. Focus!

Show me something else! My head screamed. The glow of light through my shuttered lids turned pitch black.

All went silent.

“Hello, Maevyth,” a feminine voice said, and I turned around to find a willowy figure sauntering toward me, her silhouette illuminated by some obscure light source behind her.

As she neared, her features sharpened into view–long, raven-black hair and silvery eyes.

In the distance, I heard Rykaia call out for me, and the woman turned, as if she’d heard it too.

She smiled back at me. “Don’t worry, she can’t hear us here.”

“Who are you?”

“Who do you think I am?”

All of her features matched those of the death goddess I’d recently learned about. “Morsana. Am I dead?”

“No, sweet girl. You have much to do before you die. But should you ever need me, I am here. You can find me in this dark space.”

“Maevyth!” The fierce tone of Zevander’s voice thundered around us, and she glanced around, smiling again.

“He is irresistibly provocative, isn’t he?” Her eyes flickered, as though excited by his intensity. “There’s something you should know about him, Maevyth.”

“What?”

“Maevyth!” One hard shake snapped me out of the visual, and I opened my eyes to Zevander, Dolion, and Rykaia standing over me. A quick sweep of my surroundings showed I was lying on the floor.

“Again?” An ache flared at the back of my head, where I’d apparently struck it again, and a bitter taste flooded my mouth, like a chalky coating on my tongue.

“It seems you have a nasty little habit of this.” Dolion stepped back, as Zevander held out a hand, pulling me to my feet. “Had to use the rousing spell. My apologies for the aftertaste.”

“I … slipped into a blackness. Like a dream.”

Zevander and Dolion exchanged a glance, and Dolion knelt down to me, handing me a glass of water that I sipped with fervor. “You fell into caligorya. The darkspace. Interesting. Some never reach that state of mind.”

“It’s there you’ll learn the glyphs that are unique to your bloodline,” Zevander added. “That’s where I discovered mine. But I suggest you work your way to that. Caligorya is dangerous.”

“How so?”

“In that space, resides the dark side of you.” It was Dolion who answered. “The creature that feeds on rage, vengeance, apathy. Every living thing possesses this darkness, whether they care to admit it, or not, but we are taught from a young age to suppress it. By going there, you are opening a door, of sorts, and if you’re not careful, it may be quite difficult to close it.”

Dark side of myself? Creature? “I saw the death goddess there.”

“Morsana?” Dolion asked, brows pinched together.

“Yes.”

He shrugged and shook his head. “It’s possible that might be unique to the Corvikae. They are tied to her, after all. All the more reason to heed caution. She is a powerful goddess and leans a bit on the darker side of the moral compass.” He scratched at his beard, eyes lost to thought, as usual. “For now, we’ll stick to the easier glyphs. Try to avoid overcompensating. Propulszir should be effortless and natural.”

“Effortless and natural. Got it.” I pushed to my feet and gave one more rub to the back of my neck.

Rykaia stood across from me and mouthed, Are you all right?

I nodded and cleared my throat. “Right, so. New word.” Closing my eyes, I imagined a new word. One that Morsana had said about Zevander.

Provocative.

The word was swallowed by the image of the symbol I’d seen on Zevander’s hand. So clear in my head, I almost didn’t notice Rykaia’s grip on my wrist, until I felt her squeeze harder.

Harder.

She released me on a groan. “Nothing.”

Smiling, I opened my eyes and glanced down at a sharp burn on my palm, where and the soft glow of the new glyph had permanently etched into my skin.

“Again,” Zevander said in an unimpressed tone.

“Does he ever celebrate a victory?” I grumbled, lowering my hand and frowning after him, as he strode off for one of the weapons hung on the wall.

Rykaia snorted. “Only when he’s killed something.”

Zevander stood off from us, holding a long stick with two pointed ends. In wide circles, he twirled it like a wheel at his side. Then, like the snap of a whip, he flipped it around his body, over his head, behind his back, and at his sides. The staff moved so fast, it formed a perfect circle.

Mouth hung wide, I watched in awe as he manipulated the stick with ease, pausing to toss it in the air then catch it in perfect cadence.

“Keep practicing,” he said, never breaking his rhythm.

“How am I supposed to concentrate with that going on?”

“I think that’s the point,” Rykaia answered, picking at her own palm. “You don’t always get perfect, quiet conditions to repel someone. It has to be something you can do simultaneously to other things going on about you. That’s the beauty of it. No one knows you’re repelling.”

With a nod, I stared at Zevander, watching him wield his staff around, watching the muscles in his arms flex and the sweat bead across his skin. How gracefully ruthless he must’ve looked against an opponent. I closed my fingers over my palm, giving a brief thought to the glyph there.

My head wandered into a different space this time. An image of two nights before, when he’d stood before me in his loose tunic and leathers, the deep grooves of muscle in his chest. I imagined him pulling me in for a kiss, his rough lips across mine, his strong hands at the small of my back.

“You like my brother, don’t you?”

A panicked breath shot out of me. I swallowed hard and stepped back, releasing her hold of my arm.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t see anything.” Rykaia chuckled and glanced toward her brother and back. “It’s written all over your face.”

“I was just … looking for distraction, is all.”

“It seems you found it.” She offered a wink and a smile, before turning her attention to Zevander. “Brother, I am tired. She has effectively kept me from reading her thoughts. Can we move on?”

At that, Zevander finally lowered the staff. “Go. Rest,” he said to Rykaia, before leaning against the staff, looking painfully, irritatingly delicious. “Would you like to practice Aeryz again? Or should we move on to a new glyph?”

“What’s the glyph?” I asked, and Rykaia patted me on the shoulder as she strode off toward Dolion, who sat with his usual pile of books and scrolls.

“ Erigorisz . Lifting objects with your mind. It requires intense concentration, though.”

The very thought of doing something else with my mind was completely unappealing, though I didn’t feel exhausted, as Rykaia had claimed to be.

“How about you teach me to flip that staff the way you did earlier.”

He arched a brow. “You wish to learn fighting techniques?”

“Is this when you tell me girls shouldn’t possess such skills?”

Leaning against the pole, he shrugged. “Not at all. I’m merely surprised you’re interested.”

“If I plan to return for my sister, and I do, I’ll need some skills to defend myself.” I said, with an upward tip of my chin, daring him to dispute me.

“You’ll soon have a very powerful magic to call upon.”

“The bone whip?”

“Yes. It sounds quite unappealing from an enemy standpoint.”

“Are you my enemy?”

With an introspective tension etched into his brow, he lowered his gaze. “I’m everyone’s enemy. There’s nothing virtuous about the magic I wield.”

“And if mine is associated with death, maybe I’m everyone’s enemy, as well.”

Those mercurial eyes found me again, brimming with dark amusement. “Aren’t we a pair …” He jerked his head. “Come, Lunamiszka .”

“I’m beginning to question your interpretation of that word. It seems luna should have something to do with the moon.”

“It seems you’re right,” he said over his shoulder, as he led me to the center of the room again.

“So, what do I have to do with the moon?”

He pointed to the corner of his own eye and realization dawned on me.

“The silver mark in my eye. And miszka?”

“Witch.”

“Moon Witch, you’re calling me. I suppose it would be fitting now that I’ve learned magic. Which, by the way, would be grounds for burning me at the stake, where I come from.”

“Mortals fear what they don’t understand.” He flicked his wrist, calling me to stand in front of him.

I nervously positioned myself where he directed me, which put my back against the breadth of his solid chest. Unlike the night on the horse, when encumbered by layers of clothes and the cold, the thin layer of soft leather allowed me to feel him as if we were skin to skin. “Do you think Rykaia was bored with training?” I asked, desperate for distraction.

“No. She tires quickly. Her power requires quite a bit of vivicantem.” He brought his muscled arms around me, the inked flames and scorpions a contrast to my smaller leather clad arms that he positioned out in front of me.

God, the smell of him–that delicious mixture of leather and cloves, but there was something else I hadn’t been able to pinpoint. A sweet, amber musk that watered my mouth.

“What’s vivicantem?” I mindlessly asked, trying not to lose myself in that exceptionally distracting smell.

“It’s an element.” As if oblivious to my struggles right then, he placed the stick into my opened palm. “Much like humans require certain nutrients for their bodies—iron, calcium, potassium—we require vivicantem for our blood magic.”

“But you don’t seem to tire.”

“I require less.”

“Will I require it, too?”

“It seems you don’t, if you’re willing to try physical training after learning glyphs.” He placed his scarred and calloused hand over mine. “Grip the stick here,” he said, sliding my hand down to the middle of it. “We’re going to start with a warmup spin.”

As he twisted the stick with one hand, he took hold of my other and positioned it to continue the full arc. “Then come under it again, grip, and over.” His arms flexed around me as he guided my hands over the staff.

Once I seemed to catch on to the rhythm, he released me and circled around to the front, watching.

“How long did it take you? Learning to fight?” I asked, awkwardly spinning the stick.

“Most of my life. I’m still learning.”

“So, it’ll be a while before I’m flipping this around my head?” I focused on my hand placement, determined to keep the staff in motion.

“Up the speed a little,” he ordered, ignoring my question.

I did as he asked, and with a slip of my grip, the staff tumbled out of my hands onto the floor. Both of us reached down to pick it up, our cheeks practically touching.

He stepped back and allowed me to retrieve it. Once the stick was back in hand, I resumed my twirling, faster and faster.

His palm smacked against the stick, bringing it to an abrupt halt. “Now the opposite direction.”

Irritated by his interruption of my perfect twirls, I frowned and set the stick into motion the other way.

“Keep it smooth.”

In the blur of motion, I fell into a trance.

“ Faster. ”

I upped the pace.

“Keep it smooth. Faster.”

I found myself focusing on him instead of the staff, taking in the way he concentrated on my hand placement. Through the winding stick, his eyes found me. And there we stood, in a face off, separated by the fast-twirling staff between us.

“Faster.”

I did as he commanded, twirling the staff faster, so fast, it was nothing but a blur passing before me.

He circled me, prowling. Hands gripped my waist, firmly. His broad chest pressed against my back. “Faster,” he whispered in my ear, and I felt his fingers curl into my sides. A rising heat warmed my blood, and I flushed at the thought of what I wanted him to do with those fingers.

I didn’t know what happened in that moment, but my heart pounded a steady thump, and something tugged at my belly. The urge to cross my thighs twitched my muscles. Every breath arrived shaky and fast.

“Let go, Lunamiszka .”

Let go? Of the staff?

The second I let go, it started to fall, but he quickly pressed his palms to the tops of my hands, and an intense heat pulsed through my wrists. Black smoke drifted upward from our joined hands while the stick remained spinning in the air by itself.

A breath of a laugh escaped me, as it hovered in front of me, spinning faster and faster.

“Is it me doing this, or you?”

“I’m supplying the power, but it’s you who commands it.”

Me commanding his power.

I closed my eyes, focusing on the heat in my palm, hardly noticing he slid his hand to my hip, until his fingers gripped my bones. The winding, searing tendrils of black flame curled through me, stretching and coiling around my muscles. The heat intensified, rippling through my hand, throbbing between my thighs, and in that moment, I had the strongest, most infuriating inclination to reach down into my leather trousers.

In the darkness of my mind, I saw black swirls dancing around me, billowing through my veins like hot ribbons that throbbed in my muscles.

“What are you doing?” he whispered in a shaky voice.

The question severed my thoughts. The stick flew out of my hands, spinning in the air to the left of me, where it crashed to the floor in a clatter.

Zevander released me at the same time Dolion’s head snapped up from his reading.

Breaths heaving, I stood trying to decipher what I was feeling right then.

“We’ll stop for today.” He strode past me, not bothering to say anything to Dolion as he exited the training room.

Having caught my breath, I crossed the room for the staff and hung it back on the wall. As I approached, Dolion held out a glass of water, a puzzled look on his face.

“What happened?”

I stared down into the water, noting the agitated surface, bubbling as if over a hot flame. “One minute I was innocently channeling his power, and the next, I felt like I was somehow siphoning it into myself.” A burn at my palm drew my attention to a glowing symbol etched into my skin, the blood trickling out of the tiny cuts.

I held out my hand to him. “What is this?”

Raising his spectacles to his eyes, he took hold of my hand, tilting it in his palm. “I’m not familiar with this one, at all.”

He scrambled for his paper and inkwell, and made quick sketches of the glyph, his hands trembling with what I imagined was far more excitement than I could summon. “This is incredible, indeed! Tell me, what were you doing just now?”

“Spinning a staff in the air. Zevander told me to let go of it, and he channeled his power through me.”

As I spoke, Dolion hastily jotted notes, dipping his quill in between. “And did you feel something?”

I had no intention of telling him what I felt in that moment. “Well, yes. I felt like … like I was in control.”

His scribbling paused, and he lifted his gaze to me. “You felt as if his power became yours?”

“Yes. But it’s rather hard to describe. I felt like …”

“Yes?”

My cheeks burned, but the concerned face he’d made moments ago had me feeling like I should say something. “I felt like it was seducing me. The flame itself was pulling me toward something.”

Dolion’s eyes widened, and he stroked his beard. “I’m afraid I’m a bit out of my league on that one. Perhaps I’ll observe a bit closer next time.”

“Out of curiosity, what would it mean if I were to control his power?”

“It would make your newest glyph quite dangerous. And should the magehood become privy, they would surely see you destroyed for it.”

Lips flat, I nodded. “Perfect.”