Chapter 43

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

MAEVYTH

T he bath suite in my room wasn’t quite as big as the one in Zevander’s, but it was just as beautiful. A circular, marble and stone basin, with lit candles at its base, frescos on the ceiling, and an entire wall of lancet windows that bowed outward toward a stunning view. Although it was mid-afternoon, the gray snow clouds and perpetual mist cast a gloom that darkened the room, despite the multitude of candles that added a soft glow.

On the ledge was a brass flask I recognized—the one I’d seen in Zevander’s bathing room that’d reminded me of an anointing bottle. Smiling, I uncorked the top for a sniff, confirming the delicious scent. A gift, I presumed.

As I sponged the amber soap onto my shoulder, I stared down at my opened palm, where the glyphs I’d earned had scarred into faint white symbols.

“What a strange dream,” I whispered, still not entirely convinced that any of this was real. My thoughts wound back to training earlier, when I’d channeled Zevander’s power. How utterly consumed I’d felt in the moment.

The bathwater swallowed me in warmth as I recalled his massive arms around me, his hands guiding mine. The way I’d felt small beside him, but powerful. Eyes closed, I summoned the image of the two of us, and a dizzying heat swept through me while I sponged myself, dragging the foamy soap across my skin and imagining the soft caress of fingertips. The phantom brush of his lips tingled at my throat, and at the first prickle of teeth, I opened my eyes on a sharp inhale.

Stop. If I planned to keep training with the man, I’d need to shake the ungodly thoughts he roused.

I set the sponge at the edge of the basin and lathered the soap into my hair, pausing when my finger caught on something at the back of my neck. A series of bumps arranged in a strange pattern that didn’t feel like a scab, or a cut. I gently ran my finger over them, and in the water’s reflection, noticed a scintillating silver glow on my back at my shoulder.

Frowning, I twisted to the side to get a good look at it, my reflection in the dark windows across from me lit up by whatever it was. A shape that I couldn’t quite make out in the brightness. A glyph, maybe. Strange, that it was on my back and not my hand like the others.

I ran my finger over the symbol, feeling a slight vibration beneath my skin. What is this? Had I been back home, I’d have been poked and prodded, banished, or burned, because the governor didn’t always trust The Eating Woods to eliminate the worst cases of evil. Even I found myself to be shaken by the presence of whatever these strange markings meant, but while I couldn’t make out a thing from the angle at which I stood, at least I felt no pain from whatever they were. More concern over the odd little changes happening to me.

I hadn’t even taken a moment to breathe in the time I’d been there, to reflect on how much had changed since leaving my world. How, even as limited as this world had become while confined to the castle—and, at times, to my own room—it still felt bigger than Mortasia. Intriguing, in spite of its strange and dangerous creatures. It saddened me to think that Aleysia was the only reason I’d consider returning to the place I’d lived my whole life.

Once I’d rinsed the soap away and rung the water out of my hair, I made quick work of toweling off and dressed in one of the outfits that Rykaia had supplied in the armoire for me. A long, black velvet, hooded dress, with a lace-up corset and low cut bodice that lifted my breasts. Something urged me to take it off and find something a bit more modest, but I paused, trying to discern whose voice had demanded such a thing.

Certainly not mine.

Agatha would’ve called me a whore, had I worn anything like it back home. A wicked little harlot , as I’d heard her call other women of the parish. I smiled at the thought and decided the dress was perfect, even if it did add more black to my wardrobe. I’d grown to hate the color less since my time here. In fact, I felt a sense of pride, as if I’d finally embraced my aberrant nature.

I padded quietly toward the door, surprised when the knob turned with ease. While I’d returned to my room on my own after training, I’d wondered if Zevander had bothered to lock me in while I bathed.

Seemed he hadn’t.

Peering out into the hallway showed a long, empty corridor in both directions, and I stepped out of the room, walking briskly toward the staircase ahead. Down the stairs, I followed the same path Zevander had led me along two nights ago, but paused when I reached the Great Hall, only to find no one there. Just the entry doors standing unguarded.

Fyredrakes , my head warned, but what if that was merely a tactic to scare me? A story to keep me from trying to escape.

It didn’t matter. I had no idea where I was, or where to go, and after my experience with the guards, I didn’t trust to ask any strangers I might’ve encountered, should I have decided to run.

Instead, I kept on, toward the kitchen. Once there, I found Magdah chopping vegetables.

Not bothering to spare me a glance, she asked, “What do you want?”

“I’d like to help.”

She made a disapproving sound in her throat, but I stepped closer.

“Please? I’m happy to chop those potatoes for you.”

“Potatoes?” She scoffed. “These aren’t potatoes, Girl. They’re called pahzatsz. It’s a root.”

“Pah-zahts,” I mimicked, minus the thick accent she’d spoken in. “May I?” I held out my hand for the knife, which earned me a suspicious look.

“Just know, you try anything tricky with the blade, and we’ll be having mortal girl stew for supper.” She certainly wasn’t reserved when it came to her threats.

“That sounds like a horrible meal to me.”

Her lips curved to a smile, and she slapped the broad side of the knife into my palm. “You cut the pahzatsz, I’ll cut the meat.”

With a nod, I placed the knife on the wooden surface and turned to the sink—an elaborately carved metal spigot attached to a black porcelain basin filled with water. I washed my hands then returned to my station, where I chopped the roots, while Magdah quietly cut the meat that I eyed from where I stood.

“Magdah, may I take some of the meat to Branimir?”

Her brows came together as though his very name made her sad. She gave a silent nod and divided some of the pieces she’d cut onto a separate plate. After having cut all the pahzatsz, I moved on to chopping onions, carrots, and some other strange vegetable I couldn’t pronounce.

Magdah then handed me the plate of meat. “Thank you,” she said, as I took the plate from her. “Appreciate the help.”

I gave a slight smile and scampered off for the dungeons with Branimir’s loathsome supper in hand. Down the staircase and corridor, I carried the plate. Along the way, I passed beautifully carved statues of angels, and on rounding the corner for the cells, I noted Dolion’s stood empty–probably off studying bones and scrolls with Allura. In my staring, I slammed headfirst into an unyielding wall of muscle, and while I succeeded in keeping the plate clutched in my hands, some of the meat fell onto the floor with a splat.

I glanced up to find Zevander’s angry eyes staring down at me. Without the mask covering his face, I finally managed to absorb the severity of his scar up close, which looked like a poorly healed gash, with tiny cracks out of which dark veins branched across his lips and down his chin. Against his honey-toned skin and rough-hewn face, it had a ghastly beauty about it, giving him a fierce appearance, with his scintillating eyes that reminded me of a blazing fire. My fingertips itched to do something bold, like touch him.

“What do you think you’re doing? Did I not make it clear that you’re not to visit Branimir on your own?” A furious tension sharpened his tone.

I stepped back, clearing my throat. “I didn’t think you’d want to accompany me, after what happened this afternoon. I figured you might be angry with me.” By comparison, my voice was softer, almost too soft.

His gaze fell to the plate. “You’re too late. He’s already had supper.”

“Oh.” I lowered to the ground, gathering up the fallen chunks of meat onto the plate. “Well, it would be a waste to toss this. Perhaps the fyredrakes might eat it?” I held the plate out to him, noticing the trembling of my hand.

He wordlessly accepted the pile of meat without bothering to look down at it, his steely gaze unwavering.

“May I sing to him, at least?”

“He’s occupied at the moment.”

Frustrated, I set my hands on my hips. “ Are you mad at me? Is that why you won’t let me see him?”

“Why do you care?” He dropped the plate onto an adjacent stone ledge and lurched toward me, backing me up a step.

“Why don’t you?” I countered, frowning up at him.

“You know nothing of me.” He advanced again, forcing me backward.

“And you know nothing of me.” A pathetic retort, but the fury in his eyes and his intimidating stature dulled my wit. My spine hit the stone wall behind me, warning me there was nowhere else to go.

He raised a muscled arm, blocking me from my path, and I didn’t even have to look at the massive limb in my periphery to know he could’ve crushed my skull in the crook of his elbow like a walnut, if he were ambitious enough. That intoxicating mix of spice and amber pervaded my senses. “Perhaps you can enlighten me. What was that in the training room?”

“I haven’t a clue. All of this is foreign to me. Magic, power. I don’t know what happened.”

His jaw ticced, and he planted his other arm against the wall, effectively caging me in, bringing his face mere inches from mine. “You felt nothing.”

My blood vibrated with his proximity, the heat of his body swallowing the chilly air. It was then I remembered the dress I’d worn, with its busty corset, but he didn’t so much as glance at my breasts. Not that he’d have had to go out of his way when they were so blatantly in his face. “I didn’t say that.”

“What did you feel? Tell me.” His gaze fell to my lips.

Drowning in humiliation, I turned away from him. “I’d rather not say.”

He hooked a finger beneath my chin and drew my attention back to him. “Tell me.”

Something about what had happened troubled him. Perhaps he thought I was trying to steal his power, as Dolion had mentioned, which hadn’t been the case, at all. I wouldn’t have had a clue what to do with that flame—or his scorpions, for that matter. Or maybe he’d felt the same thing I had.

As mortifying as the confession was, maybe it was better to face the possibility of embarrassment than hostility. “I felt … aroused.” I didn’t bother to look up at him, but focused on the steady rise and fall of his chest and the pounding of my heart, while his massive body trapped me like a bird caught between a wolf’s teeth.

He didn’t move at first, and I wondered if I should’ve kept the confession to myself. Maybe he didn’t like that I’d felt that way in the thick of training that he took so seriously. “You can sing to him later this evening. I’ll accompany you then. Now, please return to your room.” He pushed off the wall and stepped back.

Nodding, I spun around for the direction from which I’d come, but paused at a grip on my arm, the strength of it nearly crushing my bones.

“And if you wander down here alone again, I’ll be sure to lock your door next time.”

S itting on my bed, my belly warm and full of Magdah’s delicious meat pie, I stared down at the next puzzle in the book, but just as I twisted the top dial around, lining it up with one of the grooves in the maze below it, a knock sounded on my door. I padded across the room and opened it to find Zevander standing in the doorway, his head nearly touching the top frame. Following a shameless sweep of his gaze over my too-tight bodice, he jerked his head for me to follow after him. I did, all the way to the dungeons, where a chair waited beside Branimir’s open cellar door.

“One song,” he said, leaning against the adjacent wall, as I lowered into the seat and peered down to find one of the spiders staring up at me with its hundreds of beady eyes. Stifling a shiver, I cleared my throat and began to sing a darkly humorous song about a governor’s daughter who fell in love with a demon.

As I arrived at the lively chorus, clapping my hands against my knees, I caught a glimpse of Branimir staring up at me, his ruined lips stretched to a smile. The speed of the song heightened, and I fought to keep the lyrics straight in my head, which had me chuckling between verses. The fast song along with my laughter sapped me of breath by the time I finished.

I glanced over to see Zevander staring at me in a way that left me wondering what thoughts spun inside that head of his. Was he angry that I’d found his brother? Frustrated that I’d insisted on singing to him? Or was it something else that I mistook?

Branimir slinked back into the shadows, as Zevander closed the lid on him and replaced the chains.

“I understand it’s his choice to be down there, but is it also his choice to be chained?”

“Yes.” With no additional explanation, Zevander hung up the key and waved for me to follow him.

We walked halfway down the long corridor in silence, before he asked, “Who taught you to sing?”

Smiling, I shrugged. “Myself, I suppose. Who taught you to frown?” I asked with an air of amusement.

His lips twitched, as if he might smile but refused. “Quite the opportunist, aren’t you?”

“I’m just not familiar with your other talents, besides fighting and growling and snarling.”

Again, his jaw shifted, and he cleared his throat. The man could not bring himself to cut loose and smile for anything.

“So, what is it?” I toyed with one of the laces on my corset. “You read all evening. Surely, you enjoy other pastimes.”

“I do. Tracking and hunting.”

“Those you’re ordered to kill.”

“Sometimes, yes.”

“Do you enjoy killing?”

“Sometimes, yes.”

“Do you ever think you’d kill me?”

“Sometimes, yes.”

I elbowed him in the arm and let loose a chuckle, turning in time to catch the elusive smile on his face. How handsome, with his bright white teeth and the dimple in his unscarred cheek.

When the humor died out, he lowered his gaze. “I think the world would be far duller, though.”

I was the one who turned away from him that time, hiding my smile. “It seems you can be charming, after all, Lord Rydainn.”

“I suppose I have my moments. Between bouts of rationality.”

I chuckled again, slowing my pace as we approached the stairwell to the upper floor. “Do you regret any kills?”

“Perhaps it’s best for your innocent perceptions that I don’t answer that.”

The smile on my face faded. “I’m not as innocent as you might imagine.”

“I’m certain our definitions of innocence are not the same.”

Although I shouldn’t have thought of his words as a challenge, I also didn’t want him thinking that I lived so purely as to be na?ve. “I crafted poisons back in Mortasia. I told myself that they were for pests and rodents, but after a while …” I hesitated to say at first. Speaking my thoughts aloud felt too much like a confession, but Sacton Crain had always said confession cleansed the soul. “I wondered if I even cared that they weren’t.”

“The ability to kill doesn’t make you a killer.”

“These were fairly deadly concoctions.”

“Everything is poison with the proper dose. Even you.”

I bit my lip to stifle a smile. “I’m not sure if that’s an insult, or compliment,” I said, keeping my gaze from his, despite knowing the answer to that was probably written in his expression right then. “You’re implying too much of me is deadly?”

He shrugged. “Depends on one’s tolerance for poison.”

Linking my fingers behind my back I nodded. “Hmmm. It seems most would choose to avoid the risk all together. How unfortunate for me.”

“I wouldn’t call it misfortune, but rather, a means of weeding out weaker prospects. There are those who fear flirting with death, while some of us find it utterly enthralling.”

We arrived at my bedroom door, and I still couldn’t bring myself to look up at him, my thoughts winding around the meaning of his words that seemed uncharacteristically flirtatious, unless he was being literal. “So, if not death, then what does a dangerous scorpion killer fear?” I asked, with a hint of amusement, and daring to lift my gaze, I found his eyes riveted on my lips.

“You first,” he volleyed back. “You don’t seem to fear the things you should. The darkness, impossibly large spiders, things that long to take your life. What in seven hells do you fear?”

Schooling a smile, I opened my mouth to answer, but the words caught at the back of my throat, my hesitation strangling them. Answering felt too vulnerable. Too intimate. And yet, for some strange reason, I was compelled to tell him, anyway. “Being alone.” The truth in those words burned inside my mouth. “I’m afraid of being completely alone in the world.” I urged myself not to think of Aleysia, but at a flash of her face, the first tingle of tears hit the rims of my eyes, and I cleared my throat, desperate for distraction. “Now you.”

He toyed with one of my loose curls, running it through his thumb and forefinger. “I fear the unknown,” he said, his brows flickering with a troubled expression. “The uncalculated fragments of time that are left to fate.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed a man like you believed in fate.”

The gentle caress of his thumb across my throat stifled my breath. “I don’t. That’s what troubles me. I require both precision and predictability.” The way he stared at my lips stirred a restless and wanton ache that had me clenching my thighs. “The whims of fate are an irksome intrusion, and yet …” He canted toward me, as if to kiss me, his lips mere inches from mine. “Who could’ve predicted that one touch of your pounding pulse would be so disarming .” Warm breath scattered across my skin, and my heart stuttered with anticipation as he thumbed the curve of my neck. “What wicked spells you weave, little witch.”

I’d never longed for a kiss so much in my life. The dizzying aroma of leather and spice watered my tongue for one taste of him. “And still, you’re not inclined to act impulsively,” I said a little too boldly, given my complete lack of experience with a man like him. The kind who surely took pleasure with the same dauntless tenacity that he undoubtedly took life.

His lips pulled to a devilish smirk. “Consider that a kindness. My inclination is to break whatever stirs my impulsive nature.” His thumb lingered at my throat a moment longer, then without another word, he released me and strode off.