Page 114 of Anathema
“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.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
MAEVYTH
Iarrived 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.”