Page 116 of Anathema
“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.”