Page 119 of Anathema
“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.”