Page 190 of Anathema
“I understand you have absolutely no reason to believe, or trust, me. But your choices are diminishing by the minute.” She drew her finger down the wall and pulled at either side of the seam, widening the view that showed the archway on the other side. Beyond it, my sister paced back and forth.
“Aleysia!” I called out to her, and she skidded to a halt, turning to me as if she’d heard me.
Confusion twisted her face. “Maevyth?”
“It isn’t real, Maevyth!” Dolion urged.
“It is real,” the woman assured.
The sound of approaching footsteps and the clank of armor alerted me to the guards that had gotten past the ward and were heading toward us.
“Go to your sister. Or stay and risk capture by the Solassions. Your choice.”
A chaotic mess of thoughts spun in my head. Dolion. Rykaia. Eidolon. And Zevander. Would leaving mean I’d never see him again? Yet, staying ensured that I’d put all of them in danger. I didn’t know the right answer. I lifted my gaze to Aleysia. My sister. Alive. “I’ll go. Just remove the spell on Rykaia.”
Eyes locked on me, she waved her hand toward her, and Rykaia let out a grunt, rolling on the ground, released from the spell.
“Maevyth! Don’t do this! Don’t trust her!” Dolion’s kicking and squirming beside me was only a minor distraction from where my attention remained anchored.
Through the seam, Aleysia continued to pace, biting her nails, as always. I still didn’t bother to look at Dolion when I said, “Please get Rykaia back to Eidolon. Promise me you will.”
“Of course I will, but you cannot trust this woman!”
Even if that was true, I needed an escape. Fast.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
ZEVANDER
An hour earlier …
Through the restive crowd, Zevander spied Kazhimyr and Ravezio, who’d originally been assigned to watch the Solassions—in particular, the unruly guards—but were now guarding the king and Princess Calisza amid the panic.
When Zevander finally reached Dorjan’s chambers, he called back the scorpion he’d left standing guard and slammed through the door, finding Dorjan naked and passed out beside his lover, the heady stench of sex in the air. With quick strides, he came up alongside the bed and tugged the vivicantem powder he’d stolen from Anatolis from his pocket. Zevander poured a small bit on his finger and placed his hand over the prince’s mouth. One abrupt inhale through his nose, and he snorted the powder, jerking his head back. The vivicantem served as a powerful sobering agent, even when mixed with other stimulants.
“What in gods!” Dorjan triple blinked, staring up at Zevander. “What is it?”
“The villagers are attacking. I’m taking you to the undercroft. Now.”
Dorjan scrambled out of bed and gave his bedmate a shove. “Time for you to leave. Quickly.”
The other man groaned, but Zevander had no intention of waiting on him. The moment the prince was dressed, he guided him out of the room, toward the west tower. Through the tower’s narrow window, Zevander could make out Solassions in their gold armor, and The Imperial Guard in their silver, fending off the villagers who charged toward them in droves. They’d broken past the palisade the king had ordered after Dorjan’s attack, and wreaked havoc on the gates of the outer courtyard. Destructive flames licked the night sky in thick plumes of ash and ember, from the fires set to homes and shops.
“My father once told me we need the Nilivir to remind ourselves of the gods’ cruelty.” Dorjan peered out of the window, the fury in his eyes from moments ago dulling to grief. “It isn’t the gods who are cruel.”
“C’mon,” Zevander commanded, his only thought to get Dorjan to safety, or risk an invasion far worse than the Nilivir.
Dorjan followed after him, down flights of stone stairs, until they reached the undercroft–a vast space lit by flaming sconces and braziers, with arched, stone ceilings and pillars that stretched ten meters in height. An intricate network of tunnels spanned beneath all of Costelwick, an escape route in the event of a siege.
They passed stone statues and fountains, until they finally reached the hallway to the Validyne Holdfast, which housed the royal apartments. Imperial Guards stood posted outside the door and down the corridor, offering safe passage for the prince.
Still, in the interest of ensuring his safety, Zevander followed the prince to the door, his formal clothes serving as a disguise for the Solassion guards who stood amongst King Sagaerin’s men.
Zevander bit back the urge to punch one of the guards who eyed him up and down, undoubtedly criticizing the ridiculous garments that had him feeling like a frilly boar on a meat platter. He and the prince made their way to the entrance of the apartments, where just inside the threshold, Ravezio and Kazhimyr upheld their disguises as servants. He offered a nod on passing, then turned his attention to King Sagaerin, who paced back and forth. Standing off from him, sipping from goblets, was King Jeret and his wife, Queen Sonnehild. Princess Calisza sat with Captain Avith on the couch, while a quick scan showed two more Solassion guards and a few additional servants. Without a doubt, King Sagaerin would be shitting himself, having the Solassions so close to his son in their forced proximity to one another. Unfortunately, it was the proper courtesy to have his guest take shelter alongside him.
On seeing his son, King Sagaerin’s eyes widened, and he lurched toward him, arms outstretched. “Oh, thank the gods!”
Dorjan swatted his father’s hands away, his jaw steeled. “You did this! This is your fault!”