Page 191 of Anathema
The king’s face reddened with humiliation. “Careful, my son. I would hate to think you do not stand with your father on these matters.”
“I do not. You’ve fattened the wealthy, while the Nilivir starve. It was only a matter of time.”
“Guards,” the king said through clenched teeth. “Please show Prince Dorjan to his chambers.” Straightening his robes, the king took long breaths between sips of wine. “Thank you for escorting him to safety,” he said, lifting his gaze to Zevander.
“Is it common to task your noble guests with errands?” King Jeret padded toward them, sailing a suspicious glance toward Zevander. While he hadn’t seen him since he was a boy, Zevander didn’t doubt that his general may have informed the king of his identity.
“Leoric has been a family friend and combat tutor for Prince Dorjan for a number of years.” How easily the false name slipped from the king’s mouth.
“Combat tutor?” His gaze cruised over the Letalisz, and on instinct, Zevander made a mental note of every Solassion in the room, just in case. “Perhaps you might remove your mask. It’s rude in the presence of royalty.”
“Leoric is the exception to formalities,” the king answered for him. “He suffers from a rare condition. Quite contagious. You may want to step back.”
Frowning, the other king did step back. “And are you a native of Costelwick?” he prodded, doing his best to whittle Zevander’s false identity.
“I am. My father was a blacksmith.” Not entirely untrue. If not for the shady dealings he’d had with the Solassions, Zevander’s father very likely would’ve followed in his grandfather’s footsteps and taken over the blacksmith trade.”
“Blacksmith,” he echoed. “An important skill in times of war. Is it one you acquired yourself?”
“Unfortunately, no. I chose to play with the swords as a child, as opposed to forging them.” Charm had become a learned skill for Zevander. A means of concealing himself under the scrutinizing stares, though he’d have gladly ripped away the mask and showed King Jeret the brutal side of his nature.
“Of course. It would be interesting to see how a skilled combat tutor might fare against our own General Loyce.”
Zevander bristled at the sound of her name, but bit back his repulsion. “Perhaps when the castle isn’t under attack.”
“Of course. Silly notions to pass the time.”
“You are dismissed, Leoric. Thank you.” King Sagaerin gave a knowing nod, a silent directive to keep watch.
Zevander returned the nod and exited the apartments.
Guards sneered at his back as he passed. Bold, given the fact he could’ve singed every one of them to ash in the time it’d take them to draw their weapons. He turned down an adjacent corridor, and at the sound of distant voices, he flattened himself against the wall, hiding in the dark shadows. Drawing a thick fog around himself, he masked his presence as he slid closer to where two figures stood within a narrow alcove. The one facing him was Captain Zivant of the king’s guard, but the other remained unseen from his angle.
“I must have a guarantee, bound in blood, that you will not betray me.” A tremble in the captain’s voice stirred Zevander’s curiosity.
“Bound in blood. Don’t be ridiculous.” The sound of General Loyce skated over his skin like razor blades, distracting him from the strangeness of the two rivals meeting in secret. “There are no blood oaths in betrayal.”
“Should the king find out, I will be skinned alive. No doubt, by the scurvy assassin he’s kept hidden all this time.” The malice in the captain’s voice confirmed what Zevander had known all along—he surely didn’t like him.
The feeling was mutual.
“You leave Rydainn to me. As for the king finding out, it doesn’t matter. King Jeret has promised a pardon for anyone who claims fealty to him.”
“A promise isn’t good enough!” Zivant growled. “I do not trust the motives of any ambitious king. Particularly now, when we’ve no idea what Cadavros intends. We lost the only mage willing to cross the Umbravale and spy on the mortals!”
“You lost a traitor. And good riddance. He spilled too much! Fortunately for you, we were able to snatch the girl away before she cleaved.”
Zevander’s blood iced at the mention of what he was certain was Maevyth.
“You have her, then,” Zivant said.
“Yes, preparations are being made. You’re certain of your Magelord’s skills to manipulate the flame?”
“Yes. But what of the other stones? They’re still missing.”
“They’re not missing. Zevander knows where they are. Your fool king believed him, but I have personal experience with how deviant his mind can be. And how … loyal.” Her comment would’ve had Zevander laughing, if he weren’t so enraged right then. “Which is why we took his sister, as well. He’ll have to choose between her and his affections for his little whore.”
An icy rage crawled through Zevander’s veins, and his hands shook with the effort of keeping his scorpion from tearing out of him.