Page 102 of Vasmora

“I have razed kingdoms in search of her. Fought more battles than any army general, in her name.”

Gods be damned, it still baffled Zevander that he’d spent a century believing she could still be alive. He imagined Maevyth, or Rykaia, the madness of never knowing. Perhaps it was the very thing that’d honed him into a methodical killer. An undefeatable foe.

“I wondered why, after all these years, the bastard king never used her to get to me …” There was no denying the pain in his voice. “She was so … kind and caring. I thought maybe he couldn’t. Couldn’t bring himself to offer her up. I knew there was a possibility he could’ve killed her, but why? She was no threat. Not like me. Nothing like me.” Hands braced at his sides, Lothare shook his head. “I’ll kill him for this.”

He finally twisted around, eyes red and burning with vengeance. “What is it that Akmyrios is proposing?”

“Land. A vein ov your own.”

“You trust what Akmyrios would offer you?” Zevander interrupted.

Lothare frowned and turned back to the bloodbinder. “In exchange for what?”

The bloodbinder glanced over at Zevander, not bothering to make eye contact. “His voman.”

“The gods must be having a fuck of a time with me right now.” Lothare groaned and rubbed his hand over his skull. “This is the girl the mimicrow spoke of.”

The bloodbinder pressed his palms together and dared a step closer. “The Magestroli could be svayed to advise King Sagaerin to join your cause.”

“What is so special about his woman that this mage would offer me so much?”

The bloodbinder finally lifted his gaze to Lothare, his expression earnest. “She is born ov prophecy. A mortal. Her bloodstone vill stabilize the Umbravale ven the Black Pestilence arrives.”

Lothare huffed and shook his head. “Black Pestilence. Men have been murdered or killed for raving about that.”

“It’s true! It is said to have ravaged the mortal lands.” The bloodbinder pointed to Zevander. “Remove his mask! You vill see. He is invected.”

Lothare’s gaze snapped to Zevander. “Do you bring disease into my camp?”

“My face is no threat to you.”

“Show me.”

Zevander stared a moment longer, then lowered his mask, revealing the black veins that stretched jaw to temple. “Akmyrios longs to kill the innocent.”

“One mortal life to save all of Aethyria?”

“Would your sister’s life have been so easy to relinquish?” Zevander didn’t flinch as he spat the question back at the man.

Lothare looked thoughtful, perhaps considering his argument.

“Akmyrios has proov ov the creatures,” the blindbinder chimed in, as if he’d seen the doubt in Lothare’s eyes, as well. “He’s captured one.”

“And where is Akmyrios now?” Lothare prodded.

“Hiding in Luximos. He vas supposed to leave vith the other emissaries, but he stayed. He vaits in the House of Vorship for your ansver.”

Lothare shrugged, swiping up another grape from beside the pile of broken branches that once made up his chair. “And why doesn’t he retrieve the girl himself?”

“I vas to deliver her.” Shame colored his voice, and he lowered his head. “I vailed.”

Lothare nodded, sending a glance back at Zevander. “In other words, her mate showed up.”

“The whole vorld should not be made to suvfer vor love.”

“Oh, I disagree, my friend. Love is the only thing worth suffering for.” Lothare turned toward one of the guards. “Secure him. And be sure to have another wolf stand guard. We don’t want this little man trying to escape.”

With a nod, the guard strode up and seized the bloodbinder, dragging him out of the tent.