Page 114 of Vasmora

“What did you see?”

Dolion’s brows pulled tight. “Kazhimyr.”

“Kazhimyr?” she echoed, shaking her head. “Are you certain?”

“Bollocks.” The sound of Rykaia’s voice from the doorway swung his attention to where she leaned against the frame. “I’ve known him half my life, and I can tell you, Kazhimyr is the most loyal of all the Letalisz.”

Sighing, Dolion twisted back around. It troubled him to imagine such a thing as well, but … “What I saw wasn’t Kazhimyr.”

“A face thief?” It was Allura who asked the question.

“No. I believe something is compelling him. An illness.”

Rykaia pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room for the window. “We have to stop this from happening, then. A mimicrow?”

Scratching his beard, Dolion contemplated the suggestion. “Possibly. But to whom? King Jeret? He’ll kill Kazhimyr on sight. And we’ve no idea where Zevander might be at this moment.”

“The mimicrow will find him.” Allura tapped her pen against the table, drawing Dolion’s attention to her journal and a sketch of the assembled leg and spine they’d witnessed in the dungeon.

“Perhaps, but by then, it might be too late.” he countered.

Rykaia threw her hands up. “So, we sit here and do nothing but perish?”

“No. We assume that Zevander has found Maevyth before the Magestroli can get their hands on her. I’ve a feeling she’s going to be crucial to our defenses.” Dolion had studied the sciences long enough to know that, in order to postulate an end, he’d have to understand its beginnings. “In the meantime, I’m going to get my hands on Cadavros’s old notes.”

“Aren’t those locked away in the Magestrolian Archive? The same guild that banished you for all eternity?” Allura asked.

Dolion nodded. “They are. I’m going to need your help.”

Allura sat back in her chair, eyes churning with skepticism. “How? I don’t have access to those vaults.”

“Not at the moment.”

She raised a brow. “What are you planning, Dolion? To break into the most secured vault in all of Nyxteros?”

He sighed. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Brilliant.” Allura rubbed the back of her neck in anxious strokes.

A smile tugged at his lips and he twisted in his chair to face Rykaia. “And since I am no longer permitted to cleave anywhere near the House of Sages, I’ll need you to cleave me as close as you can get.”

Rykaia crossed her arms. “What do I get out of this?”

“The possibility that you might survive the Black Pestilence unscathed.”

“Mmmm.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “I want another girls’ night. Ambrozhyr. Oh!” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Perhaps Maevyth will have returned by then.”

Allura shot a glare back at her, and Dolion pressed his lips to hide a smile. “You’re seriously holding me to a night of Ambrozhyr when we are facing a widespread plague?”

“Yes.”

Arms crossed in her lap, Allura turned away and huffed. “Fine.”

* * *

Blackened stones formed the ancient walls of Arcanaca Tower, located on the north end of campus in the administrative row. Branching clusters of ivy crawled over the lichen-infested exterior, and its pointed spires clawed at the sky overhead. The kingdom’s historical documents, grimoires, and academic studies had long been housed and protected in miles of vaults that stretched through a network of tunnels running beneath the campus, off limits to those who didn’t possess the right credentials for access.

Dolion and Allura knelt behind a dense copse of bushes, watching a robed man carry leatherbound books up the staircase toward the entrance.