Page 129 of Vasmora

I was lying to myself.

I sat forward and pressed my lips to it, sealing his wound with a kiss. “Perhaps we should venture to the hot spring.”

Finger tipping my chin up, he kissed me so passionately, lips burning across mine, I could’ve burst into flames. “Lay with me first.”

I nodded, allowing him to pull me onto the blanket beside him, our slick bodies hot and entwined in one another. With my ear pressed to his chest, I closed my eyes to the steady thud of his heart.

Contented.

From beyond the door to the cave rose the rumbling of a growl, and Zevander sat upright, cradling me in his arms.

“Rydainn,” Lothare’s voice called out from the other side.

Zevander grumbled and pushed to his feet, swiping up one of the blankets as he strode toward the door, and I yanked the cloak I’d worn earlier over my naked body.

He set the door aside, revealing the blond man on the other side.

“I need you to come see something.”

“What?” Ire cut through Zevander’s tone.

“If I had to guess? Blight. It seems the forest is dying.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

KAZHIMYR

Trails of blood marked the path along the cobblestone bridge toward Castle Gildspire, the royal residence and seat of King Jeret. Kazhimyr shouldn’t have even gotten as close as he stood without an attack. Where was the king’s garrison?

Archers? Guards? Bellatryx?

Scenes flickered through his head in rapid succession.

Screams. The clank of swords. Guards fighting grotesque mutations.

He clamped his eyes over the images and shook his head free of them.

“Fucking hell, what happened here?” Dravien said, hobbling up alongside him. “Looks like war.”

Yet not a body in sight.

“You might want to stay out here.” After all, Kazhimyr hadn’t asked the Elvyniran to accompany him. For reasons he didn’t bother to inquire, Dravien had followed him from General Loyce’s lair down through Luximos, never once complaining of his injuries on the journey there. Still, it annoyed Kazhimyr, having a constant presence at his back.

“Perhaps I can round up some horses for the journey.”

The Letalisz spun around, shoulders square with Dravien’s. “Make no mistake, this is where our journey ends.”

“And I’m still bound by blood to ensure you don’t die.”

“My friend and his woman, whom you were sworn to protect, died. And you’re still standing. I’d say your curse is shit.”

“I don’t claim to know the gods’ intentions, but they do not forego the opportunity to punish.” Dravien stepped closer, and even hunched with pain, his height rivaled Kazhimyr’s. “So, while you breathe, I will do what I can to ensure a safe journey.”

The Letalisz ground his teeth, still pondering whether Dolion would suffer if he slit Dravien’s throat. Assuming the mage was alive, of course. “Secure the horses, then.”

Twisted back toward the castle’s entrance, Kazhimyr followed the path of blood over the bridge. He peered down into the water, where the fin of a Koryn sliced through the surface. Its silhouette formed a dark shadow that didn’t move with the usual propulsion of its kind. It was then he noticed legs. Segmented. The familiar tetrapod gait of the enormous spider creatures he’d encountered. Fortunately, Koryns couldn’t breathe long outside of water, so he didn’t perceive it as much of a threat.

He passed through the barbican, its wooden doors hanging busted and cocked on hinges, as if something had barreled through them. Pausing to scan the battlements, he frowned. Not a single guard posted. Had they fled?