Page 155 of Vasmora

Allura let out a sound of agitation, her face reddened from straining. “It will not break.”

With his hands bound and curled into tight fists, he couldn’t even summon his Nexumis. If only Dolion had studied more defensive magic and fewer tomes. He didn’t stand a chance against Cadavros. Not like Zevander, who’d have acted on instinct.

The king let out a moan and twitched.

“Dolion,” Allura spoke softly. “What happens when he wakes?”

In every journal Dolion had read about the plague and Pestilios, one common thread tied every text and tome together: the creatures consumed, and by consuming, the infection spread. He’d seen the carnage in his own visions, nightmarish images of spiders and skeletal beings devouring every living thing, no matter their species.

“Don’t think about that. Focus on how we can get out of here before that happens.” The mage glanced around the small vestibule in search of something he might use to cut the webbing. Even if he couldn’t reach it, the mere possibility was better than the hopelessness tugging at him right then.

What a fool to be captured so easily!

It was when he lowered his gaze to King Sagaerin that he noticed a glint of steel strapped to the man’s leg.

A dagger.

“Help!” Dolion called out. “Help us!” From his periphery, Allura whipped her gaze in his direction.

“Are you mad? What are you doing! You’ll wake him!” she whisper-yelled.

“He’s going to wake anyway. And when he does, the first thing he’ll do is tear into our flesh, infecting us.”

Her face paled with fear. “Help!” Allura screamed and wriggled against her webbed binds. “Someone please!”

The king curled into himself, trembling and twitching.

Dolion’s gaze flitted from the king to the staircase. “Is anyone there!”

“Help!” Allura added.

The two of them screamed in unison, and Dolion kept his gaze fixed on the king, who seemed to rouse out of sleep.

The top of a head peeked around the staircase wall, and Dolion lurched against the webs. “You there!”

“Shhhhh!” The figure stepped down, standing at the foot of the staircase. Soft brown curls and a pale blue dress of fine silk. Princess Calisza. Her gaze fell on her father, eyes wavering with tears as she carefully approached.

“Be careful, Princess.” Dolion warned. “On his hip … there’s a blade there.”

She paused her steps and met Dolion’s gaze. “Promise me you’ll take me with you, if I set you free.”

“We promise,” Allura answered for him. “Please hurry!”

She tiptoed through the vestibule and knelt alongside her father, her lip trembling, eyes turned away from him. With delicate and graceful movements, she grasped the hilt of the blade between her thumb and finger.

King Sagaerin snarled and arched.

The princess flinched and held her retracted hand in the air, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

Every muscle in Dolion’s body tensed, his teeth clenched so hard, it was a wonder they didn’t crack.

The king curled into himself again, shaking.

In one swift move, the princess slipped the blade free and pushed to her feet. She scurried toward them, pausing, as if to decide who to set free first.

“Him!” Allura cried. “Release Dolion.”

Calisza rushed toward him, hands trembling, and wedged the blade into the small stretch of web between the wall and Dolion’s arm, slicing at the exceptionally sticky threads. Back and forth, she sawed at them, each one plinking away, loosening its grip.