Page 173 of Vasmora

Zevander’s eyes met mine, and the way his brows pulled tight left me paranoid that he’d heard my conversation with Morsana.

I glanced away, turning my focus back to Fennyx.

Verena fell to her knees beside him. “Please wake up. Wake up!”

Fennyx’s arm jerked, fingers twitching.

“Back away, Verena,” I warned.

She kicked herself backward, just as Fennyx’s eyes shot open.

His back arched as if yanked by force. His body convulsed, eyes rolling back.

Spiders leaked from the corners of his mouth, and as they darted in all directions, the Corvugons quickly snapped them up. The alpha grunted and trembled, eyes squeezed tight.

Then, he finally stilled.

When he opened his eyes, the black of his irises had faded for a warm blue, and he sucked in a sharp breath, his chest rising and falling, color swallowing the white pallor of his skin. He lay on the ground a moment longer, eyes trailing left to right, a look of confusion marring his expression, as he slowly pushed to a sitting position. Staring down at himself, he frowned and lifted his hand, twisting it around. “What’s happened?” His raspy voice carried a pitch of panic. “What happened to me?”

“You were bitten, Fennyx.” Verena nodded toward me. “She saved your life.”

“You … your blood can cure the disease?” Daelan asked.

I shook my head. “There’s no guarantee. Some have died consuming my blood.”

“What is so special about it?” The growl in Fennyx’s voice told me he was angry.

“She doesn’t owe you explanation.” Zevander pushed to his feet. “She saved your life. Be grateful you didn’t turn into one of those things. If the Corvugons didn’t kill you, I surely would’ve.” His words were cold and absolute, and Fennyx clenched his jaw, glancing away.

Lothare stumbled toward us. “He’s right,” he rasped, pressing his hand to his arm. “She saved your life. That’s all that matters. We need to keep moving. Let’s head to the stable–” Before he could finish his thought, he collapsed to the ground.

Zevander knelt beside him and lifted Lothare’s arm, from where a wound oozed a bright yellow fluid. He sniffed it and crinkled his nose. “Poison.” He pressed his fingers to Lothare’s throat. “Still has a pulse. We need to get him to a healer. A few hours from now, he’ll be foaming at the mouth, and when that happens, it’s only a matter of minutes until death. I know someone in The Hovel who can help.”

“The Hovel is miles from here,” Daelan argued. “It’ll take days to reach it.”

I glanced toward Raivox and back. “Perhaps he can carry both of us?” Staring down at Lothare, I shook my head. “Why poison? Akmyrios could’ve easily killed Lothare, if that was his intention.”

Zevander glanced back toward the black patch of sand where the boy had been charred to death. “Perhaps Akmyrios didn’t know the blade was poisoned.” He nodded toward Raivox. “Do you think he can handle both of you?”

“The Corvugons can carry more than that,” the Lyverian woman said, and wriggling her fingers, she drew my attention to the glove she wore, nearly identical to mine, save the intricate symbols carved into the scales. “But without the glove, he could slip.”

I would’ve asked her if she’d always worn the glove, or if it’d sprouted anew like mine had, but now didn’t seem the right time for side conversations.

“Oh, this is Adira, by the way,” Corwin said, as if he sensed my curiosity about her. “We arrived rather traumatically on Achlys. And Viatrix is the sadistic loner who likes to watch things die by silver.” He gestured toward the third Corvugon sitting alongside one of the spiders, breathing thin streams of silver flame over each leg and weighing them down until only the spider’s torso and fangs twitched with movement. “Slowly,” Corwin added, shaking his head.

I cleared my throat, rolling my shoulders back. “For Lothare, we’ll have to secure him to Raivox somehow.”

Corwin rubbed his shoulder. “Well, I can tell you from experience, the claws aren’t exactly comfortable, but they do hold rather tightly.”

A glance toward Raivox showed the Corvugon standing off, casually pruning his feathers.

“We should go now, then.”

Zevander turned toward Daelan. “The plan is the same. Secure the horses. Head to Costelwick.”

Daelan nodded toward Lothare. “Don’t let that bastard die. He’s all the hope we have left.”

CHAPTER FORTY