Page 188 of Vasmora

“How so?”

“Cadavros was chosen by Pestilios for his ability to acquire the blood magic of other mancers. The god’s glyph that you now possess would destroy him.”

Zevander snorted. “The fool shouldn’t have insisted that I acquire it.”

“Perhaps not, though I suspect it was his only option to escape Mortasia.”

Zevander ground his teeth at the thought that he’d been manipulated so easily. Had his mind not been in shambles, he’d have gladly destroyed Cadavros when he’d had the chance. “We need to find his nest and burn it to the ground.”

“Well, maybe.” Dolion nodded. “Although, I’ve done quite a bit of reading and have developed something of a theory.”

“And what is this theory of yours?” Zevander poured himself a drink and rubbed the back of his neck in a poor attempt to loosen the tension in his muscles.

“I believe the infected are of one mind. They communicate with each other this way.” He tapped at his own temple. “One mind. One infection. If we trap Pestilios in the amulet, the connection is severed. The infection dies.”

“And so, what? We’re left with thousands of dead mutations scattered over Aethyria?”

“Well, that I don’t know. It remains to be seen, I suppose.” He exhaled a sharp breath, brows pulled tight. “There is also the matter of the prince’s blood. With Dorjan gone and King Jeret’s son, Evowar, miles away, I may have an alternative in mind.”

“Lothare is King Jeret’s bastard son. His eldest son.”

Dolion’s brows lifted, a glimmer of hope shining in his eyes. “You’re certain of this?”

“Of course not. I’ve no idea who Jeret fucked in his lifetime, but it’s our best bet at the moment.”

Nodding, Dolion tipped back another sip. “I’ll see if the Codex can confirm. But this is … this is excellent news. If it proves true.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

The old mage threw back another swill of his drink. “The amulet will crack, and Pestilios will continue to wreak havoc in our world. There’s a ritual dagger used to trap the god. If it’s so much as tainted with nonroyal blood, it becomes useless.”

Zevander groaned and rubbed a hand down his face. “Is this dagger yet another relic we need to track down?”

“No. I have it in my possession. And I pray that you’re correct about Lothare because if we happen to get our hands on the amulet, we’ll only have one opportunity to trap the god.”

“What is your alternative?”

He waved his hand in the air. “I suppose it’s irrelevant to this, but may be of importance to you.”

“In what way?”

“You once told me your bloodline magic was forging metals, correct?”

With a shrug, Zevander tipped back his glass, finishing off the last of his drink. “It was my father’s, so it stands to reason it could’ve passed onto me, had it not been stripped so early on.”

Dolion covered his mouth with his hand, eyes narrowed as he stared silently for a moment. “Did your mother tell you this?”

Zevander frowned. “Whether she did, or didn’t, doesn’t matter. Boys are known to inherit their father’s magic, in most cases.”

“Of course, as a general rule, that’s true.” He tipped his head. “Why do you suppose Cadavros chose you and Branimir for the Emberforge ritual?”

If there was one annoyance Zevander loathed more than anything, it was breadcrumb questioning designed to lure him to the answer instead of it being spat out. “My parents sought him out. Get to the point of your incessant inquiries.”

“Your birth magic is listed as unknown in the Blood Lineage Codex.”

Zevander shrugged. “A clerical error, I presume.”

“Not likely. They’re recorded by haemsects and confirmed by a member of the Magestroli.”