Page 198 of Vasmora

“She would’ve,” Zevander agreed, flicking his fingers for the bottle again.

Tipping it back herself, she stole another swill before handing it over. “What’s going to happen when those things find us?”

Seemed everyone was on edge about that. “We’re going to fight and protect what we love.”

Her brows pulled together as she nodded. “That’s the part that scares me. What if it’s not enough?”

He couldn’t afford to let that question linger in his mind. There was no other option, as far as he was concerned. He would fight until his last breath, and if that didn’t cut it, he’d rise from the fucking grave and keep fighting.

He set his hand on Rykaia’s shoulder. Affection between the two of them had never come easy. The way she could read emotions had always set him on edge, left him wondering what she might see if she looked deep enough. Perhaps she feared it, too. “Don’t trouble yourself with this. Fighting for what you love is enough.”

Lips pressed together, she nodded again and turned away from him.

“What else is troubling you?”

She shook her head. “It’s not important.”

“Tell me,” he urged.

She exhaled a sigh. “I was just imagining what I’ll wear to your Bonding Ceremony with Maevyth. As you know, green is my color, but I’m thinking blue might go well with my hair.”

“This is where the conversation ends.” Zevander returned to his route toward the kitchen.

“Don’t act like you haven’t dreamed of it yourself,” she said after him.

With his back to her, Zevander fought to contain his smile and shook his head.

Of course he’d dreamed of it. Every time he’d lost himself in Maevyth’s body, but that wasn’t something he cared to share with his sister. Certainly wasn’t the time to be thinking about it, when they’d soon be fighting for their existence.

“Lies! It wouldn’t surprise me if you already had your ceremonial robes picked out.”

“I don’t,” he said over his shoulder.

“Good, I’ll pick something for you.”

“Don’t.” He didn’t blame Rykaia’s constant distraction. It was how she’d learned to keep destructive thoughts away. He just didn’t have the headspace to entertain the triviality of it all.

Her chuckle faded behind him, as he made his way into the kitchen, where he found Magdah stirring a pot of stew. Before he’d said so much as a word, she twisted around and handed him a tray with two bowls and two slices of bread.

“Nice to have the two of you back, Master.”

He nodded. “Your family in The Hovel. Any word from them?”

Her lips formed a hard line as she shook her head. “Been watching the skies for mimicrows. But we’re a strong lot, and I suspect they’re hunkered down somewhere.”

Zevander gripped her shoulder. “I’m certain of it.”

She patted the back of his palm and nodded. “Appreciate that.”

He gave a gentle squeeze, and the moment he spun back around, a figure nearly crashed into him. “Corwin,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of annoyance.

“Apologies.” Corwin held his hands up. “Didn’t mean to be so hasty. Just … smelled the stew from down the corridor and had to come see what’s cooking.”

“Magdah, this is our guest, Corwin.”

“She, um … also doesn’t speak Vonkovyan, I take it?”

Zevander turned toward Magdah. “Do you speak Vonkovyan?” he asked in Vonkovyan.