Page 214 of Vasmora

Her lips stretched to a smile, and she took another sip of her drink. “A pleasure glyph. Something only the two of you share.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t tell if it was the tea or her explanation that flushed my cheeks.

“As I understand, it’s quite intense. Far better than Ambrozhyr.”

I couldn’t imagine anything more intense than those piercings he wore. Goodness, we hadn’t even made it past the sixth. “Well, let’s hope the world doesn’t go to shit before then.”

Rykaia chuckled and lifted her mug. “May the gods be merciful. And may you know the glory of a good and proper orgasm.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

ZEVANDER

The tip of his blade glittered white, as Zevander held it up to one of many flickering sconces, examining the way the vivicantem had hardened to the steel. Despite the floor-to-ceiling windows the training room offered, the afternoon didn’t provide much more light than evening had.

“A whole village could’ve fed off that small bit for a year,” Torryn said beside him.

Most of the element that Zevander had collected over the years had been in the form of jewelry, worn by the highbloods. Trinkets.

“Perhaps a village might be saved by it.” Zevander twisted around to the others who’d gathered to train and ran his finger over the rough surface of the blade. “It’ll create more drag. Might stick a bit.”

“Yes, it does stick a little. But if you hit the mark just right, one jab is all you need.” Both hands clutching the hilt, Corwin thrusted his own sword downward to demonstrate.

Torryn frowned. “Most graceless thing I’ve ever seen,” he muttered.

“Well, we’re not here to dance with them. By striking the mutations a certain way with vivicantem, they don’t multiply.” Zevander waved Adira and Corwin forward. “Perhaps you two can demonstrate the proper strike.”

“Proper strike?” Torryn crossed his arms. “The lumbering oaf holds it like a damned rope.”

Zevander snorted and tossed the sword to his fellow Letalisz. “That lumbering oaf took out a good share of the mutations himself.”

“It’s true,” Lothare added, examining his own sword that’d been dipped in vivicantem. “Surprisingly, he’s rather good.”

Corwin smiled and waved his hand. “Well, now you’re just inflating my ego.”

“I’ll leave the training to you, then.” Zevander jerked his head toward a block of wood about the size of most of the mutations they’d seen. “You can practice there. Stance and strike.”

“A block of wood is hardly an eight-legged arachnid charging with fangs.” A chuckle slipped from Corwin’s lips. “But we’ll make do.”

“Good.” Zevander nodded toward Maevyth. “Come with me.”

“This is training, not a tryst.” Rykaia’s voice held an air of amusement that irked him, though he’d have been lying if he’d said seeing his moon witch in training leathers didn’t spur indecent thoughts.

Maevyth trailed Zevander’s steps as he led her toward a corner, where Dolion studied texts, cross-legged on the floor.

On the other side of the mage, Gavroche sat hunched against the wall, his eyes on Princess Calisza, who sipped her tea, looking wildly out of place in her blue silk and satin gown. She smiled at the boy, waving him closer, and he flinched, scooting himself in the opposite direction. Poor kid had probably never gotten that close to a royal in his life. Spindlings had always been treated like vermin. Sprayed with sanitizing magic their whole lives, as if they were spilling diseases everywhere.

Seemed the princess didn’t much care, because she merely scooted closer to him.

When Zevander finally twisted around to face Maevyth, he damned near drooled like a pubescent boy on finding her standing with her arms crossed, lifting her breasts to his attention. He forced himself to look away. Training required focus and discipline, yet there he was, ogling her as if he’d never seen a woman’s breasts before.

He cleared his throat. “I want to test your skills with the flame.”

“I thought it bothered you that I could wield it.”

It had never bothered him. In fact, he’d found it incredibly arousing the last time she’d attempted it. A reminder to keep himself in check, or risk everyone in the training room knowing how badly he wanted to fuck her.

“My opinions have changed since then,” he said, flicking his fingers to urge her closer. “Let’s see if you’re capable of summoning it yourself.”