Page 288 of Vasmora

Reaching into his pocket, Zevander fished out Branimir’s bloodstone, holding it in his palm. “Black is the infection. Red is Branimir’s blood.” The mostly red bloodstone carried only a few black swirls. “He hadn’t been entirely consumed by the infection, after all.”

Somehow, that made the pain of his loss worse. Particularly knowing my blood might’ve killed whatever small bit of infection he carried, had he not been so ravaged by the mutations.

Zevander cleared his throat, pocketing the stone again, and lifted his gaze skyward. He remained quiet for a moment, the shine in his eyes slowly fading as he seemed to tether his emotions. “As a child, I used to think the stars were close enough to pluck. I’d often tell my mother that, one day, I’d ride a dragon and collect one for her.” He lowered his gaze, smiling into his drink when he raised it to his lips. “Ridiculous, childish whims,” he said, tipping back his glass. He could’ve swallowed a mouthful of coins, the way his lips soured. “It was Branimir who first told me they were lightyears away.” He winced and shook his head. “Lightyears. So impossibly far, I was certain it had to be a lie.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the stone railing. “He was right, though. And when I asked my mother why she let me go on believing such a thing was possible, she told me, Because I knew the truth would crush you.” He snorted, brows tight. “Turns out, she lied about a few things. Branimir. My curse. For years, I was made to believe that I’d been born a spindling without blood magic. Each time, it was Branimir who shed the ugly light on everything I’d been told. And so, I began to associate him with all the ugly things.” He clutched the stone railing, his jaw shifting to a bitter line. “He was a reminder of what I was destined to become. The miserable existence that haunted me. And I grew to hate him for it.”

I had a sense that, in his silence, he’d torn open old wounds, that tightly wound guilt unraveling inside of him.

My heart ached for him.

“He never asked for any of this,” he said, his voice hoarse with pain.

“Neither of you asked for it, Zevander. You were children.”

He shook his head. “I should’ve been more of a brother to him. Instead, I treated him like a fucking omen.”

Trying to make him believe anything else would be futile. It was Zevander’s nature to carry the burden of pain. Guilt. Only his brother could release him from that. “Branimir asked me to carry a message for you. He said to check the stone. That you would know what it means.”

Brows furrowed, Zevander stared down at the castle grounds then cast a wistful gaze over his shoulder. He left his drink on the railing and brushed his hand across mine as he passed me for the door back to his chamber.

I stalked after him, across the dark room toward the far wall, where he lowered to a crouch. For a moment, he paused there, as if he couldn’t bear to make another move.

“What does it mean?” I kept my distance, not wanting to crowd him.

“When we were boys, he would leave me messages tucked in the loose stone. Secrets we’d pass back and forth to each other. He’d write a message. I’d write a response.” With unsteady hands, he reached out for a dark stone in the wall and wiggled it loose. From the gaping hole inside, he pulled out what appeared to be a small, rolled-up scroll secured with black twine. Zevander removed the twine and held it a moment. Hesitating once more.

He shook his head and rubbed a hand down his face.

“Would you like me to read it for you?”

Without so much as a glance, he held it outstretched toward me, and I tiptoed closer, carefully unrolled the narrow piece of paper, and cleared my throat.

“Zevander, it seems you’ve proven me wrong. The stars are within reach after all. Hold on to what you have and let go of your regrets. I’ll see you in the sky. Your brother, Branimir.”

Zevander bent over himself, clutching his skull.

I wrapped my arms around him, feeling him tremble against me. “He loved you, Zevander. Stop punishing yourself with this guilt.”

“I abandoned him,” he said, his voice tight with sorrow.

“You didn’t. You kept him and Rykaia safe. Even when you didn’t always feel safe yourself.”

“And you?” A snarl curled his lips when he lifted his head. “Did I keep you safe? You almost burned because I couldn’t help myself. I was so fucking selfish, I marked you as my own.”

“And in another life, other circumstances, I burned, anyway.” I slid my hand beneath his jaw and lifted his face to mine, my heart clenching at the broken cracks in his usual steely facade. “Tell me, if given the chance to do anything differently. Would you?”

The sadness in his eyes darkened, as if the question roused a sinister half of him. “No.” He gripped the nape of my neck, eyes riveted on my lips. “If given countless chances, I’d choose you. Every time. No matter the consequences.” His lips claimed mine in a kiss that was as unapologetic as his words. “Tyrants. Monsters. Gods. I’d fight hell itself for you, moon witch and wear a fucking smile when the heavens saw fit to punish me for it.”

I wrapped my arms around him, letting him pull me onto his lap as he lowered out of his crouch. “Then, this torment is useless. We’re destined to be together.”

“Always.”

He tilted his head for another kiss, but I pressed a finger to his lips to stop him. “Your brother’s fate is not your burden to carry, Zevander.”

The troubled expression on his face didn’t waver, and I lowered my finger seizing the kiss. His lips devoured mine, swallowing whatever argument he might’ve volleyed back, his fingers bruising, demanding, as he held me against him. Until he finally broke away and pressed his forehead to mine. “He must’ve known he was going to die.”

“He saw a vision.”

Zevander winced, holding me tighter.