Page 42 of Vasmora

“Most haven’t. Our spy in the mortal lands provided it to the Magestroli. That was before he was found dead, surrounded by his regurgitated organs during the princess’s Becoming Ceremony.” He paused, watching her hold it up to the light. “It doesn’t exist in Aethyria. But it has proven to be quite effective against canines, rendering them paralyzed rather quickly.”

She sat forward, her eyes lit with intrigue. “Razorwolves?”

“It’s not been tested, of course. That would require capturing one. But given its potency, we can assume so, yes.”

Easing back into her chair, she waved her hand. “I’ve no use for Kazhimyr. He’s yours.”

“And the prince?”

“He’s in no danger. King Jeret intends to hold him until Kael Vexmoor is defeated.”

It was Captain Zivant who sat forward in his chair that time. “His original terms were men.”

“Yes. And now he wants to win the war.” She held up the ampoule again, smiling. “Perhaps we have advantage.”

“And if he loses? His people have grown weary of loss. They will turn on him, just as those in The Hovel have turned on Sagaerin.”

She flicked her attention back to the captain, her lips curled in contempt. “How dare you insult me in my own domicile. I have won countless battles. Have conquered lands across all of Solassios and Eremicia. More so than you and your sleepy moon army could ever dream. Our victory is guaranteed or the prince will die.”

The room spun and Kazhimyr gripped either side of his head to steady his vision. The floor rose up as the bird seemed to fall from its perch, landing on the floor with a thud. It seized and choked, the view growing fuzzy. Fading.

“A mimicrow?” Captain Zivant shot out of his chair. “Were you attempting to betray me? Send word back to Sagaerin?”

“How dare you accuse me of treachery,” Loyce gritted through clenched teeth. “I could say the same of you!”

“I stand to lose far more than you.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now. It seems the bird isn’t well.” Their faces closed in, staring down at him. Unnerving.

Zivant’s brows creased to a frown. “Is that a spider crawling out of its beak?”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of spiders.” The general chuckled and Zivant raised his boot.

Blackness followed.

Kazhimyr’s eyes shot open to his dark cell and he sucked in a startled breath, as if he’d been jolted out of a nightmare. His heart could’ve damn well pounded through his ribs, the way it beat against them. Still sat on his knees before the bars of his cage, he glanced around. Below him, deep scratches marred the concrete floor and he lifted his hands, examining the grit and dirt caked in blood beneath his fingertips.

Frowning, he tumbled backward, pressing himself against the wall. His mind flicked to the conversation between Zivant and Loyce.

Dolion. Torryn. Rykaia. Allura.

His friends, dead. Murdered.

Had it been a dream or real?

The fury inside of him flared again and he pounded his fist against the stones releasing a bellow of rage that bounced off the walls.

Head tucked between his knees, he forced long, easy breaths, attempting to calm himself.

“Kazhimyr?” Maevyth called to him, her voice slightly muffled behind the steel door of her cell. “Are you there?”

He swallowed back the pain that tightened his throat. “I’m here.”

“We’re going to be okay. We’re going to get out of here.”

“Yes.” His voice carried the hollow of uncertainty.

“We just … we just need to hang on.”