Page 84 of Vasmora

The words of Zevander’s mentor chimed through his head. Never leave them breathing. It went against his instincts not to finish the task himself, but there was no killing Loyce. And Zevander knew what lived in those caves. Knew that there was suffering far worse than death.

Poetic, in a way.

The other serpent hissed and retreated to the second cave.

“No! No, please!” Loyce’s voice echoed from somewhere deep within that dark hollow. “Gods, no! No!”

Screams followed. Horrible sounds of gagging and retching.

Then came an unsettling clicking sound, and Maevyth’s fingers curled into his arm, as if she knew what it meant.

The corner of her lips pulled to a sad smile. She raised her hand, seeming to wave back at someone inside the pit, but when he followed the path of her gaze, there was no one.

Movement caught his attention, a commotion on the other side of the pit. Across from him, the scorpion slammed its stinger into the spine of the soldier, who must’ve made a run for the door.

The Orgoth let out a growl, his body stiff and unnatural, and he wriggled against an invisible force. The bloodbinder darted for the opposite set of doors.

Zevander shot forth his palm, but before he could push out his magic, Maevyth pulled at his arm.

“No!” she cried. “He’s the only one who can restore my magic. We cannot let him get away!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

MAEVYTH

Hand swallowing mine, Zevander led me through the dark corridors of the general’s palace, our swift pace blurring my surroundings as we chased after the bloodbinder. I hardly paid attention, anyway, with my focus fixed on our clasped hands. The warmth in his grip.

Alive.

It must’ve been a dream, an impossible dream, and I dreaded the possibility of waking. For the first time in weeks, I felt a spark of hope. A fighting chance for escape.

Surely, it wasn’t real.

Exhaustion and hunger weighed heavy on my body as I fought to keep up, the air in my chest waning. Fire burned in my muscles, each step threatening collapse, but I pushed on. Ahead of us, the bloodbinder dodged servants, knocking over linens and baskets of fruits as he jogged through the corridors on a familiar route.

My knees buckled beneath me, my hand slipping from Zevander’s as they smacked against the stony floor. Flares of pain shot through my bones, and I growled in frustration, planting my palms to the floor.

Zevander lifted me to my feet and shot a glance over his shoulder.

The bloodbinder had vanished.

“He’s headed toward the cistern,” I said, wincing at the weakness of my voice. “I’m certain of it.”

Zevander hoisted me over his shoulder and spun around. From the new angle, I craned my neck to see an Orgoth bounding toward us, flanked by a half dozen armored guards. Before I could so much as breathe a warning of it, Zevander twisted around and a rolling crackle of flame that sounded like a storm whipping through a tunnel sent a blast of heat across the back of my legs. It sizzled and hissed, and when he turned back on path, nothing but piles of ash, burnt tapestries, and a fruit basket in flames remained.

We set into motion again, his pace faster than before, in spite of my added weight. My body jostled against him, the ground slipping by too fast for my eyes, and a swell of nausea gurgled in my chest.

“Stay back! Or by the gods, I will turn you to steel!”

The shouts alerted me to another who’d crossed Zevander’s path and twisting around, I caught a glimpse of a soldier holding a male servant pinned against him as a shield. Silver climbed up and down the slave’s arm where the soldier held him.

Zevander’s strides didn’t falter, his steps determined, focused, and when he raised his palm, I turned away. The roar of his flame dulled beneath the gut-wrenching pitch of their screams before they cut to an abrupt silence.

As we passed, I caught a glimpse of two bright red bloodstones sat atop a pile of ash. The servant had been nothing more than an obstacle, innocent—and yet, I felt nothing for him. Only a cold hollow in my chest.

After a sharp turn, Zevander set me down at the edge of the cistern. Where water poured down from the ceiling into the pool, a funnel formed at the center of it. I turned in time to see the bloodbinder slip beneath the water’s surface, and a cold fear bloomed behind my ribs.

“There’s a drainage reservoir below us,” I said. “I’m told it’s a way out of here, but we have to let it take us under. And there’s another passage after it filled with noxious gases.” Although, the mask he wore might’ve afforded him some protection from it.