Page 189 of Vasmora

Zevander rubbed his temples. “Then, what is your theory?”

“I believe it was intentional.”

“It seems to me that an intentional omission would be grounds for investigation,” he played along, already well aware of what the mage was implying. He just wanted to see if he had the balls to say it to his face.

“Unless the king ordered against it.”

“And why would Sagaerin order against investigation?”

The mage lifted his chin and rolled his shoulders back. “Because doing so might’ve revealed infidelity.”

“Careful, Dolion. We’re not such good friends that I wouldn’t run my blade through you for such damning speculations.” A small part of Zevander had always wondered himself, the way the king had come to treat him. He’d considered that it might’ve been his connections to Cadavros, and ultimately Dorjan, which had helped foster Sagaerin’s interest in him.

It was possible it could’ve been something else.

Dolion raised his palms. “I mean no insult, nor disrespect. Only that it warrants a little digging on your part. It could very well mean your place–”

“I don’t care what it means. My blood magic was destroyed.”

“It can be restored. Cadavros restored his blood magic by consuming excessive amounts of vivicantem.”

“Yes, and doing so puts me at risk for becoming Carnifican, if you’ll recall.”

Dolion sat forward in his chair. “It could be administered in small doses.”

How many years had Zevander longed to know what his blood magic was before it’d been destroyed? Suddenly, it didn’t matter to him.

“I said I’m not interested. And I’ll ask that you not bring this up again.”

“Of course. My apologies.”

Even if it proved that Zevander was Sagaerin’s bastard son, it meant nothing. He had no interest in the throne. The only thing he longed for was a quiet life with Maevyth, away from everyone.

A knock at the door pulled Zevander out of his thoughts. “Yes?”

The door swung open to Lothare, who glanced at Dolion and back. “Apologies for interrupting. I received a mimicrow. My men secured the horses and are expected to arrive sometime in the next few days, assuming they can avoid any hordes.”

Zevander nodded. “We’ll accommodate as best we can.”

Eyes sweeping over Zevander’s office, Lothare stepped inside and made his way toward the bookshelf. “They don’t need much, so long as they can hunt,” he said, tipping his head as he seemed to peruse Zevander’s collection. “But they may try to avoid the grounds. Fyredrakes and wolves aren’t known to get along.” He flashed a smile over his shoulder and reached for one of the books.

“There’s a forest at the foot of the hill that should provide deer and rabbits to hunt.”

Dolion snorted. “Assuming they’ve not become infected.”

Zevander held up the decanter for Lothare, who shook his head. “In Mortasia, the animals seemed to avoid infection altogether,” he said, pouring himself a small glass.

Holding a history book in one hand, Lothare waved his finger. “We did come across a dragon that had been infected,” he said, returning the book to its spot.

“Their brains are a bit more evolved.” Dolion gestured toward the chair beside him, and Lothare strode across and sat. “Perhaps even more so than ours. Speaking of Mortasia. Any news of Akmyrios?”

Lothare smirked back at Zevander. “I suppose you could’ve asked the dragon that bit him in half, but his girl turned the beast to dust.”

Eyes wide, Dolion’s gaze flicked from Lothare to Zevander. “And the stones?”

Zevander shook his head. “I’m guessing a casualty as well. Didn’t seem to provide much protection from the infected.”

Dolion slumped back in his chair. “No, I suppose not now that Pestilios has awakened. If we do manage to survive this plague, it’ll be impossible to reconstruct the Umbravale.”