Page 190 of Vasmora

Eyes narrowed, Lothare shook his head. “What is the obsession you mages have with separating the mortal and immortal worlds?”

Dolion reared back as if insulted by the question. “I wouldn’t call it an obsession so much as a precaution.”

“In other words, you fear the mortals.”

Frowning, Dolion shook his head. “I don’t fear the mortals. Only that the diseases they carry pose a risk to our bloodlines.”

Lothare waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t believe in that.”

“What do you believe, then?” Dolion’s voice carried an air of condescension.

“That powerful men like Akmyrios have perpetuated a fear of what they don’t understand. That’s why the Corvikae were wiped from the earth.”

“Well, not entirely,” the mage muttered under his breath. “But, even so, I see your point. And you’re correct. History has proven we’ve been quick to destroy what we could learn from. But history has also shown that mortals have suffered widespread pandemics.”

“We don’t know if those diseases posed any threat to us, because we chose to banish the mortals rather than learn.” Lothare leaned to the side, gesturing toward Dolion. “Your own people have suffered because of it. The most intelligent beings in all of Aethyria, and they enslaved you. Why?” He tapped at his temple. “They feared your knowledge. They feared the Corvikae because they held powerful ties to the dead.” Lothare shook his head and chuckled. “Godsteeth, there is nothing mancers fear more than their own mortality.”

“Where did you learn of the Corvikae?” Zevander asked.

“The only good thing that came out of my childhood is that I was raised by wise people. People who were mocked because they didn’t look like us. They wore scales on their bodies. Worshiped serpents. And somehow, that made them worthy of ridicule.”

Zevander had seen that torment firsthand in the mines, with Ravezio. Even King Sagaerin had shown wariness toward his fellow Letalisz at times.

“You grew up in Eremicia,” Dolion said.

“Yes. And I was taught that our people murdered the Corvikae to seize the vein that ran through their lands.” He snorted and stretched his arm across the back of the chair. “A vein that died not long after the Corvi. So, what was the point? Corvus Keep now stands abandoned. A home for the cannibals.”

Dolion crossed his arms, a thoughtful expression on his face as he stroked his beard. “And, so, you propose the Umbravale should no longer exist.”

“I don’t see the point of it.”

It wasn’t long ago that comments like that would’ve been perceived as blasphemous. Maybe even cause for incarceration.

Dolion shifted in his seat as if he were uncomfortable. “Purists like Akmyrios would argue that mingling with mortals would weaken our blood,” the mage argued.

“Or strengthen theirs. Cure theirs.”

Dolion sighed. “Perhaps.”

As intriguing as the conversation may have been, Zevander’s muscles ached from the journey, an incessant hunger gnawing at him for something far more enticing than food.

“I’ll leave the two of you to debate.” Zevander jerked his head toward Lothare. “You’re settled into your room?”

“Yes. Thank you for the hospitality.” Hand to his chest, he bowed his head.

“After some rest, we’ll reconvene and discuss how we’re retrieving that amulet.”

Zevander pushed up from his chair and exited the office, the adrenaline from fighting back at the healer’s cabin, the disappointing news of the amulet, and the pure exhaustion wringing his bones stirred the kind of tension that craved release.

He strode through the corridors to his bedroom door and, sensing someone on the other side, he carefully cracked it open. Peering in revealed Maevyth staring out the window beside his bed, faint beams of light illuminating her pale face. His chest clenched at the sight of her.

How exquisite she looked in his space. Where she belonged.

Mine.

Gods alive, he’d never tire of the way his body yearned for her. That desperate and reckless need that curled inside him every time he laid eyes on her. His heart beat like a caged animal longing to be set free, his pulse burning for his mate. Eyes tracing her every curve, Zevander flexed his hands that itched to touch her. Ran his tongue over lips that craved the sweetness of her skin. The temptation of her rattled his restraint, and he chided himself, knowing damned well she needed rest, but his body wouldn’t relent.

Determined to feed his craving.