Page 204 of Vasmora

“I refused to let him inside. He’s infected.”

“Like Aleysia. Infected but lucid?”

“I suppose.”

I exhaled a sharp breath and looked back at Kazhimyr, whose rigid stance also seemed to carry hostility. “What do you intend to do with him?”

“Kill him.” Not a beat of hesitation in his response. As if he’d spent the whole night convincing himself that was the answer.

“What if I can cure him?”

He still didn’t bother to look at me. Maybe he thought I’d somehow sway him if he did. “You can’t cure every person who becomes infected. You’ll run out of blood after this plague is over.”

“I know but …” Another glimpse of Kazhimyr showed him running his hands through his hair. “I can try, at least.”

Zevander’s jaw tightened, his shoulders bunched. “He’s the reason the plague crossed over. He lied to my face.”

“And you’re the reason he was there. I’m the reason you were there. We’re all as guilty.” I huffed. “Or maybe it was fated this way.”

Below, movement flickered from the right, and I glanced that way to see Torryn striding across the yard, up to the circle of flames. He and Kazhimyr seemed to exchange words, Kazhimyr’s mouth moving, though he never averted his gaze from where it remained locked toward the window. Torryn shot a glance toward the window himself, his brows pulled tight.

An echo of memory slipped through my head. Kazhimyr’s voice calling out to me through the dark. Assuring me he was there with me. That I wasn’t alone. While I hadn’t been given much contact back in those cells, what little comfort I’d felt was because of him. His presence. An anchor to grasp.

“He’s your friend, Zevander. A brother to you. And he did suffer punishment to protect me. Both Kazhimyr and Dravien.”

His lip curled. “I’ve no doubt Dravien was behind your capture. The reason my sister and the others were attacked on the way to Calyxar.”

“Maybe so. But I can tell you, of the four of us she captured, no one suffered more than he did.”

He stood silent for a moment, undoubtedly chewing on thoughts. “Kazhimyr went back for you.”

“To Loyce’s? Is she …”

He slowly shook his head. “It seems her fate is worse than death,” he said, and he finally turned to look at me. “Why did he go back for you? To kill you? To save you?”

“Did you ask him?”

His face twitched as he snapped his attention back to the window. “I wouldn’t believe a word he says.”

“Aleysia told me that she had moments that felt like dreams between blackness. Times when she was herself, but then the blackness would settle over her and she lost her senses.”

“He thinks you’re dead.” The way he rubbed the back of his neck told me I was breaking through, perhaps convincing him, after all. “He thought I was dead. Why would he return here?”

“Because this is his home. Perhaps the only beacon in all that darkness.” I reached out, taking his hand in mine, and he lowered his gaze, staring down at our clasped hands. “Let me try. We can glean something about the infection, if he remembers it. Maybe learn of a way to conquer it.”

He huffed and lifted his gaze to mine. “Why do you have to be so …” Lips pressed together, he shook his head.

“Persistent? Annoying?”

“Kind. Empathetic. Perfect.”

I snorted and shook my head. “I’m far from perfect.”

He stepped toward me, out of the window’s view, and hooked his finger beneath my chin to kiss me. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“If he dies, it was the gods’ will.”