Page 298 of Vasmora

Through the cluster of women that surrounded him, Corwin waved at me, smiling. Apparently, he’d taken over The Black Salt Tavern, after the owner had perished in the plague. Word of his ale-making skills had spread throughout Nyxteros, making the tavern one of the more popular gathering places in Costelwick. Even the highbloods popped in on occasion.

I smiled, waving back at him.

“I will also let you two enjoy your night. Like Dolion, I’m going to find a potent drink.” Lothare brushed away a few stray wolf hairs from his black, velvet doublet and glanced around. The way his lips curved to a smile prompted me to follow the path of his gaze.

Across the aisleway, a dozen, or so, young women whispered amongst themselves, smiling back at him.

“Pardon me. It seems I’ve some mingling to do myself.” He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, shooting a wily grin toward Zevander again. “Unless …”

“Thank you, Lothare,” I said, stifling whatever taunting comment he had parked at the back of his throat. “I can’t think of a better gift.”

“The pleasure is mine, Lady Rydainn.” He gave a nod and strode off toward the group of women who seemed eager to welcome him into their circle.

“Whatever happened to the alewife’s daughter in Solassios?” I asked staring after him.

“Perished in the plague,” Zevander said. “According to Lothare, she sacrificed herself to save a young mother and child.”

The visual of that sat heavy in my chest. “How terrible.”

“Seems everyone suffered a loss.” At a nudge of my waist, I turned to Zevander.

“So, what was the exchange with Torryn?”

Malice shadowed his face. “The highblood called Rykaia a lowborn whore.”

My skin prickled with a rush of anger. “Then, it was deserved.”

“It was. The man is lucky to be alive. But enough of that.” He stared off a moment longer, and the shadows faded, his demeanor quickly changing back. “Are you enjoying yourself, A’miszhla?”

“Immensely.” I surged up onto my toes and wrapped my arms around his neck.

“Anything that could possibly make it better?”

I pondered the question with a sigh.

“Anything at all.”

Shrugging, I toyed with the string of his black tunic. “The only thing that could possibly make this night more perfect is if my sister were here.”

He lifted his gaze to something beyond me and whispered in my ear, “Well, speak of the devil.”

Eyes wide, I spun around.

At first, I didn’t recognize my own sister. Garbed in a black dress with black feathers, bones clanked at her hip, and across her forehead, a black raven had been painted in ashes.

“Aleysia?”

“Hello, Maevyth.”

I frowned over my shoulder at Zevander. “How?”

“I sent a mimicrow. Wanted to surprise you.”

A grin pulled at my lips. Could I possibly love the man any more than I already did? “You never cease to amaze me.”

“Go.” He loomed over me, seizing my lips in a kiss that I longed to lose myself in. “Visit with your sister. I’ll catch up to you later.”

One more kiss, and I darted for Aleysia, throwing myself at her, noting the way she even smelled different, like sweet spice leaf and warm jasmine. Behind her, stood a brawny male dressed in leather and black raven feathers, and at each flank were two Lyverian women in similar clothes.