Page 87 of Vasmora

She seemed to chew on the question for a moment. “I saw something. I’ve been struggling to determine if I was deliriously hungry and hallucinating, or if it was real.”

“What did you see?”

“The spiders from the mortal lands. They built a web in my cell. One of them bit me.”

His steps slowed, dread stirring in his chest. “You’re certain they were the same?”

“Not entirely, no. I don’t know what spiders naturally inhabit Aethyria, but its blood was black.”

“And I don’t know any spiders with black blood, aside from the infected.” The dread in his chest chilled. “The bite you suffered … do you have the veins anywhere, like Aleysia?”

She slowly shook her head. “I think my blood may have killed the spider. The wound healed.”

He exhaled a relieved breath then shook his head. “I watched them fall into the chasm. How in the gods would they have crossed?”

Chewing her bottom lip, she winced as if she’d caught the gash there. “When we first passed through the archway … I noticed a spider casting a white mist. I didn’t think anything of it after I stomped it to death, until in my cell. That web was entirely made of ice.”

Zevander ground his teeth. “Kazhimyr.”

“Like Aleysia, he didn’t seem to show signs of infection. But if it’s here, then Aethyria could soon look like Mortasia.”

“Let’s focus on one worry at a time. Right now, we need to restore your blood magic.” He nodded toward the path ahead. “We’ve arrived at the alehouse.”

A squatty structure, mostly hidden by the shadows of the forest beside it, sat at the end of a cobblestone path lined with firelamps, which led toward the stone tenements in the distance. A sign creaked from its hinges out front, identifying it as an alehouse, otherwise a passerby might’ve thought they’d come upon someone’s home. Soft, amber light glowed through the windows, warm and inviting, and Maevyth shivered, as if she longed for more heat. Not even the added layer of Zevander’s cloak seemed to offer much more to the radiant heat he’d already sent over her.

Beyond the alehouse stood a magnificent city of golden spires and gilded domes, lit by thousands of lights, like a star in the pitch-black sky. Almost blinding in its splendor.

“That’s Gildspire?” she asked, her voice laced with awe, and when Zevander nodded, she added, “It’s beautiful.”

“Could’ve been a great city under a different king.”

Two horses tied to a post whickered as they passed. While they seemed well-groomed, Zevander didn’t find any indication they belonged to guardsmen or nobility. The moment he set Maevyth down on her feet, voices emerged from just inside, and he dragged her into the shadows on the other side of the alehouse.

The bloodbinder stumbled through the front door, followed by two Lunasier soldiers, not identified by the silver armor and banners they typically wore when guarding emissaries, but the subtleties that common folk would miss. Like the identical scar at the back of their hands that marked their oath. The gregian velvet that lined their cloaks, only produced by the king’s personal clothier, the sight of which he’d caught twice as it fluttered in the wind. Or the way they stood equally spaced from one another, their hands in the same resting position on their weapons.

Behind them, another man exited who bore a signet ring and ink stains on his fingers, common for members of the Magestroli.

The soldiers pinned the bloodbinder to the wall of the alehouse, as the mage stepped closer. “You were tasked to bring the girl, and you arrived empty handed! Akmyrios will be furious!”

“Vee had a complication. I vent to her cell, and she vas already gone! Taken by some strange scorpion man.”

Zevander quietly cursed. He’d hoped the king would think him dead for a while. At least until he could get Maevyth somewhere safe.

The soldiers glanced toward one another, frowning.

“Scorpion man, you say?” Stroking his chin, the mage looked thoughtful. “Might he have worn a mask?”

“Yes. He took the girl! He attacked Genral Loyce.”

Zevander couldn’t allow the soldiers and mage to leave with that knowledge, nor knowing that he was still alive. He’d already resigned himself to killing them. Already had his hand on the pommel of his sword, ready to draw.

The distant pounding of horse hooves somewhere beyond where they hid stilled his hand.

Summoning Evanidusz, he cloaked both him and Maevyth in black smoke and watched as four men, nearly invisible in their hoods, black facial coverings and black split-coat tunics, dismounted four black steeds. As they dropped to the ground with trained grace, it was only the glint of metal on their leather straps that gave any dimension to the layers they wore, which blended into the darkness of the surrounding night.

With light steps, they charged without warning or sound.

Swords flashed as two of them attacked the Lunasier soldiers. One secured the bloodbinder, the masked stranger drawing his hand back for a glyph that blazed across his palm. Seconds later, the bloodbinder lay limp in the stranger’s arms and was carried away.