Page 16 of Vasmora

“I believe you called me stubborn.” Rykaia snorted. “It was foolish of me to challenge her.”

A smile pulled at Allura’s lips. “I thought it was quite brave. And a little foolish.”

“So, what now?” Torryn sat forward, rubbing the back of his neck. “The Magestroli have the stones.”

Dolion hadn’t even had a moment to think about the stones. Or the disappointment of knowing they’d been swiped from him with such ease. “We pray to the gods that Kazhimyr and Ravezio have found Maevyth and Zevander. And hope that both are safe. The mages will be more determined than ever to find her now that they have the six stones.”

“Praying isn’t enough,” Torryn growled. “I won’t sit idle and watch the world go to hell.”

“What do you suggest we do?” Shrugging, Rykaia waved her hands toward the creature that carried them through the water. “We’re on a massive fucking turtle in the middle of the ocean. But that aside, Prince Dorjan has been kidnapped by one of the most powerful armies in Aethyria. Our own king would remove Dolion’s head if he thought he were alive, and in case that cold water numbed your skull, those stones were our only protection.”

“Our priority now is protecting Maevyth,” Dolion cut in. “Because even if the Solassions decide to kill the prince, which is unlikely, and the Umbravale falls, she will remain the hunted. They will seek to restore the vale. More than ever, her life is in grave danger.”

“Gods help them if my brother finds her first.”

Torryn let out a grunt, and as his eyes rolled back, he fell limp against the shell.

“Torryn!” Rykaia crawled over the scutes toward him.

Dolion scanned over Torryn, his gaze landing on the tattered leather near his ankle. He lifted the torn bit of his trousers to find teeth marks embedded in Torryn’s flesh, a foamy green fluid seeping from the wound. “A bite. He suffered a bite!”

“What does that mean?” Rykaia asked.

“It means someone is going to have to suck the venom from his wound, or he’ll surely die within hours.” Dolion’s gaze flitted to Allura, who placed her hand at her throat, stifling a gag, then Rykaia, whose lips pulled to a grimace.

Her brows pulled tight when both Allura and Dolion stared back at her. “Oh, fucking hell,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Both of you owe me a drink when we get back.”

CHAPTER FOUR

ZEVANDER

Metallic claws dug into Zevander’s muscles, as Raivox lifted him up from the narrow ledge of the great chasm, the bottomless fissure that separated the immortal and mortal worlds, where he’d lain precariously clinging to the edge of a protruding rock.

The abyssal darkness below him? A death sentence, should he slip.

His Venetox steel sword hung from the bird’s other massive talon, where it was clutched out of reach. Flares of agony tore through Zevander’s bones, some of them undoubtedly broken, with every upward, jostling thrust of the Corvugon’s wings.

Hell’s teeth, the fall hadn’t killed him but the bird’s rough handling might.

Hissing and squeals whizzed past, as one of the many spiders at the cliff’s edge above them slipped over, its clawed hands reaching out for him as it tumbled past. Zevander dared to crane his neck, watching it disappear into the void, that deep, fathomless well of inky blackness where light couldn’t reach.

As he stared, he caught a ripple of movement.

A shift in the shadows.

A flash of white shot up through the Stygian depths and snared his boot with a hard tug. Grunting, he looked down to see a silky thread coiled around his ankle and followed its path to the edge of the rock, where something bounded up the chasm toward them.

Fast.

As it advanced into the light from the moon above, he could make out long, segmented legs that ushered it up the cliff wall. A half-mancer, half-carapace torso with a tessellated face and horns.

Cadavros.

Cursed fates, the mage had somehow survived the fall, but in whatever hellscape lurked below, he’d grown spider legs and a chitinous shell that gleamed when hit by the light.

The ungodsly thing scampering toward them looked more arachnid than man.

Despite knowing damned well he didn’t have the strength to summon his flame, Zevander threw out his palm. Violet blazed over his knuckles and faded to black smoke. “Fuck.” Against the agony in his spine and stomach, he reached forward for the blade strapped at his thigh, and with great effort, he yanked it free from its sheath. Muscles and ligaments screamed in pain when he raised his boot.