Page 176 of Vasmora

“Blistering barbfish! Would you give warning when you do that!” The sight of Corwin swatting at the Corvugon’s massive leg as he skirted around it had me chuckling.

“Your flailing arms would stand little chance against that foot if he decided to squash you.”

Corwin sailed a glare back at him and strode up to Gavroche and me. “Now that we’ve acquired a moment to breathe, perhaps you might tell me where we are?”

“Nyxteros.”

“I’m not familiar with Nyxteros.”

“It’s, um … in the immortal lands of Aethyria.”

Brows pulled tight, he gave a slow nod. “Right.” He swept around, seeming to survey his surroundings.

“What happened, exactly?” I asked.

“Well, I was out on a search patrol, of sorts. For you. Your father has insisted on it nearly every day since you left.” He waved a hand toward Achlys, the troubled expression on his face persisting. “I hopped off my horse to investigate one of the bodies that had apparently been consumed by the spiders, praying that it wasn’t yours, but …” He gestured to his head. “The hair was black. The next thing I knew, I was swiped up by Achlys’s claw, and we flew wayward, speeding through the air. The Corvugons seemed to be following Raivox, as if they’d been summoned.” He blew out a breath that carried the sour stench of vomit. “I was relieved to see you, if not thoroughly confused.”

“Aleysia and Father, you said they’re both well?”

“Yes, yes. Very well. Your sister has taken up with a rather brawny Lyverian warrior named Sorvayn. I understand they’re to be coupled soon.”

“Coupled?”

“Joined. Married. She’s quite in love. Annoyingly so, at times.”

I snorted. “I can imagine.”

He scratched at the rough stubble across his chin. “And your father spends quite a bit of time with the priestess. He has a rough go with his mangled leg, but he gets around fairly well.”

“Good. I’m relieved to know they’re well. You seem to communicate well with Adira. Are you speaking fluent Lyverian now?”

“Almost. I’ve been working with something of a tutor.”

I glanced toward Adira and back. “Are you the two of you …”

Corwin snorted. “Oh, god, no. I firmly believe she consumes the hearts of men for breakfast,” he said casually. “No, I’ve not quite found the right fit, yet.” He peered around at the surrounding landscape again. “Perhaps she’s out there, though. Hopefully not wearing spider legs and fangs, but at this point, beggars can’t be choosers.” He chuckled but cleared his throat as he seemed to catch sight of something behind me.

I turned to see Zevander striding across the yard. Standing in the doorway beyond him, an older woman with long gray hair and a willowy frame watched us.

“She has the antidote,” he said, and my gaze hooked on a fresh wound at the base of his neck. “We’ll have to get him in quickly.”

“Did she cut you?” I reached out to tug his tunic down for a better look, but he gripped my arm and planted a kiss at my knuckles.

“Yes. My blood was required for the antidote.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

KAZHIMYR

The fire Kazhimyr had built blazed and crackled, the small bit of rabbit meat he’d consumed not enough to sate his hunger. Pale white trees of the surrounding forest, and browning, wilted vegetation served as a reminder that blight and starvation was an inescapable certainty. Soon, there’d be nothing. The agonizing craving twisted and pulled at his guts as he lay curled into himself, praying to the gods that it would tear out of his body and leave him to rot. He trembled and grunted, his blood feverish, skin cold.

“You’re not well. We should seek out a healer.” Across the fire from him, Dravien sat with one knee propped up, studying him with a look of pity, as if he were a wounded rat in a cage.

In the thick of his misery, Kazhimyr chuckled, a pained sound rising in his throat. “A healer, you say. And where might we find this healer?”

“You were bitten.” It wasn’t a question, though his voice held uncertainty.

Not bothering to deny it, Kazhimyr let the silence drag between them, hesitating to confess the truth. He’d be admitting to far too many atrocities. After all, he was the reason the plague had crossed over. The reason so many would become infected and starve, including Dravien. At the same time, he longed to shed the unbearable guilt. To say the words aloud and let the gods carry forth their punishment. “Do you remember you told me dreams come true after a Syrenian bite?”