Anathema (The Eating Woods, #1)

by Keri Lake

Sablefyre. An ancient element of the gods, forged eons ago in Aethyria’s fiery heart. A single touch could turn a body to ash, and blood to stone.

as rays of moonlight hit the sigil on the nape of her neck, penetrating the thick fabric of her cloak and eliciting a charge that hummed in her veins. It innervated every cell in her body, rousing a cold rush to her fingertips, where it begged to be turned loose. The moon affected all Lunasier that way, and Zevander shifted in her arms, as if sensing the vibration beneath his mother’s skin.

He reached for Zevander, running his finger over the marking on his chest, a curious black swirl that’d seemed to anger Cadavros. On closer examination, there seemed to be words written in ancient Primyrian embedded in the swirl in a way that reminded Lady Rydainn of a wax seal across his heart. Branimir’s lips twisted to a snarl as he whispered the words that stabbed her conscience. “Il captris nith reviris.” What is taken will never return.

I was no more than a few days old when I’d been found abandoned before that cursed arch in a wicker basket, a single black rose upon my chest. No one knew who’d left me there, but every villager speculated that, whoever they were, they must have hoped the woods would eat me, as well.

I’d learned at too early an age that the sound of a girl’s scream drew nothing more than apathy.

was said that, on the day I’d been found near these woods, ravens had flocked around my basket. I liked to think they were guarding me, but some thought it a sign.

Without it, power was useless, an atrophic muscle inside the body that could do nothing but wither over time. The unauthorized mining of it was a crime punishable by execution, so those who couldn’t afford it eventually lost their magic, while wealthy hoarded the precious mineral.

“Are you a high mage?” Zevander snorted at that. “Worse.” Realization seemed to dawn on the man’s face, as his brows pinched together. “You’re a Letalisz.” An assassin for the crown.

“I’ve done nothing wrong. Why me?” “Because you breathe.”

It was sickening that it took a suitor to spare my reputation, my future. How tragic that a woman’s worth equated to the depth of a man’s pockets.

At the end of Hagsmist Forest, just before the land fell into the sea, stood The Umbravale–the imperceptible ward that’d been weaved by the great mages centuries ago. The only portal into the mortal world, guarded by the king’s calvary.

“In order to break your curse, I require the full complement of stones. All seven bloodlines.”

also know that the delicate black rose doesn’t grow well in these parts. Our winters are far too cold for its fragile roots.” I puzzled her words and their meaning. Everyone knew I’d been found with a black rose, but maybe she knew something more. Something they didn’t. “Where do they grow?” “Where the gods see fit to plant them.”

This girl is the anathema, a witch, and deserves banishment to The Eating Woods!”

The righteous are born to suffer in this life so they may be exulted in the next.”

Consuming blood was like playing with the devil’s flame. A reckless indulgence that led to madness, as blood could be a very powerful aphrodisiac.

Something about the girl stoked the fire in his veins, and were he not there to sear her blood to stone, he might’ve taken an interest in what she hid beneath that loose gown.

“You may have repulsive eating habits, but I’ll admit, you’re terrifyingly cute,” I spoke on the cusp of a whisper. “Adorrifying. And chaotic. I think I’ll name you Raivox.”

“Your blood is their blood now.” “Whose blood?” Nothing she said was making sense. “The dead, Girl.” Huffing, she swapped the cracked corn for a bucket of water and filled a trough. “Blood given for blood taken. Can’t be undone now.” Blood taken. It was then I knew she’d seen me kill and bury the raven. “Your ties with the dead were eternal the moment you pricked yourself on the bone and sealed it with the blood.”

“You walk between realms of the dead and living.

Was she veniszka? He’d heard of the mortal witches, well-versed in alchemy and spellcasting, whose magic wasn’t bloodborne, but potent just the same.

Where Zevander could heat blood to stone, Kazhimyr held the power to freeze it into ice crystals that essentially lysed the veins of his victims.

Of the four Letalisz, Torryn’s power was one of the most self-destructive, in that he possessed the ability to extract another’s vivicantem, drawing it into himself, which rendered his opponents powerless. The king often liked to assign him to cases where interrogation preceded execution.

grand entry hall, where a stone raven stood in the center, its wings broken and chipped with age. Tapestries, tattered and torn, dangled haphazardly over the water-stained, stone walls, and the portraits of royal lineage hung cocked and faded, punctured with violent destruction. What was undoubtedly a once-grand foyer stood in decay, its remnants scavenged and destroyed. “Whatever happened here … it must’ve been horrible. It’s as if they left everything and fled.”

“What is this Corvugon you mentioned?” “They were messengers of the dead, believed to have been the beloved pets of the Death Goddess. Sizeable raptors with teeth and claws designed for tearing flesh. Centuries ago, they evoked as much fear as the dragon.”

“Prior to the Carnificans taking control of it, there existed an entire race. The Corvikae.” The name didn’t strike a familiar chord, at all. Nothing he’d ever read in the history of Nyxteros had spoken of them. “They were mortals who once occupied this land,” Dolion prattled on. “Lived in this castle.”

“The silver markings on that stone are unique to the Corvikae, who were known to worship the Goddess of Death. The very ichor that ran through her veins, ran through the veins of the Corvi people.” “And?” “If my vision is correct, the mortal I sent you after may be the first, or the last, of the Corvikae bloodline. She may carry the blood of the death goddess.

“Your curse, though a burden today, may prove useful tomorrow. It is an unrivaled power you possess.”

Let your sister be a lesson. Wild and unruly women have no place in this world. You’re meant to be tamed, or put down, if necessary.”

As he tugged at my shoulders, I watched the last of Moros disappear inside the beast’s mouth.

RIP TO THE BAD MAN

Until, at last, by some twisted evil, it had taken the appearance of Moros.

sorrrrry what

“She crossed? The mortal?” “Yes. How is this possible? It was my understanding the Umbravale was designed to keep mortals out.” “Yes. However, this proves she is a descendant of the seven bloodlines. Only they would be permitted to cross so easily.

If she should perish, we lose not just a bloodline but an entire ethnicity.” “I did not ask to take on a ward.” “Then you will be complicit in mortalicide.”

The smoke weaved itself together in the air, then fell into the crucible, somehow dragging the bits of metal around the surface, until it formed a shape that looked like a glyph. A sharp hook symbol, like a scythe, the blade of it serving as the bony upper ridge of what appeared to be a bird’s eye. “The death glyph.

“You,” I whispered. “You …. I’ve seen you. You were in my room.”

“You possess incredible power, Maevyth. This one, in particular, has not been seen in centuries.”

“My blood? As a bat consumes blood.” It wasn’t a question on my part, it was a refusal to accept his explanation. “No. To rebirth an ancient weapon.”

“Because I’m very invested in watching you live a long and prosperous life, Maevyth. If you believe nothing else, believe that.” “I don’t even know you, nor do you know me.” “I know more than you think.”

Zevander Rydainn. The Scorpion of Nyxteros. Lord of Eidolon.

“Is it the golden basilisk that supplies your wits?”

My whole body remained on guard as I watched him step inside, his massive size devouring the small space. I imagined my height, though not entirely petite, would’ve brought me to about his mid-chest.

“Beg all you like.” He let out a sardonic chuckle. “I’d quite like to see you on your knees.”

“I find it interesting that any time a girl is unusual, or dare I say, unique, she’s deemed evil, or cursed.”

He jerked his head for me to follow after him, and as we exited his room for the corridor, I tried not to study the way his broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist and muscled backside that moved in perfect cadence as he walked.

moooooood

“Perhaps you should walk alongside me, unless you insist on staring at my ass the whole way.”

Something about him brought out a side of me I mostly kept subdued, for fear of the consequences. I’d always had a sharp tongue, but men, in particular, had always found a way of silencing it, either by a slap to the face, or flogging. As imposing and threatening as Zevander was, I didn’t feel the same fear in his presence. If anything, I felt emboldened. While he was doubtlessly capable of it, he didn’t strike me as a man who enjoyed unnecessary violence.

“My point is, I will never fall to my knees for you, or any man, in case that was your expectation.” “Never said it was.” He gave a quick glance over his shoulder. “I simply said I’d like to see it.” “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint.”

The priestess gave me the last rose of Morsana. The gift of the goddess herself.” She sailed a smile at me. “They only bloom in Nethyria. The priestess told me to flee to the mortal lands. That she had seen a vision of a child who would one day avenge our people and lead a new generation of Corvikae.”

“Pestilios, the God of Disease and Famine. Uncle to the goddess, Morsana.”

I glanced away only a moment, before my eyes were once again drawn to his body. Stretched from one shoulder to the other was an enormous, inked scorpion that failed to cover the multitude of scars carved into his back, as well. As he moved, his muscles flexed, and my fingers tingled with the urge to touch his skin.