The Azimar Archives Book One- The Book of Death

Nevina

"Wake up, Nevina."

Areanath's voice called out to her, piercing the heavy veil of sleep. But his voice was wrong, too coarse and deep.

And Areanath is dead.

Nevina's eyes snapped open, her heart rate already pounding. On instinct, she lifted one hand to cast a shielding spell, but before the spell could be activated, pain lanced through her wrists and halted her.

"Ah, I supposed I shouldn't have startled you. Would you like some ale to calm your nerves?"

It was Mothlenor's voice she heard, and she could see him through a haze of thin smoke surrounding them.

Not smoke. Steam.

Nevina blinked away her confusion, taking in her surroundings. She was in a bathhouse, up to her neck in deliciously warm water. Mothlenor sat across from her, on the lip of the great tub, bare legs dangling in water up to his knees.

And I'm naked.

She wrapped her arms around her chest and curled her legs together.

"What do you want?" Nevina snapped.

"Only to talk, Nevina." She could feel his eyes on her as her own gaze roved around the room. "I must say, it's nice to finally see your face. Would you like some ale?" Mothlenor motioned to a spot next to her, and Nevina turned to see a small tray with a glass of amber liquid. The glass was filmed in a light layer of frost. Nevina was sure the tray hadn't been there a moment ago.

"I'm not the kind of woman that drinks ale, Mothlenor." Nevina spat. "How did I get here? Where are my clothes?"

Mothlenor tsked, shaking a finger at her. His robe fell open slightly as he leaned towards her, and she could make out a hardened chest covered in greying hair. "Be kind, now. We're here to have a nice discussion." He leaned away again, seeming to survey her. "What do you prefer to drink, Nevina?"

Nevina answered without hesitation. "Vyrisian wine." The words came to her without thinking, but they sounded right. She smirked at the look of distaste on Mothlenor's face.

Mothlenor once again gestured to the tray, where the ale had been replaced with a crystal glass of red wine. Clearly not Vyrisian, but Mothlenor would never allow himself to enjoy anything elf-made. Nevina took the glass in hand, sniffing delicately at it.

"No potions or concoctions this time, you have my word, Nevina," Mothlenor said solemnly.

"Your word is worthless to me." She took a small sip of the wine. "And stop saying my name. It sounds foul, coming from your mouth."

Mothlenor frowned, but said nothing.

Nevina surveyed the bathhouse once more. "This is an impressive illusion, Mothlenor. But just an illusion. Why did you bring me here? And how?" And where are my damned clothes? But that last one was pointless. The room was completely empty, save for the two of them.

"I used magic, of course." Mothlenor smiled, teeth glinting. Nevina hated the way it looked so much like Areanath's smile. "I wanted to discuss my brother with you."

Nevina snorted into her glass, which seemed to be refilling itself even as she drank. "What is there to discuss, Mothlenor? You killed him, and you'll have my Coven and I hang for it."

"I don't plan on hanging you. Not unless I need to." His voice had grown colder, threatening.

"Do it anyway." Nevina sneered. "If you don't, I'll kill you." Her anger and hatred were returning, writhing hot in her stomach. She downed another gulp of wine, her hand shaking around the glass.