Eldritch, p.4
Eldritch, page 4
“You’re taking on too many worries at once. Sleep, or I’ll be forced to cast a spell over you again.”
I stilled at his comment. “You cast a sleeping spell over me before?”
“The night I dragged you out of Bonesguard and you wouldn’t stop with your incessant questions.”
A vague recollection of feeling overwhelmingly cozy while straddling his horse came to mind. Of course, I couldn’t summon a single event after that. Not until the next morning. “Is it possible then that Elowen may have cast a spell on Aleysia?”
“I’ve never known a spell to last for days, but I suppose, yes.”
“Is there no way to break it?”
“Spells break themselves at some point. They’re a weaker form of magic, mostly used by spindlings. Perhaps mortals, as well.” He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture a minor distraction to the thoughts he’d stoked.
“But Elowen changed the color of my eyes. That lasted most of my life, up until she passed,” I said, forcing myself to ignore the gentle toying of my hair.
“That was blood-binding, I’m sure. I doubt she’d have resorted to that for a slumbering spell.”
“Why?”
“Too much risk, binding your blood to someone. Besides, it seems her death would’ve broken it. Unless …”
“Unless?”
He sighed and rolled onto his back, tucking an arm beneath his head. “Wasn’t her blood.”
His change in position allowed a clear view of Aleysia’s room, and the darkness of it sent another shiver through me. “And if it wasn’t, then Aleysia remains in slumber until we find out who, or what, she’s bound to.”
“Essentially, yes.”
“Would it require killing the other to break it?”
He shrugged. “Not necessarily. So long as it could speak the spell that would break her slumber. But this is all hypothetical at this point. If a blood-binding was used, searching for whatever she’s bound to would be like looking for a particular single leaf in the woods. Could be anyone, or anything. We don’t even know if she’s under a spell. She could simply be comatose, given how cold it was.”
“So, you are aware of what happens when mortals get cold.” I propped myself on my elbow and sighed, catching the smirk on his lips. “Then, we’ve no choice but to wait.”
As if he couldn’t resist, he turned toward me and ran his hand over the dip above my hip, fingers curled in a proprietary squeeze that slid me closer to him.
I pressed my cheek to his chest, but something felt different from the night before. In spite of my heart’s anguished scream, the unbearable yearning for him that clawed at my ribs, my head had already begun to distance itself. I squeezed my eyes shut and held him tighter, desperate to stay in this moment. To keep my mind from slipping into hopeless thoughts of the future.
It's going to be okay. Everything will work out in the end. It always does.
“Are you alright?” Zevander’s question broke my thoughts. “Your nails are on a mission to pierce through my ribs.” Amusement colored his voice and I loosened my grip.
“I should be thrilled that I found her, but everything feels so heavy right now.”
“The world doesn’t always play fair. It may give something back, but it’ll take from you in exchange.”
“I feel like it’s taken far more than it has given.” Jaw hardened, I shook my head. “I won’t let it take from me again. I want to resume our trainings. However long we’re here. I need to learn to defend myself and my sister against those things.”
“Yes, you should. But you sound as if you’re making plans to face them alone.” He ran his thumb across my cheek, eyes burning with a steely resolve. “I’m not leaving you.” Curling his fingers around the nape of my neck, he pressed a kiss to my forehead. “We can begin training in the morning, if you’re up to it.”
I nodded, tracing the ridges of his chest, and when my fingertip caught on a protrusion, I frowned, leaning forward for a better look. A strange symbol looked to have been seared into his skin that, on closer examination, held even smaller symbols that reminded me of endless tiny glyphs.
I hadn’t noticed it before. Likely because it wasn’t entirely obvious, the way it blended into his scarred skin. “What is this?” I asked, gently running a finger over it. A strange heat burned beneath my fingertip.
“A scar, courtesy of sablefyre.”
“It burned you?”
“It marked me. What you’re prodding is said to be the root of my curse,” he said, and when I retracted my hand, he captured it and chuckled. “So many times, I’ve tried to cut it out of my flesh.”
I palpated the jagged scars on the outside of it, ones that must’ve been carved with a knife. “This is what binds you to the flame?”
He brushed his palm over my knuckles, then raised my hand and kissed my fingertips, before flattening them to his chest again. “According to my father, Cadavros threw me into a vein when I was only an infant. He believed the marking was the only reason I survived it. Most can’t even get within a couple of meters of the flame without dissolving.”
The horror of what he’d just said washed over me, snaking itself beneath my skin. “And he threw you into a vein, as an infant? Why would he do that to a baby?”
“Seemed he was angry about this marking.”
“Who retrieved you?”
“Cadavros.”
“You said most dissolve with the flame. Are there some, besides you, who can withstand it?” It brought to mind when I’d been taken by the mage with the ring, the one who’d wanted to sacrifice me. He’d held the fire in his hand, before shoving it down my throat.
“Yes. There are a few skilled mages who can manipulate it, but even they have their limits. As I understand, Cadavros suffered a burn just before yanking me out from those flames. My mother believed the gods punished him for the ritual.” The hint of amusement in his tone suggested Zevander didn’t believe it.
“You think otherwise.”
“The gods don’t give a damn about us. They find amusement in our suffering. Joy in our pain.” He flattened his palm against mine and curled his fingers over my knuckles, kissing them again. “They’d sooner watch an infant burn in flames than make any attempt to spare it.”
“Why else would he have pulled you out of the vein?”
“I believe he had other intentions. He wants me to join him somehow.”
“That makes no sense. Why would he attempt to kill you as a baby if he wanted you to join him?”
Zevander shrugged. “My father once said Cadavros tried to consume me.”
His comment drew memories of the creature consuming Moros and taking his form.
“Would he acquire your power by having consumed you?” The words stuck in my throat like an oily mucous I didn’t want to swallow. The very thought of him consuming a baby left a haunting stain on my thoughts.
“I would imagine so. I possess the most ancient and dangerous element in the world.” He skimmed the back of his fingers over my shoulders and kissed the curve of my bone. “It makes sense why he’d seek to recruit me to his cause.”
“And what is his cause, exactly?”
“As the prophesied Black Pestilence spreads, his power grows. I’ve never known a mage, aside from Dolion, who didn’t long to be the most powerful, most revered.”
“And he wants you to help him acquire more power,” I said, the conversation failing to distract me from his soft caresses and calm voice that I so desperately wanted to lose myself in. Instead, his words pulled me backward again, reminding me of the worry I’d pushed to the back of my mind. “You’re not building a solid argument for staying in Mortasia.”
Zevander chuckled at that. “We’ve already established that I’m not leaving you here alone.”
“We have.” And still, my overthinking head resisted. “Can he be killed?”
“He shares a blood bond with Prince Dorjan. An amulet ties the two together. Should he die, Dorjan would also die, and a plague would be unleashed in Aethyria.”
“Like here.”
“Yes, but far worse.”
“How could it possibly be worse?”
“Imagine those creatures had blood magic to fight back.”
The very thought sent a tremble through my muscles. In Mortasia, they behaved like nothing more than overgrown spiders, and while quickly elusive, they could be killed. “We wouldn’t stand a chance.” I didn’t notice I was gnawing my own fingers until Zevander gently pulled them from my mouth. “And hypothetically, what would it mean if you were to join him?”
He tipped my head back with a palm to my crown. “I’d sooner take a blade to my own throat,” he said against the curve of my neck and left a kiss there.
Eyes shuttered, I exhaled through my nose, my body weak with a longing for more, but I remained still, forcing myself to seem unaffected by it. Not because I wanted to reject him. On the contrary, I needed his affection now more than ever. Craved him in a way that felt necessary and indulgent—like the times when Agatha, my wretched step-grandmother was feeling particularly cruel, and Aleysia and I would sneak away to grandfather’s cellar, losing ourselves in the merriment of wine and laughter.
A temporary bliss.
As much as his touch held the power to pull me out of my head, it didn’t change the landscape of our dilemma. We still faced an equation with no solution where Aleysia was concerned.
I felt him smile against my skin.
“You’re trying to ignore me, but I can feel your pulse hastening across my lips.”
Clearing my throat, I lowered my chin. “I know you wouldn’t willingly join Cadavros,” I said, changing the subject. “I’m only curious what the implications would be, if you did, somehow.”
Clearly sensing my resistance, he rolled onto his back again. “At a minimum? Total destruction. As I said, the black flame is an ancient power. It was designed to cleanse. To burn away and begin anew. At least that’s what the annals teach us.”
“And at its worst?”
Brows lowering, he stared off toward the window. “I don’t know. I’ve not explored the full expanse of my magic. It is a door I’ve always kept closed.”
“You fear its power?”
“Any sane man would. It is the most destructive element there is. And unfortunately, I don’t believe Cadavros fears it as much as he should.”
“Which may leave you in the position of leaving, after all. If he’s willing to possess that power at any cost, it would be dangerous for you to stay.” Fresh panic burrowed into my chest as the consequences of such a thing rooted themselves in my head.
He turned toward me, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “In the event it was not clear the first time I said it, allow me to reiterate. I’m not leaving you here alone. End of story.”
If he only knew the relief I felt each time he assured me. How badly I wanted to crawl into his arms and stay there.
But how could I ask him to stay for me, if doing so placed two worlds at risk?
I couldn’t. I wouldn’t do that to him.
“You are the most stubborn man I know.”
“Coming from the most stubborn woman I know, I’d say we’re a fine match.” He slanted his head toward my lips, and I pressed my palm against his chest.
“I don’t think we should…” My body ached with the effort it took to push him away. How badly I wanted to drown in his kiss.
He glanced back toward the bedroom where Aleysia slept and back. “Has she never been intimate with a man around you? While you were sleeping?” he asked, assuming that was my concern right then. Of course he’d presume such a thing. He was the one determined to stay, no matter what.
In his mind, there was no conflict. He’d made his stance clear.
“Even if she had, I’d say the circumstances are quite different.” I lowered my gaze to his chest, picking at a loose string on his tunic. “But that’s not what troubles me. We don’t know what’s going to happen yet and I think we should wait. At least until she wakes. If she wakes.” It was futile arguing with him on the matter, but one, or both of us, would undoubtedly have a hard decision to make. Whether it was him having no choice but to return—regardless of his insistence on staying—or me having to decide what to do if Aleysia wouldn’t wake.
“Clearly, you have no idea how irresistible you are if you imagine I can lie next to you even one night without the longing to touch you.” He rolled onto his back and tucked his bent arm beneath his head again. “How can I convince you that the only thing that could possibly force me away from you is death? And even then, I’d find a way to get back to you.”
“I don’t need you to convince me of that. The fact that you’re here speaks to the kind of man you are. But we can’t control fate. And my heart will not allow me to watch you die to protect me, so perhaps I will be the one forced to make the difficult decision. For now, I’m only asking that we pause a moment. Gain some clarity.”
His lips pulled into a solemn smile. “I can’t decide if I’m more impressed by your beauty or your logic.” The smile faded as he turned to look at me, and gods, if he only knew that behind the “logic,” as he’d called it, behind the resignation, was a girl who longed to get swept away in the safety of his embrace. Who longed to savor the sweetness of her first experiences with him, without all the chaos and confusion. “It isn’t staying to protect you that’s going to kill me. It’s staying away from you.”
My heart gnawed at my chest. “It’s temporary, I promise.” I gave a quick glance toward Aleysia’s room. “Besides, are you not put off by an audience?”
His brow flickered, his gaze snapping from mine. A shadow of unease darkened his eyes, and it was in that moment that a very grim suspicion twisted my stomach with remorse. As I recalled the scars—the marks of abuse he’d suffered—I couldn’t think of a single reason a man as apathetic and cold as Zevander would’ve reacted otherwise. Part of me wanted to be so bold and cruel as to ask him outright. Instead, I swallowed back the question that lingered like chalk on my tongue. “I’m sorry—”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry about. You’re right. It was wrong of me to suggest touching you that way.”
Wrong?
In one split second, his whole demeanor had changed. He pushed up from the floor, but I reached out to grab his arm.
“It wasn’t wrong of you to suggest anything. Please don’t get up. Lie with me.”
His brows creased, as if he was torn, but instead, he twisted away from me, stoking the flame again.
My words had troubled him. Perhaps triggered a memory of his past. Rather than press him and risk saying something ignorant, I changed the subject. “I’m just going to wash up a bit. I’ve not yet had the chance since earlier.”
He winced and set the heel of his palm to his temple, his eyes screwed tight. Hostility burned in them when they reopened. “What did you say just now?”
Confused, I thought back to what I’d said. “I just said I haven’t had the chance to wash.”
“After that.” He shoved the iron back into the rack beside the hearth.
“Nothing. What did you hear?” I glanced down to see his hand trembling at his side as he flexed his fingers, tightening them to a fist and opening them again. Over and over, tightening and opening.
“It no longer matters.”
I kept my eyes on his fist. “But you’re clearly upset at something you believe I said. What was it?”
Perhaps sensing my staring, he ran a hand over his jaw, the malice in his eyes never waning.
“Please tell me.”
His jaw ticced, and he looked away, lips twisted in disgust. “Sordesz vet signe da’servio,” he said through clenched teeth. “Filth is the mark of the slave.”
I frowned at the words. “And you believe I said this?” When he didn’t answer, I kept on, “Shouldn’t I be the one to find insult in those words, seeing as I’m the one who’s filthy?”
His angry gaze dipped to my stomach and back.
For the second time that evening, I paused, realization dawning on me. I placed my hand against my stomach, where, beneath the shirt, his release from when we had last been together had dried onto my skin. “You believe I’m calling you filthy? Because of what you—”
He strode toward the window. “I’ll keep watch while you wash.”
I couldn’t stand the thought of him believing I’d spoken those words to him, though. I refused to let them linger between us. I stepped toward him, a bitter heat warming my cheeks. “Could you fathom such cruel words passing my lips?”
Conflict burned in his eyes, his brows pulled tight.
“Someone else spoke those words to you once, though.”
He didn’t bother to look at me. “I’m finished with this conversation. Carry on with your washing.”
“No. I will not. Not while my character is in question.”
Without a word, he twisted away from me.
“Zevander!”
“Enough!” He winced, clearly regretting having raised his voice but the tension in his neck and jaw remained rigid as before. “I imagined it.”
“And still, you can’t even bring yourself to look at me, which means you still question whether or not I said it.”
Silence.
I stepped closer, hands fidgeting. “Zevander, what happened between us was the most rapturous experience of my life.”
“I sullied you the moment I touched you.” He stared down at his palms. “The filthy hands of chattel,” he muttered so quietly, I almost didn’t hear it.
Chattel?
I stood dumbfounded by his words, so erratically different from his usual confident and even slightly arrogant tone. As if I were speaking to someone else entirely. “You didn’t sully me. And if that is what you are so determined to believe, then know that I quite enjoyed it. I would happily allow you to sully me again, were it not so awkwardly timed.” I stepped closer. “I’ve no idea what’s stirring in your head right now, but please do not imagine that I harbor any regret for earlier. I may lack experience, but I don’t lack the capacity to choose for myself. And I don’t appreciate the implication that I am some helpless damsel so easily lured by the wolf.”
