Page 115 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

ZEVANDER

Present …

Z evander stared at the flickering shadow of fire dancing over the lifeless, gray walls of the vault.

Someone must’ve set him free. It was the only reasonable explanation for Theron getting loose.

“Come now,” a familiar voice said from behind, and Zevander turned to see Cadavros standing in the doorway, his eyes glowing like that of an animal’s, despite him taking Alastor’s form. “Why hide from the truth?”

“What truth?” No sooner had Zevander asked than a vision trickled into his thoughts.

A heavy stone box. Enchantments etched into the ancient, black rock. His fingers sweeping over the symbols.

Mor samanet. Words Theron had once said to him.

Death awaits.

‘What is it?” Zevander asked Dolion beside him, not daring to attempt the puzzle lock.

“A griefcoffer. A cursed gift of grief and guilt. Whatever is inside will make for a painful discovery. That much I know,” Dolion said.

King Sagaerin stepped forward, brows lowered. “You do not need to open this.”

Zevander screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. “No.” He turned and strode for the door but stopped short when that same black box from his memories appeared on the floor, blocking his path.

“Open it,” Cadavros urged.

Zevander stared down at it, slowly shaking his head.

The scorpion on his back stirred across his spine and tore away from his skin before stepping out onto the floor.

“I’ve seen the darkness inside your mind, Assassin .

The shadows that plague your every thought.

The ever-present hell you fear to descend.

” As the mage knelt before the box, reaching to open it, Zevander’s muscles tensed.

“Your king was wrong. The only way to relieve yourself of this misery, is to face it.”

“Don’t,” Zevander warned, but as Cadavros set his hands on the lid of it, Zevander’s eyes shuttered to more memories flickering through his mind in rapid succession.

A click of the lock. Opening the lid with trembling hands.

Theron’s severed head. Terror burning in his one milky-white eye.

Long fibers of torn flesh dangling at his neck, indicating it’d been ripped away.

The serrated marks of teeth confirming Zevander’s fears—General Loyce had fed him to her pets.

More wounds. Unnatural wounds. Patches of missing skin.

The missing eyeball. An ear that looked to have been torn away, not by sharp teeth, but careless shredding of strong hands.

The deformation of his nose where skin and cartilage looked as if it’d been melted away.

He suffered.

Gods, he must’ve suffered.

Zevander opened his eyes just as Cadavros pulled back the lid and spiders, hundreds of them, spilled out of the box, encircling him, as Zevander backed himself deeper into the vault.

Zevander summoned his flame, casting a protective halo around him.

The spiders hissed and reared up but didn’t dare to cross through it.

“She tortured him for days after you were set free. Not with the intent of keeping him, as she had with you, but to destroy a small part of him every single day. Starved. Mutilated. Violated in ways even the gods would fear to say aloud.”

Zevander shook his head. “How would you know this?”

“From your thoughts. Someone told you. You’ve chosen to forget.”

“I warned him. I begged him to remain silent.”

“And still, he spoke. For you.” Cadavros rose to his feet, his shadow stretching over Zevander like a dark stormcloud.

“I never asked that of him. I offered to give up my freedom for someone I hardly knew,” Zevander growled. “A man who stabbed me in the back!”

“A man who, in spite of his flaws, you viewed as a brother. One you knew longer than your own brother, or father, for that matter.”

A sharp, agonizing pain pierced Zevander’s back and he collapsed to his knees.

Searing heat shot through his veins like wildfire and Zevander clenched his teeth as it sank like blades into his muscles.

He turned to see the massive scorpion rearing up for another strike and before Zevander could dodge it, the stinger struck his ribs, his arm, his back.

He let out a bellow of pain as it stabbed him repeatedly.

“Did you know that a scorpion is immune to his own venom?” Cadavros stood inside the circle of flames, his bare feet slipping past Zevander as he paced beside him.

“Yet, when girt by fire, they sting themselves. Over and over. A desperate longing for death when there’s no means of escape from their suffering. ”

Zevander’s arms trembled as he fought to hold himself up while the metallic stinger punched into his flesh once again. He collapsed onto the floor, his body twitching, curling into itself. “He was real. I saw him. He fucking stabbed me!”

“You stabbed yourself.” The moment he spoke the words, a memory split through Zevander’s mind like a festering wound.

He winced at the image of him standing alone in the middle of Foxglove’s village, icy rain pouring down on him as he ran his own blade across his abdomen.

How he’d sliced his own arm while walking through the broken window of the empty chandlery.

His lip twisted in disgust, the stones of the floor beneath him blurring as he stared off, lost in the memory.

“The guilt you’ve carried all these years, the hell that lives inside your mind, has grown like rot inside of you.

Vaelora, poor Vaelora.” Cadavros’s voice was a distant sound beneath the thud of blood pulsing in Zevander’s ears.

“The father you couldn’t save. The mother and siblings you couldn’t protect.

And Theron. She killed him when he spoke for you , when he willingly chose torture to ensure your freedom, and your mind cannot forgive you for it.

The absence of vivicantem brought it to life with such scathing clarity that you can’t even face it.

” Cadavros knelt beside him, a look of pity in his eyes as he stared down at him.

“And at your weakest, your own venom has destroyed you. Corroded your insides.” The scorpion drew back for another strike and Cadavros threw out his hand, blocking the attack.

The tip of the stinger met his palm but failed to penetrate it.

Cadavros lifted his nose in the air and sniffed.

He held out his other hand and the vivicantem that Zevander had stuffed into his pocket shot out into the mage’s palm.

Cadavros smiled as he held it up in front of him.

“It is time to embrace those flames. To remember the pain you suffered while two kings watched in apathy. An assassin does not feel empathy or guilt. He neither mourns nor loves. This self-destruction ends now. We have a ward to destroy.”