Page 20 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

“Zevander, it’s me. Maevyth.” I held my voice far steadier than I’d have thought possible, considering the tremble in my throat.

His brows lowered, the dark pupils shrinking as his gaze seemed to sharpen.

He winced and stared at the axe in his hand.

Snarling, he tossed it away and dove forward, grabbing my arms and pulling me toward him.

“Gods be damned.” He wrapped his arms around me, his skin warm in spite of the cold, but his muscles shook around me.

Palms gripping my shoulders, he backed away, keeping himself at arm’s length as his eyes frantically scanned over me.

“Did I hurt you? I didn’t hurt you, did I? ”

“No. I’m fine.” Aside from the cold that lingered in my chest.

“Thank gods.” His muscles sagged with relief, and he released me, running his hand down his face before he braced it on his hip.

“What are you doing out here?”

“I was chopping wood. I thought I heard something.” He turned back toward the forest, brows furrowed. “Standing at the forest’s entrance is the last thing I remember.”

The muscles in my face tensed under the effort to school the worry creeping over me. “You kept saying te’igniret abysira . What does it mean?”

The already disturbed look in his eyes darkened. “It’s Primyrian. It means burn it down. ”

I glanced at the archway. “Burn the barrier down? Is that possible?”

“Apparently not. Good thing, too.” He stared off, eyes unfocused. “Strange, I don’t even recall what I was doing a moment ago.” Another minute of staring, and his gaze swung back to me, eyes appraising me where I stood wrapped in the blanket. “What are you doing out here?”

“Besides noticing that you’re absent of clothes, I was elated to inform you that there’s been progress with Aleysia.”

“Did she wake?”

“No. But I think I heard her speak my name.” Which sounded far less impressive when spoken aloud, confirmed when he lowered his brows.

“You think . You’re not sure?”

“It happened very quickly. It sounded like she said my name…but then she remained still afterward. So, I began to question it.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as if he still carried the tension from earlier. “It’s possible the spell is fading.”

“Yes.” The look on my face must’ve reflected the conflict still burning through my mind.

“That’s good. Progress.”

“It is.”

He tilted his head, capturing my attention. “So, which of us has you looking troubled? Me, or her?”

“Both, to some degree, but …” Again, I found myself hesitating to say, based on the possibility that he might dismiss me, or accuse me of having lost my senses. “Something is… compelling me .”

“In what way?”

“Remember the voice I told you about. Morsana’s?” When he nodded, I kept on. “I remember what you said about the will of the wielder, and it makes sense. But I nearly killed her, Zevander. I nearly turned her to dust, just like Elowen.”

“I told you before. Your magic is tied to darkness. But it’s still your will.”

It was the fear of that which pressed against my ribs. “What if my will is to kill her?”

“I wouldn’t be questioning you in that case, but your sister. What about her is pulling at your instincts?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I won’t know until she wakes. But I noticed something today.” I gestured to an approximate location on my own body. “A strange mass on her flank, surrounded by veins that were black, like yours, but worse. That’s a symptom of your curse, isn’t it?”

“As far as I know, yes.”

“Is it possible she could be cursed, as well?”

“Mine was said to be a curse of sablefyre. A mortal would never withstand such a thing.”

A quiet sigh escaped me, and I couldn’t tell if I was relieved, or disappointed. “Then, perhaps it’s not the same. I just found it strange, how similar it looks. Which reminds me, is yours getting worse?”

Brows furrowed, he placed his hand over his scar, as if self-conscious of it. “It’s spreading. Happens when I’m deprived of vivicantem.”

“So, that’s a physical indicator of your deprivation?”

“I suppose it is.” He held out his hand. “May I have my cloak? It’s rather cold.”

“Of course.” I stepped forward, passing off both the shirt and cloak, and gave a gentle tug of the hand still covering his scar, lowering it from his face. “You are no less handsome.”

His lips twitched. “This scar has done a fine job of repelling.”

“It isn’t the scar, Zevander. It’s the way you carry it, like anyone who looks might turn to stone.”

“It’s a visible weakness.”

“It isn’t though. It’s a mark of your survival. Resiliency.” I flattened my palm against his chest, feeling his muscle flinch. “The baby who was thrown into sablefyre and lived to become a fierce assassin for the king.”

His gaze dipped to my lips, and I didn’t have to read his thoughts to know what he wanted.

I rose up to my toes and kissed him on his scar, then his lips. When I pulled away, his smoldering gaze stirred an unbearable ache in my chest. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, why was my whistle in your pocket?”

That rapacious gleam in his eyes simmered a moment longer. “It was in the castle’s undercroft when I searched for you.” He yanked the tunic over his head, relieving me of his bare chest. “Lying beside Akmyrios. I remembered you wearing it at The Becoming Ceremony.”

“It looks to be melted. I suspect it’s useless at this point.”

He flicked his fingers, and when I dropped it into his palm, he frowned down at it—just before a roar of black flame shot up from his palm. He clenched his hand to a tight fist, shaking it away. “Fucking hells!”

“What happened?”

“I didn’t summon the sablefyre. I don’t know what just happened.” When he opened his palm, what was left of the whistle had formed into a perfectly spherical silver ball in his hand. “What in the gods,” he muttered.

“What is it?”

“A bloodstone.” The edge of intrigue in his voice stirred my own, as he held it up and studied the small sphere. “Sablefyre doesn’t turn metal into stones that way. It melts it down. What was the purpose of this whistle?”

“It called upon my…bird.”

“A bird whistle.”

“I suspect it doesn’t call upon anything now.”

“Apologies.” He handed it back to me

The surface was still hot to the touch when I tucked it away in my trousers. “Are you saying this was made of blood? Silver blood?”

“I’ve never turned anything else into stone that way.” He jerked his head. “Let’s get back,” he said, swiping up the axe he’d tossed aside.

As we started toward the cabin, a vision of him standing over me with that axe slipped across my thoughts. “You’re still with me, right?”

“How do you mean?”

“When you held the axe…your eyes appeared black. I was certain it was not you staring back at me.” A quick glance showed his brows tight, the shame clear on his face. “Perhaps we should devise a way to be sure.”

“What do you suggest?”

“A phrase, or hand gesture, maybe? I often linked my finger in Aleysia’s when I felt frightened.”

“Are you frightened of me?”

Our surroundings certainly didn’t bother to stave off the chill winding through me, as we tracked our steps back, our boots crunching over the decayed vegetation and bones that littered the forest floor.

“I’m frightened when you’re not with me.

That’s why I need to know you’ve not slipped too deeply into your thoughts. ”

He groaned and gave one hard kick of his boot that sent what looked to be a human skull hurtling toward a tree trunk ahead of us. It shattered the bone on impact, the noise breaking through the otherwise quiet. “It would help to know where to find the vein that Anatolis mentioned.”

“How would that help?”

“The white stones you saw are pure vivicantem.”

“The stones?” I ground to a halt, clutching his arm as a thought sprang to mind. “Moros…he might have some. His house is in town.”

“How far?”

“Just over twenty furlongs.”

“Over an hour there and back if I were to run. Could take half the day to search for it, though.” He made a gruff sound of disapproval. “That’s a long time to leave you here alone.”

“But if it would help.”

He stared off a moment, as if considering the idea, then shook his head. “You said Aleysia spoke your name. She may wake soon. I won’t leave you until I know for certain she won’t try to harm you.”

I didn’t have to say the words burning through my mind right then, not with the way he lowered his gaze and his brows pinched to a tight frown.

“I would never harm you.”

“No. I don’t think you ever would. But there was someone else staring back at me when you slipped just now. And I don’t know his intentions.” I sighed. “We’ll give it another day, to see if she wakes. If she doesn’t, I’m urging you to find the vivicantem you need.”