Page 23 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MAEVYTH

B ack at the cabin, I hurried to Aleysia’s room to check on her, noting that her position hadn’t changed.

Damn it .

“Nothing?” Zevander asked from the doorway, and all I could summon was a solemn shake of my head. Perhaps I really had just imagined her speaking my name.

“Where is this mass you spoke of? The one with black veins.”

Any other occasion, and I’d have concerned myself with Aleysia’s dignity. Instead, I lifted her tattered gown just high enough to reveal the branching veins and tumorous lump across her torso.

“It does look somewhat similar, doesn’t it? Bit more coarse, though.” He knelt at the edge of the bed, examining it closer without touching. “It isn’t possible that she could’ve been exposed to sablefyre and survived.”

“And you’re certain the scar on your face was the result of sablefyre?”

“Of course not. I was an infant when it appeared. I only know what I was told. My father sought out every mage across all of Aethyria, in an attempt to determine its cause.”

“And did he confirm a link to sablefyre?”

Sighing, he twisted toward me. “Confessing that I’d been subjected to the Emberforge ritual would’ve been cause for execution. Including my own. No, he never confirmed.”

“Then, it is possible that they are the same cause.”

“I suppose anything is possible.” He nodded toward Aleysia’s wound as he stood. “Though, hers seems to be far more advanced.”

I lowered Aleysia’s shirt and tucked her back beneath the blankets. “It’s a curious observation. She doesn’t appear to be infected like the other creatures we’ve seen. This has to be the root of her unconsciousness. You said vivicantem keeps yours from growing. Would it work on Aleysia, as well?”

“You’re asking questions I don’t have the answer to. You’re the first mortal I’ve ever known, and even you happen to have Aethyrian roots.”

A thought sprang to mind. “These fits you’ve suffered. Do you slip into Caligorya? I just wondered, if you do share the same affliction, perhaps Aleysia might be …” My words trailed off as he shook his head.

“Caligorya requires blood magic. It’s a subconscious use of magic that also requires vivicantem. I suppose the only upside to being low on vivicantem…I can’t easily slip into Caligorya.”

I looked back to Aleysia. “Days, we’ve been here without attack from those creatures.

Perhaps both of us should venture to Moros’s.

I don’t like the idea of leaving her, but two of us searching for those stones would be faster than one.

And if the vivicantem helps her wake, gets rid of the infection, it would be worth the risk. ”

“I’d certainly feel better having you at my side, rather than leaving you here alone.”

“So long as you don’t bring an axe with you.” The moment I’d said the words, even as light-hearted as intended, his brows lowered, making me regret them. “You didn’t hurt me,” I offered, before he could say the thoughts churning in his head.

“What concerns me is that I failed to recognize you immediately.”

“That concerns me, as well.” The torment in his eyes lured me to my feet, and I reached for his hand, drawing his attention back to me.

“Which is why it’s imperative that we find the vivicantem you need.

We’ll give Aleysia one more day to wake.

If she doesn’t, we’ll leave at the next first light.

” Half-smiling, I placed a hand to his cheek.

“These fits are temporary. We’ll find the vivicantem you need, and you’ll be better. ”

Zevander’s brow twitched. “I’ll see what I can hunt in the meantime.” When he pulled away, I gripped his arm tighter.

“I’m not leaving you, either, Zevander. Whatever this is that you’re suffering, I’m with you.”

Lips tight, he nodded again and lifted my hand to kiss it. The usual furrow of his brow deepened, and he slowly lowered my hand away from his face.

I followed the path of his gaze to the floor, where a strange marking just slightly beneath the bed had me frowning, too. Carved into the wood were deep black grooves, like claw marks from an animal.

Lowering to his knees, he ghosted his finger across one of the jagged grooves.

“I saw marks like those the night before last, in the crawlspace. Thought it might’ve been some strange, mortal variety of animal.

” A black substance clung to his skin, and as he wiped it onto the bed covers, I caught sight of something dark on Aleysia’s fingers too.

Brows pulled even tighter, I lifted her hand to see the black substance beneath her fingernails. A chill whispered across the back of my neck, and I tossed her hand onto the bed. “It’s under her fingernails. She did this?”

He lifted Aleysia’s hand, examining her fingertips.

“It would seem, except…imagine what your own fingers would look like, had you left those scratches in the wood.” He was right.

Her fingertips should’ve been bloodied and skinned, her nails broken from the pressure.

“I’ve locked the door each night, but I suggest we bind her to the bed, as well.

” The turmoil churning in my head must’ve been clear on my face, because he added, “A safety precaution.”

“I understand. If it’s her, I would hate to imagine what she might do to herself.”

“And if it’s not her, we may need to consider finding shelter somewhere else. Perhaps in town.”

Given that we didn’t know the state of things in town, the thought of that sent a ripple of distress through me. Even so, I nodded.

A fter binding her to the bed with some rope he’d managed to scrounge from the empty stable behind the hovel, Zevander searched every corner of the small dwelling for any sign of whatever may have left those markings.

Including the small crawl space, but he found nothing more than some beetles and a few house spiders that were content to crawl on his hand before he returned them to their webs.

It was nearly dusk when I settled by the fire to gather my thoughts, while Zevander performed his usual perimeter check outside.

As a startling warmth spread across my thigh, I patted my leg and noticed a small bump in my trousers.

I fished into my pocket and pulled out the silvery stone that was once my whistle and held it up to examine its surface.

Pinched between my blackened fingertips, the stone grew hotter, until the surface of it collapsed into molten silver.

“Oh!” I shook my hand, watching in horror as it stuck to my skin.

The seething liquid seeped across my palm, as if it had a will of its own.

A gasp escaped me, and I shook my hand harder, as the hot silver traveled down my wrist, to the scar on my forearm where I’d cut myself on the archway all those weeks ago.

It seeped into the tiny grooves there, creating perfect lines like the barbules of a bird feather.

Panic washed over me, and with frantic hands, I attempted to rub it away. “Oh no,” I whispered. “Get off me. Get off me.” I rubbed harder, turning the surrounding skin a screaming red with my abrasive scratching. Still, the silver wouldn’t wipe away.

A burn streaked across my palm, and I lifted it to see a new glyph glowing there.

A complex network of tiny symbols etched into what appeared to look like a bird with its wings spread.

My hand trembled as I studied it, wondering if its purpose was now tied to that whistle, or merely coincidence.

An itch scratched at my throat, and I rested my palm across my neck.

I attempted to clear it, and a whistle squealed out of me.

I slapped a hand across my mouth, every muscle shaking. Lowering my hand, I attempted to speak. Again, nothing but that high-pitched squeal came forth. I covered my mouth with my hand once more.

What have I done?

The door swung open to Zevander who stepped inside, and I pressed my lips together, swiping up my book to hide what must’ve been sheer panic on my face.

“Reading again, I see,” he said with amusement, but I didn’t bother to answer him.

Not that any of it was my fault, since I’d only retrieved the damned thing from my pocket, but somehow I felt as if I’d done something ignorant.

“Feels like the temperature is dropping a bit. You may want to dress warm tonight, and be sure to wear extra stockings when we head to the village.”

Wearing a forced smile, I nodded, watching his brows slowly lower.

Of course, he’d notice something was wrong. Did the man always have to be so damned perceptive?

“Are you all right?”

I gave another nod, but worry got the best of me and I shook my head.

He closed the space between us quickly. “What is it? Did Aleysia do something?”

I shook my head.

“Are you hurt?”

I shrugged and shook my head again.

The furrow in his brow deepened. “Can you not speak?”

Lips pressed to a hard line, I shook my head.

“What happened?”

I lifted my arm to show the scar there and the silver lines that glistened in the flickering firelight.

Gentle hands gripped my elbow and wrist as he examined it closer. As he ran his hand over the scar, it bubbled, the sight of it twisting my stomach. “Silver…from the whistle?”

I nodded, surprised how easily he’d caught on, and grateful when he pulled his hand away and the bubbling stopped.

“Show me. Open your mouth and try to speak.”

Still feeling silly, I turned away, not wanting him to hear the strange sound that’d come out of me twice before.

“C’mon. Say something.”

Eyes closed, I took a deep breath. “Something.” My lids shot open, and I touched a finger to my mouth. “I…before, I couldn’t…it was a strange whistling sound.”

Zevander raised my arm again, staring down the length of the scar. “How did the silver get into your skin?”

“I was holding it. Suddenly it melted. It burned, and I couldn’t rub it away. Then a strange…symbol appeared.” The shape of it came to mind again. “I opened—” My words were cut short by the whistling again, and just as before, I slapped a hand over the sound.

Zevander ran his palm over his mouth and looked away, the squint of his eyes telling me he’d found it amusing.

I tried to tell him there was nothing funny about it, but all that flew out of me was a sharp squeal.

He snorted, still keeping his hand to his mouth. Eyes clamped, he shook his head and cleared his throat. “Get the glyph out of your mind,” he said, his words broken by a chuckle. “Think of something else.”

For some reason, I couldn’t. The shape of it was so incredibly unusual, I couldn’t stop mentally marveling at the memory of it.

Again, I tried to speak for only a faint whistle to escape.

“You need to think of something else. It’s the only way it’ll stop.”

I can’t! my head screamed, the frustration burning in my cheeks.

He leaned forward, gripping either side of my face with both hands, and pressed his lips to mine.

My stomach fluttered with the frantic whisper of butterfly wings tickling my ribs.

I’d forgotten how exquisite his kisses felt.

How much I’d longed for just one, in the time we’d kept ourselves apart.

Yes, we’d kissed each other since, but nothing like this.

I felt him pull away to break the kiss, but my heart yearned for more.

I clutched his tunic for just a moment longer, then forced myself to break away.

Still holding my face, he stared into me. “Better?”

“Yes,” I whispered and cleared my throat, as he lowered his hands. “Thank you.”

“Seems you don’t need the whistle anymore. You’ve acquired a new glyph, albeit a strange and slightly unsettling one.” He strode toward the table, casually and completely oblivious to the heat he’d just stirred in me. A small bit of Elowen’s liquor remained in the bottle, and he tipped back a sip.

“How does this keep happening? I keep stumbling upon these macabre powers. They can’t just be normal?

Like Rykaia’s ability to feel the emotions of others.

Or Allura’s ability to read bones. No, not me!

” I threw my arms up in the air, the anger spiraling through me.

“I end up with black fingertips, a spine that flies out of my palm, and a damned whistle in my throat!”

Zevander snapped his head to the side, his lips pressed tight as if trying to suppress a laugh.

“Go ahead. Laugh—” My voice faltered on the word, as a fleeting breath of laughter escaped me. I pressed my lips together to hold it in, shaking my head as if it would stave off the urge.

Zevander chuckled, and I let loose another laugh. Together, the two of us laughed so hard, tears formed in my eyes.

He tipped back a swill of the liquor, rubbing his mouth on the back of his hand. “If it makes you feel better, I’ve got a scorpion that tries to stab me on occasion.”

Again, I let out another laugh, feeling giddy and weak, my sides aching from the intensity of it. “We are probably the sorriest two in all of Aethyria.”

“We’re not in Aethyria. We’re rotting away in the mortal lands.”

Both of us wheezed with laughter, my body teetering just enough that I nearly fell out of the rocking chair. The last time I laughed so hard, I’d been intoxicated.

The laughter finally died down again, and I sighed, staring off at the fire. “You know what I miss? Magdah’s stew.”

“How did we arrive at that thought, exactly?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve grown bored of canned apples and pickled eggs, I suppose. Have you ever eaten a horrible meal in Aethyria in your life? It seems like everything is delicious.”

“It’s the vivicantem in the food. Gives it a vibrant flavor. But I’ve had my share of slop.”

“I can’t imagine it. I’ll be so glad to return.”

Bottle halfway to his mouth, he turned toward me, staring for a moment before polishing off the rest of the liquor. “As will I.”