Page 29 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ZEVANDER

Past …

T he cold, damp wall pressed into Zevander’s bruised back, as he sat slumped on the gritty floor of his cell, staring off into the darkness.

Alone.

Completely alone in this place.

While he hadn’t seen his father in years, up until a few days ago, he’d always taken comfort in knowing he was there. Seeing his father again had given him a sense of peace and hope—hope that faded the moment he’d heard the pained sound of his mother’s name rip from the elder Rydainn’s throat.

Wrists bound and resting in his lap, he clenched his fists at the memory, the rage pounding through him anew.

Finally knowing the truth of his father’s actions, Zevander could no longer bury the agony of his death in hatred and indifference.

The pain split through him like a scab being torn open, and he clenched his teeth, swallowing back the urge to break.

The obnoxious creak of the cell door alerted him that someone had come to visit, but he didn’t bother to look up. Surely, it wouldn’t be anyone he’d have called friend, confirmed when the warden said, “Brought your supper.”

The clatter of a tin bowl thrown before him broke his musings, and Zevander turned to see black soot splashed onto the floor.

A malicious chuckle followed. “Was goin’a toss him into the chasm, but thought you might want to pay your final respects. Who’s born of fire now?” Another mocking laugh, and every muscle in Zevander’s body tensed as he stared down at what was presumably his father’s charred remains.

Their laughter died when the heavy thud of boots and metal approached from down the hall, and Zevander looked up to see General Loyce step inside his cell, filling the space with her intimidating form.

“Well, now. The mighty beast who killed the most feared orgoth in Bonegrist. You look far less threatening chained to the floor, don’t you?

” The slow and lazy cadence of her steps ended when she stood looming over Zevander like a storm cloud consuming what sliver of light had reached his cell. “Knees, boy.”

Teeth clenched, Zevander didn’t move. He didn’t cower in her presence, or fear the consequences that would inevitably follow his defiance.

“Come on now— rise from the ashes and get on your knees,” the warden taunted beside her, but his laughter cut out abruptly when he turned toward the unamused expression on the general’s face.

Lips twisted, as if the sight of the warden disgusted her, she turned back to Zevander. “I’ll not tell you again. Get on your knees.”

Still, he refused.

A swift kick to his mangled ankle shot a zap of fire up his leg, and Zevander ground his teeth, choking back the agony. No matter what they inflicted, he would never willingly get on his knees for anyone.

“Very well,” she said, as if reading his mind. Moments later, an orgoth stepped toward him. The orgoth whose hands still bore the stains of his father’s blood.

Zevander sat motionless as the beast bent forward to hoist him up, and the second the orgoth was close, he clamped his teeth around the bastard’s pointed ear.

A roar bounced off the walls of the cell, and a hard thump against his chest kicked Zevander back, his tailbone smacking hard against the stone floor.

He winced and turned to his side, as the orgoth stepped back, terror widening the beast’s eyes when he cupped his ear.

Zevander forced a smile, despite the rage tearing through him, and revealed the small piece of flesh between his teeth, before spitting it out at the orgoth.

The beast snarled and lurched again, but General Loyce held out her hand, bringing him to a halt.

“Get him to his knees without crushing him.”

Snarling again, the orgoth held his hand over the chewed and bloody ear and, with the other, gripped the back of Zevander’s neck, the shocks of pain damn near paralyzing as he effortlessly lifted Zevander up to his knees.

“Open your mouth.”

Lips clamped shut, Zevander defied the new order, already knowing the general’s intentions.

“I said, open your mouth!”

Copper lingered on his tongue from biting the orgoth, and he spat it at General Loyce.

Without warning, or direction from the general, the orgoth took hold of his face, his thick, calloused palm pressing against his chin, while the other gripped tight to the top of his head.

Jagged flashes of light struck the back of Zevander’s skull, and eyes clenched, he fought the orgoth’s ruthless prying of his jaw.

Dry, charred ashes coated his tongue, the sounds of his angry growls drowned by the laughter of both the warden and the orgoth.

“Now, swallow,” General Loyce said through clenched teeth, not an ounce of amusement in her tone.

Once free of the orgoth’s grip, Zevander coughed, the ash bursting from his mouth as a gray plume of dust. He retched and gagged, spitting the wet soot onto the ground.

The metal of her armor clanked, as General Loyce crouched alongside him.

“So much fire and spirit. Oh, how I long to break you.” She brushed a finger across his cheek, and with a grimace, Zevander turned away from her touch.

“I leave for Luximos tonight. Have him sent over to me in three days. Preferably bathed.”

“Of course, General.”

She pushed to her feet. “And no more beatings, or I’ll have you chained alongside him.”

“Understood,” the warden grumbled, clearly disappointed.

Without another word, she swiftly left the cell, and Zevander stared down at boot marks stamped onto the floor in his father’s ashes. A fresh wave of rage surged through him.

“You want to know why I loathe your kind?” The warden didn’t spare him the opportunity to answer.

“You’re weak. When I told your father I’d pitted you against an orgoth, he cried.

Sobbed like a woman. And you…with your diseased face and those infernal-looking eyes.

” Lips flattened, he crossed his arms. “Shame about Jagron, though. Was a good sector guard. He relied on the loyalty of his kind. Called them a brotherhood. You think anyone here gives a damn about brotherhood? Power earns loyalty and respect. The more power you wield, the more you’re respected, and you, my friend, are utterly powerless. ”

“I’m ready to return to work,” Zevander said through clenched teeth, ignoring him.

“Oh, you won’t be going back to the mines.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d love to watch you try to outsmart another one of my orgoth friends here, but…

seems General Loyce took a liking to you after that fight.

She’s requested that you join her Gildona.

Her flock of caged birds. Worse than this place, as I understand.

” A slow grin crept across his face, revealing a rotting graveyard of brown teeth. “Worse than death.”