Page 49 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ZEVANDER
Past …
Z evander swallowed back the revulsion rising to his throat as two female servants rubbed gold clay over his body, covering his fresh scars with a metallic sheen in preparation for the Golden Bacchanal.
All he’d gleaned about the event was that it centered around some kind of tournament and drew in a number of nobles and dignitaries.
A few other slaves stood about the room, like him, servants covering their naked bodies in gold shimmer.
Arms outstretched and shackled, he shuttered his eyes to the unnerving strokes of the servant’s hands that left him wanting to crawl right out of his own skin.
Touch, no matter how gentle, had become a defilement, an unwanted feeling he equated with the general’s abuses.
A discomfort more consuming than the hunger that clawed at his stomach right then.
“Look how your body responds to my touch.” The general’s words echoed in his head, and Zevander grimaced, turning away.
Still, those words lingered, along with the memories of bites and tugs, clawing and punching, when he’d refused to comply with her demands.
One of the servants spread the clay down his back, reminding him too much of his last whipping.
The way excruciating pain always followed the general’s soft caresses, a deception of her otherwise gentle hands.
He’d become proficient in anticipating the first strike by reading her cues.
A brief pause. The curl of her fingers and shift of her grip.
The change of her breath and mocking tone of her words.
It’d become ingrained in his mind to expect the same from any form of touch.
Violent thoughts clouded his mind, while the servants’ palms glided across his body, everywhere, and all at once.
As they kept on, he closed his eyes, and a visual of General Loyce with eight arms sprang to mind, touching and groping him, slowly making her way lower, down his hips to his thighs.
His pulse hastened, his body tense, breaths shallow.
Stomach constricted, he let out a grunt, digging small crescents into his palms with a tight fist. Even if there was no malicious intent from those touching him right then, he couldn’t tear his thoughts from the nightmarish things he’d endured, the times when he hadn’t managed to escape to Caligorya for unknown reasons.
When he’d been forced to suffer her breathy moans and naked body pressed against his.
He opened his eyes to banish the general’s face from his mind.
One of the servants—a Solassion woman with long blonde locks and dark sepia-toned skin—who he’d come to know as Vaelora, smeared the clay over his chest, but he caught the few lingering glances from her.
His mind hooked itself into the distraction of it, and focused on her, his curiosity took root, pulling him away from the panic churning in his muscles. Each time their gazes met, she quickly looked away.
“If you’ve something to say, say it,” he finally said.
She turned to the other three servants, giving them a nod that they somehow understood to be a dismissal, and the trio immediately removed their hands from his thighs and back, to Zevander’s utter relief, and sauntered away.
Once they were out of earshot, she turned to face him. “This is your first Golden Bacchanal.”
“It is.”
“Are you aware of what it is?” she prodded.
“Only vaguely. Enlighten me.”
“You’ll be taken to the general’s rotunda room.
They say it was where the pantheon—all the higher and lesser gods—would meet in ancient times.
These days, the general uses it to host highbloods.
” Her brows came together as she rubbed clay over one of the more gruesome scars on his abdomen.
“There will be other servants there, who will feed you wine and food laced with potent elixirs, but do not consume them. It’s important that you stay alert. ”
“Why?”
“Because I need you to pass on a message for me.”
“Why would I do that?” A deep ache of hunger churned in his stomach; he hadn’t eaten since earlier that morning, and the portions had been exceptionally smaller than the usual abundance of food.
She paused and lifted her gaze. “My brother is Kael Vexmoor.”
“Never heard of him.” Unimpressed, Zevander looked away, catching a glimpse of Theron watching the two of them, his body absent of the gold clay.
“Kael commands a Kastellian army of ten-thousand mercenaries. If he knew I was here, he would come for me.”
“And, so, what does that have to do with me?” His gaze remained anchored on Theron, who seemed to have no purpose at the doorway, other than staring back at them. “Careful what you say.”
She lowered her gaze and nodded. “One of the Bellatryx, Aradia, she is an old friend of my brother’s.” Keeping her voice low, she stirred the bowl of clay with her hand. “They have fought beside each other. Her loyalties are with General Loyce, but they are much stronger with Kael.”
“How is that possible, when she’s sworn an oath?”
“Kael saved her life many years ago. Ask her to deliver the message, and she will. Without hesitation.” She kept on with rubbing across his chest and arms, each stroke more frustrating than the last. Fucking hell, the woman was kind enough, but he couldn’t stand the unwanted touch.
“Why would I risk my neck for you?” he said through clenched teeth.
As if suddenly aware of his struggles, she glanced up toward him and drew her hands back. “Apologies. It’s not my intent to torment.”
Another glance toward Theron, and Zevander ground his teeth harder. “Keep on with it.”
Adding a bit more pressure, as if she knew the light caresses troubled him most, she continued to paint him in gold. “Aradia does not know I’m here. If she did, I suspect she would have told Kael long ago. Without a doubt, he’s been searching for me.”
“That doesn’t answer the question of why I should bother.”
“Because I would help the man who set me free. And when Kael finds out I’m here, he will send his men across Solassios to hunt and kill General Loyce.”
Zevander studied the beautiful shimmer of the clay against the dark hue of her skin. Up until King Jeret’s reign, darker skin tone had always been a sign of royal bloodlines. Nowadays, it was a lineage the king longed to smother. “Why were you taken?”
“I am the illegitimate daughter of King Jeret.”
Zevander frowned, taking note of the many scars on her body. “Kael, too?”
“Yes, but he doesn’t know. I didn’t know until I was captured. Our mother was murdered when we were children. We were taken away to Eremicia.”
A rigid tension locked his muscles, as he recalled the story his father had told him. Was it possible the very reason he’d been imprisoned was staring him in the eyes right then? “Why me?”
“Because you’re the only one I know who isn’t looking to gain the general’s favor. I would do it myself, but I’m not permitted to attend.”
“Then, how are you so certain of what happens at this bacchanal?”
She gave a furtive glance around the room. “I’ve been informed by another. Rumor lives within these walls, amongst the slaves. I’ve had to wash wounds and care for those who were plied with too many elixirs.”
“How do you propose I pass along this message?”
“Unfortunately, I don’t know what opportunities you’ll be afforded. At times, the Bellatryx like to flirt with the slaves. Perhaps you can catch her eye.”
Zevander scoffed and shook his head. “You task me with treachery and no clear means of carrying out the act. Will all the Bellatryx be in attendance?” It troubled Zevander, the way Theron continued to linger at the doorway. “Busy yourself,” he warned her again.
“Yes.” She immediately turned for a set of golden horns, which she lifted over his head.
Zevander reluctantly bowed, allowing her to place it atop his crown.
She secured its chain to the band at his throat, the chains dangling at either side of his face. “The Bellatryx are required to attend on General Loyce’s order.”
“Then, how do I spot her , specifically?”
“Very easily,” she said, her eyes focused on the task of adjusting the horns. “Aradia was mauled by a juvenile drake as a child, and has a rather grotesque scar across her lips and throat.”
“You mentioned elixirs. Tell me what happens during this bacchanal.”
“The elixirs are to dull your senses, but again, do not consume them. You’re not required to eat, or drink, but most do out of thirst and hunger.”
Zevander had wondered why supper had been withheld.
“The general will have you set loose in the cavern beneath the floor of the rotunda.” The troubled expression across her face told him there was something terrible about the cavern.
“It’s where she keeps her pets. You will be forced to fight other slaves, but you’re not permitted to kill each other.
Only wound your opponent. The victor will be rescued from the cavern.
The other will be left as food for her pets.
You must find Aradia before then. It’s imperative that you deliver the message before the fight. ”
Zevander snorted and glanced away, noting Theron was no longer there. “Gods forbid, I’m consumed before your message is carried.”
“You won’t die. You defeated an orgoth. My faith in you is strong. But just in case …” She broke an ampoule open and rubbed a red substance across his wrist. “One brush of your tongue will kill you in minutes.”
“Why would I need that? What are these pets of hers?”
“Charnelyths.” Her throat bobbed with a swallow. “Fully grown, adult charnelyths.”
Zevander had only a vague idea of what they were, seeing as they didn’t exist where he’d grown up. All he knew of the creatures was that they were a sort of wyrm dragon that dwelled underground and were known for eating corpses in cemeteries.
“Only the wounded are consumed?”
“Yes. General Loyce detests weakness.” Vaelora lifted a white half-mask with gold filigree, one that, when in place, only covered his mouth and nose. “Stay alive.”