Page 63 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)
CHAPTER FORTY
ZEVANDER
Past …
M uscles weak from trembling and exhaustion, Zevander could hardly raise his head as he hung from the manacles, and a cramp throbbed in his foot as he fought to keep himself upright, to lessen the pressure at his wrists.
The pain in his groin had long given way to every other ache that outweighed it, and a darkness loomed on the fringes.
His descent had begun. It was only a matter of time before he succumbed.
The tickle of movement across his skin hardly registered, until the scent of fresh figs struck his senses, and he opened his eyes to the beady gaze of the Golvyn, who pressed the food against his lips.
“Eat,” he demanded.
Zevander’s lips, so dry and cracked, parted as the fruit was pushed into his mouth. The sweetness exploded on his tongue, the first he’d eaten in days. He couldn’t say how many had passed since his last sip of water, as he gulped hard to push the chewed fig down his too-dry throat.
“I’m afraid…your food…is wasted on me, friend.”
“You are not well. But you breathe.” The Golvyn scampered back down his body and dashed across the cell to the water outside of it.
After scooping the ladle into the bucket, he carried it back to Zevander, carefully climbing up his battered body, hardly spilling the fluid before he poured it into his mouth.
Zevander coughed and sputtered, but held it down, letting the water seep into the deep cracks of his lips and tongue. “Thank you,” he rasped.
“I’ve seen many of your kind come and go. You’ve outlived all of them.”
“I’m not sure…if that’s a blessing…or a curse.” Zevander chuckled weakly.
“I hear you speaking to someone at times.”
Zevander stared toward the shadowed corner of the room, where he’d seen hallucinations of his father and Vaelora crawling out for him. “I am tormented by my remorse.”
“It’s not the ones you refuse to look upon, but the other. The one from whom you can’t look away.”
The lorn. The beautiful goddess from afar. The only times he’d ever prayed to the gods were a desperate plea to return to her in Caligorya. She was his secret. A precious treasure in his miserable existence that he longed to protect and keep for himself.
Not wanting to lie to the Golvyn who’d helped him, Zevander turned away, his expression guarded.
“You do not owe me explanation. I will not speak a word of it. But if it is Death which beckons you, perhaps you might decline her invitation, no matter how enticing it may be.”
The distant sound of approaching footfalls alerted Zevander to more hell, but he couldn’t force his body to react. There was nothing left of him, no inch of his flesh that hadn’t been beaten, burned, or mutilated. All he could do was hope to be breathing by the time they’d finished.
“You will survive this place, friend.” On those parting words, the Golvyn darted back to the shadows, leaving Zevander to face his abusers.
The cell door opened on a long creak, and when Zevander lifted his gaze, his muscles sagged with relief on realizing only Theron stood in the doorway. To Zevander’s disappointment, he wasn’t carrying a speck of food in his hands.
“Dear gods, what has she done?” He crept closer, his eyes appraising as they scanned over him.
Anger vibrated in Zevander’s muscles, the first tremor of life he’d felt in days. “She administered the punishment, but this is your doing.”
“ My doing?” Brows pinched, Theron recoiled. “How so?”
Zevander had already anticipated he’d deny the accusation and didn’t care to engage in any more of the conversation. “Give me the elixir,” he growled, ignoring his question. “The one that heals.”
“I don’t think that’s wise, given your state. You’ve clearly not eaten and it?—”
“Give me the fucking elixir! It’s the least you can do.”
“And if you don’t wake from it?”
“Leave me. I’d sooner dine with the gods than waste away in this cell.”
Expelling a breath, Theron raked his fingers through his hair and paced. “She won’t keep you here. I heard her bragging about how strong you were to survive it. She admires you.”
Zevander let out a bitter chuckle. “Oh, what honor. To stand at the brink of death for her admiration. That is a badge you’ll proudly carry into the afterlife, I’m sure.”
He halted mid-step, his face crinkling to a frown. “You think I betrayed you. That I made her privy to your conversation with Aradia.”
“If only I’d been privy to yours, I’d ensure you were strung up alongside me.”
“I kept you conscious and alert,” the spineless lapdog said, crossing his arms over his chest, as if that one favor should’ve earned him a pardon. “I sent Aradia to you.”
“You’d have only known I sought her by spying on Vaelora and me.”
“Who do you think devised this plan? Vaelora? The same girl who begged you to take her violently in order to spare her life? She was terrified of the general. It took months to convince her to defy Loyce.”
Zevander didn’t believe a word of that. Not the way her eyes, brimming with desperation, had implored him to help her. And not when Theron himself was so content to obey his master. “Then, why didn’t you speak with Aradia yourself? You had her ear that night. Why involve me, at all?”
“Because I knew, in the event Aradia chose to deceive, of the three of us, the only one the general wouldn’t kill is you.
She pulled you from that pit because she couldn’t bear the thought of losing her most defiant captive.
My skills in healing keep me from suffering her punishment, but she has no love for me.
No admiration.” His lips twitched, and he looked away, his pathetic self loathing only coaxing another hollow laugh out of Zevander.
“She admires me so much that she longs to kill me slowly.”
“She’s testing your limits. Seeing how far she can push you before you break. As I understand, you refuse her mercy every time.”
“Mercy …” Zevander spat the word like it was shit on his tongue. “Give me the elixir.”
“Your wounds are far too extensive. It will not help you. And I will not hand over your death.” He offered one more pitied glance that coiled Zevander’s guts, and turned for the cell door.
Zevander lurched, his chains clanging with the abrupt movement. “Theron!” he growled. “I must return—” He stopped himself, the delirium dulling his mind, but it was too late. The words had all but spoken themselves.
Theron twisted around with a sickening gleam of intrigue. “Return?”
Zevander shook his head. “Forget what I said.”
“Tell me, and I’ll give you the elixir.”
Zevander wished he had the luxury of telling the nosy bastard to shove his conditions up his sanctimonious ass, but he couldn’t.
He couldn’t let opportunity slip through his fingers so easily.
He’d spent far too many days in darkness and silence, desperate to know the girl’s fate.
Instead, he lowered his head. “It allows me to slip into Caligorya.”
“The dark space. This elixir gives you passage there?”
“Yes. I sometimes go there during her abuses.”
He stepped closer. “How? Caligorya is for those who seek knowledge before death. It is a gift of the gods.” Unfortunately, Zevander hadn’t been privy to that bit of information.
“I don’t know how, it just happens.”
Theron shook his head. “No. Elixir, or not, the ability to slip in and out of Caligorya requires magic.” He raised his wrist to show the band seared into his flesh. “A power we do not presently possess. Unless …”
“Unless what?”
“You’ve been chosen by the gods.” He let out a forced breath and smiled. “What fortune that would be for you. A god’s vessel. You would be venerated. The king himself would?—”
“Kill me for such a thing. Do not say a word of this, or, by the gods, if I live, I will cut out your tongue.”
“I will give you this elixir on the promise that you let me stay at your side. To bring you back, if you fail to wake.”
“No.”
“It is my condition. I will not stand by and observe your death.”
Zevander was far too desperate to return to the girl. To know her fate. He nodded. “So be it.”
After only a moment’s pause, Theron reached into his pocket for the ampoule there. He broke it open, staring at it. “If the gods do favor you, remember this kindness.” He poured the ampoule into the wound at Zevander’s shoulder.