Page 69 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

ZEVANDER

Past …

“ Y ou’re lucky this didn’t fester.” Theron shook his head, wrapping a fresh strip of cotton around the wound at Zevander’s wrist, where his manacle had chewed at the flesh there. “Could’ve been avoided entirely.”

“This debate has grown moss, and I’m tired of it.” A few days of meals and water had returned his strength, and he was grateful to be sleeping on the marble floor of the observatory, instead of hanging from chains in his cell.

“You never spoke a word of what I confessed to you,” he said, referring to his professed involvement in betraying General Loyce. “Not even in the face of your worst punishment.”

“I never once believed it.”

Theron smiled, tying up the ends of the cotton. “Still, you could’ve pointed the finger at anyone to end your suffering. But you didn’t.” His brow furrowed. “Why?”

“The same defiant nature you nag at me about.”

Framed by the doorway across from them, the sturdy form of General Loyce stepped into the room, her gaze landing on Zevander. The smirk at the corner of her lips stirred his repulsion all over again.

“I’d sooner die than fall to my knees for her,” he added, glaring at the woman who approached to Theron’s rear.

His fellow slave glanced over his shoulder, quickly snapping his attention back to the gouge above Zevander’s kneecap. “A warning might’ve been kind.”

“What’s the fun in that?”

No sooner had he spoken the words than the general sauntered up behind Theron, eyes appraising Zevander’s bandages.

“Seems you’re healing quickly.” The predatory sweep of her tongue across her lips had him glancing away to hide his grimace. “Incredible, how resilient the body can be.”

Zevander ground his teeth, ignoring her comments.

“I’ve never seen a man so moored by his stubborn nature. So…iron-hearted. You call to mind the stories of Deimos, the fierce and vicious god of destruction. Tell me, what is it that you continue to live for?”

Zevander would never tell her that it was only the promise of vengeance that kept him breathing. He’d resigned himself to the fact that he’d likely never see his mother and siblings again, even if his dreams told him otherwise. The general would never set him free.

Hands at her back, she paced behind Theron, who kept his head low, his eyes on the task of cleaning and mending Zevander’s wounds.

“I must say, I’m impressed. I did not imagine sweet Vaelora had such vicious bite in her.

Such a small and delicate creature, terrified of her own shadow.

Yet, she managed to devise a scandalous betrayal.

” Pausing her steps, she sighed and shook her head.

“In the end, her fears got the best of her.”

A bolt of rage speared through Zevander. “Perhaps you might face off with one of those creatures yourself, and see how you fare.”

“Careful.” Sharp eyes snapped to his like the lash of a serpent’s tongue. “I’m happy to add another scar, or two, for Theron to stitch.” She resumed her steps, the clack of her boots grating on Zevander’s nerves. “Tell me who devised the plan, and I’ll send you back to the mines.”

Theron paused in stitching a gash at his thigh, his usually steady hand trembling.

Zevander stared at him, imagining what she’d opt to do for punishment.

Perhaps, toss him into her serpent’s pit, just as she had Vaelora.

Maybe she’d shackle him in a cell, starving him as she tormented and abused him, the way she had Zevander.

No matter the punishment she opted for, he was certain Theron wouldn’t survive it.

Zevander inwardly sighed. There was a time he would’ve killed for a chance to return to the mines.

Would’ve offered up his fellow slave without a thought, or care.

The unsettling image of facing his friends after what he’d suffered, however, the shame and humiliation of what’d been done to him, would’ve sickened him.

He would’ve retched to hear them lament over their longing to fuck something, as they often did in the hours before sleep.

He couldn’t return to the mines. Not after what he’d become.

Zevander would sooner die as her slave, than wear a mask of normalcy, pretending the abuse and torment had never happened.

“Dravien Nockvayne,” he said.

Theron’s shoulders sagged with relief, and he resumed his stitching.

The general ground to a halt again and tipped her head. “Dravien Nockvayne,” she echoed. “Aradia’s slave. Interesting. You suffered days of torment, and never once mentioned his name.”

“You never once offered my return to the mines.”

She let out a breathy laugh. “And, still, your wry wit remains ever present.” She resumed her pacing. “We are connected, you and me.”

“I share no connection with you,” Zevander asserted.

“Oh, but you do.” She yanked her dagger free from her hip, and the sight of it, the memory of the many times she’d dragged that blade across his flesh, stirred an uneasy feeling in his gut.

“My father was a general before me. A fair and dutiful man. I wasn’t his natural-born child, I never knew the orgoth who impregnated my mother, but I was grateful for the man who loved her so dearly, he raised me as his own.

” Pressing the tip of the blade into her finger sprouted a drop of blood.

“He was put to death, after he failed to track down and hand over the king’s own bastard children--the very children your father hid away all those years ago. ”

Again, Theron paused his stitching just long enough to sail a confused frown at him, then busied himself again.

“It was fate that your father would die here,” she added.

“Shouldn’t your enmity be directed at your king?” Zevander spoke through clenched teeth.

“My father failed to carry out his duty. He told me himself, as he lay dying. He’d have done the same in King Jeret’s position.”

Zevander sneered at that. “Then, he’s a fool. So bound by duty, he failed to see the cruelty in the task. Murdering innocent children isn’t honorable.”

Theron shook his head, wincing, the sight of him stirring Zevander’s urge to laugh.

“Innocent, yes. But what comes of those children when they grow to be mercenaries with ten thousand Kastellian cutthroats at their back?” The way her hand clenched into a fist as she walked with a tightly-restrained tension in her steps told Zevander he’d rattled her.

“I should loathe your existence, but I must admit, I find myself increasingly intrigued by you, Rydainn.”

“Your greatest fault is imagining that I care.”

Theron dragged his hand down his face, undoubtedly ready to throttle Zevander himself.

In spite of whatever retaliation he might’ve expected from her, she chuckled. “Even now, as you crawl from the brink of death, you are still brimming with fire and grit. I can never quite tell if I want to kill you, or fuck you. It’s utter madness.”

“I’d welcome the killing more.”

Her cold, dispassionate eyes remained locked on Zevander. “That’s enough, Theron. Please excuse us.”

“I’ve one more wound to stitch.”

“Now,” she said firmly, and he gave a curt nod, rising to his feet.

“My apologies.” He bowed and scurried off, out of the room.

At first, she didn’t say a word, her gaze unwavering. She exhaled a sharp breath, then hands behind her back, she paced again. “You want your freedom. You can earn it, you know.”

“Returning to the mines isn’t exactly freedom.”

“I’m not talking about returning to the mines. I’m talking about the world.” She lowered to one knee beside him, staring at the scarred side of his face. “Earn my trust, and you will see a life outside of these walls.”

Her words stirred a vague image of himself, cloaked and masked, standing alongside a bed. The thought warmed his blood, so familiar, but distant. Like a dream, or a fleeting idea he’d once had.

“How?” he asked in a guarded voice.

“I need secrets. Strategy. A woman in my position requires an advantage against her enemies.”

“That doesn’t explain how .”

“As part of my Gildona, your duty is to entertain my guests, in exchange for knowledge. That was your role at the golden bacchanal. But not all of my rivals are so comfortable sitting at my table.” She leaned in close enough that the warmth of her breath on his neck forced him to turn away from her.

“At times, you may be required to seek them out.”

“You would trust me leaving this place?” he said, still facing away from her.

“Not initially, no.” She pushed to her feet again, to his relief.

Even then, as she spoke of the possibility of him leaving the Gildona, of granting him freedom, the urge to swipe that blade at her hip and watch her bleed out weighed heavy on him.

“That level of trust must be earned, as I said. Consider it a thin ray of hope. A path toward whatever it is that keeps you breathing.”

“And how do you ensure I’ll return to you, once I’ve had my freedom?” he challenged, his gaze on hers unwavering.

“You’ve come to know my cruel nature quite well, but what you’ve yet to meet is my kindness.”

He spat a bitter chuckle. “You think your kindness would have me fleeing back to your arms?”

“Yes. Once I’m bonded to you. That is the condition for your freedom.”

The very thought sank to his stomach like a sack of writhing worms. “A bond is sacred. Binding.”

“For mancers, yes. But I am only half. Orgoths don’t have mates. And the piercing I’ve placed on you would ensure that you never know pleasure, nor satisfaction and fulfillment, with another.”

The mere mention of the piercing, like a secret between them, taunted his rage. He could still hear her low, panting breaths as she brought herself to climax while watching him suffer through the pain of it.

“How fortunate, you’ve thought of everything.” The tight clench of his jaw betrayed the otherwise careless tone of his voice.

A knowing smile played on her lips. “You are the only one I’ve ever considered.”

“A bond, to glean nothing more than information.”

“It’s more than fucking an aristocrat for information.

You cannot allow them to live afterward.

” She expelled a resigned breath and glanced away.

“I would allow you to see your mother, your sister. So long as you come back to me and share what you’ve gathered.

We can start by bringing them here. Once you’ve earned my trust, we’ll discuss the bond and your freedom. ”

“Am I to return to the mines in the meantime?”’

She swung her attention back to him, eyes alight with cruel amusement. “I do not reward lies.”

“What makes you think I’m lying?”

“Dravien Nockvayne alerted me to your treachery. You see, he has a very keen sense of hearing. It’s why I chose him for Aradia. I simply wanted to know if your loyalties could be further challenged by reward, instead of abuse.”

“Aren’t you curious to know who betrayed you, then?” In his periphery, Zevander could see Theron watching them from across the room, undoubtedly studying his body language.

“Of course I am. But you won’t tell me. That loyalty of yours is precisely why I’d choose you to carry out these discreet tasks.”

“Perhaps I’m not as loyal as you imagine.”

“Then, tell me who betrayed me.”

Zevander’s gaze flicked to Theron and back, but for reasons he couldn’t explain, he kept silent.

A grin crept across her face, and she sauntered off.