Page 90 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

Z evander clenched his hands to tight fists at his side to keep them from trembling, his head bowed as a show of respect. Damn the gods for his rattled nerves.

Dressed head to toe in white silk with regal, gold accents, King Jeret tapped his jewel-clad finger against the arm of his throne. “Seems your king is quite persistent. This is the third time he’s asked for your release. Of course, I declined the prior offers. I found them insulting.”

Zevander couldn’t imagine what King Sagaerin had offered to make him consider it this time.

“Your Grace, if I may—” Loyce’s words faded to silence beneath King Jeret’s disgusted glare.

“You may not. Killing that girl weakened us. I have nothing to barter now!” He slammed his fist against the arm of the throne. “Her brother has staked his claim to Kastellias with twenty thousand cutthroats now standing at his side and trained razorwolves.”

They were undoubtedly talking about Vaelora and her brother, Kael. The king’s bastard children.

All Zevander knew of razorwolves—the largest breed of wolf in the forest—was the lore surrounding them.

That they hunted with precision and shrewdness, like men, and sometimes toyed with their prey.

Some believed they once were men, hunters who’d gotten lost in the woods, cursed as beasts.

Any army capable of training them must’ve been formidable.

“It is humiliating when a king can’t even ward off a band of glorified pirates .”

“Your Grace, with all due respect, his mercenaries are former soldiers. Trained in mageduell.” It was strange to see her so submissive, so pathetic, for someone who enjoyed doling out brutality.

The king’s lips twitched in scorn. “Yes. And our men are useless. I have nothing to counter them.”

“Perhaps you do have something significant.” The vicious amusement in her eyes when she turned toward Zevander clawed at his nerves with razor-sharp nails.

“What could that possibly be?” the king asked in a bored voice.

Never taking her eyes off Zevander, she smirked, the sight of her setting Zevander’s teeth on edge. “I’m told this one slips into Caligorya.”

Zevander’s blood crystalized, his muscles rigid. He clenched his teeth in an effort to remain stoic, emotionless, his mind scrambling for an explanation.

Theron. It had to be Theron. He was the only one Zevander had ever told.

The mage behind the king stepped forward, frowning. “Does he not wear the binding band?”

“He does. He slips into states, regardless.”

“Impossible!” the mage argued, as if he were the one insulted by her accusation. “Bring him here.”

The Solassion soldier who’d escorted him to the throne room took hold of his arm, urging him forward toward the steps of the dais. Cautiously, the mage approached and reached into his robe for a small vial of pearly white fluid.

Vivicantem.

He gave a nod to the guard, who swiped up Zevander’s hand and peeled open his closed fist. The imperceptible scars had blended with callouses and other scars inflicted on his skin over the years. Hardly noticeable anymore, even when palpated.

The mage dropped the vivicantem into his palm and swirled it across his skin. A soft tingling vibrated over his hand, and the blue glow that formed there sent a weight of dread to the pit of Zevander’s stomach, as all the glyphs he’d learned in Caligorya illuminated across his palm.

“Impossible,” the mage whispered again.

“Yes. It is quite impossible.” Hands behind her back, Loyce stepped alongside them. “Those bands are designed to stunt all forms of blood magic. Which proves that he’s been summoned by the gods.”

“He must’ve earned them prior to his imprisonment.”

She waved back at Zevander. “He arrived as a boy. Barely old enough to have ascended into his blood magic, let alone mastered glyphs.”

“Is this true?” The king turned his attention back to Zevander. “Do you dream in Caligorya?”

“I’ve not slipped into Caligory in decades,” he answered honestly.

“But he has, and he can do it again,” Loyce argued, every word that spilled from her mouth driving Zevander further from any hope of freedom.

“I believe he’s hiding something. Something he may have been shown in Caligorya.

Perhaps a unique power of the gods that would give advantage over the mercenaries.

It could very well be the reason Sagaerin insists on his release. ”

“To possess a power of the gods would be dangerous.” The mage’s stern eyes tightened beneath the bushy white eyebrows that shadowed them. “Cause to destroy him, if you ask me.”

“Or possess.” The intrigue in King Jeret’s voice told Zevander his chance for freedom was already lost.

He steeled his nerves. “He’s right. You should destroy me. I’d sooner die than fight for the king who enslaved me.”

“No one said anything about death, boy.” The mage’s lips twisted with scorn. “There are many ways to destroy a man, without such finality.”

The king looked thoughtful for a moment, and the mage standing beside him leaned in to whisper in his ear. He rubbed his fingers together, staring at Zevander all the while. “You’ve seen him slip into Caligorya, General?” he asked. “With your own eyes?”

“I was made aware by another prisoner. A healer who attends Zevander’s wounds.”

“He is a traitorous cunt!” Zevander snarled, lurching forward.

Three guards advanced toward him, their weapons trained on him.

“You will show respect in my presence, or I’ll have you strung up and beaten to a bloody pulp.

” The king pushed to his feet, hands clutched behind his back.

“As for you, General Loyce, I’ll ask you to investigate this matter.

If he’s hiding something, I want to be aware.

In the meantime, I’ll decline King Sagaerin’s request.”

It didn’t matter that he might’ve been executed upon returning to Nyxteros, Zevander felt the weight of the king’s words pressing down on him, the impossibility of freedom thick in his throat.

He sank to his knees as if he’d been stabbed in the back.

Couldn’t bring himself to look at Loyce.

Couldn’t bear to see the elation in her eyes.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Through the smug grin she undoubtedly wore on her face, the satisfaction in her voice promised suffering. Retribution for his defiance.

And what did it matter anymore? There was little she could do to him more destructive than watching his freedom slip through his fingers like sand.

“You once demanded to know who conspired to have Aradia betray you,” Zevander said, watching the king and his mage exit the throne room.

“I refused to tell you, not out of defiance, but because I knew he’d never survive you.

He was weak. Terrified of you. And he would betray you again, if given the chance.

In fact, he might just betray your newly found trust with the king.

” Zevander hoped for it. Looked forward to the day when she would be forced to reconcile the mistake of not having killed him herself.

“It was Theron. He’s the one who plotted against you. ”

“I’m aware,” she said, but the twitch of her eye betrayed her confidence.

“And he has since redeemed himself tenfold. Under normal circumstances, he’d be food for my pets, but how can I punish the clever mind responsible for the king denying your freedom?

Sagaerin offered ten thousand Nyxterosi men to help defeat the mercenaries.

And Jeret declined . Do you understand what a feat that was?

I thought I’d lost you forever.” Her lips stretched to a wicked grin.

“Theron will help me prove that you are capable of slipping into Caligorya, of acquiring glyphs in the dark realm. And if he fails? He will die.” She circled him, drawing her nail over his silk tunic.

“Now, Love, let’s get you out of these fancy clothes and into something more appropriate for your stature. ”