Page 112 of Eldritch
Wasn’t guaranteed, of course, but it would’ve given them one single option.
“Fuck,” he muttered, pushing back to his feet.
The scorpion scampered up his back, nestling itself back into his flesh.
“What a waste,” he said, sparing him one, long stare, before he stumbled toward the temple after Maevyth and Aleysia.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
KAZHIMYR
“You want to tell me where you cunts skipped off to after The Becoming Ceremony?” Torryn poured wine into Kazhimyr’s glass, and as Morwenna passed behind him, she knocked the back of his head with her hand, sending the fluid splashing over the edge.
“Watch your mouth in my home, eh?”
Torryn rolled his shoulders back and frowned. “Apologies, Aunt Morwenna.”
Kazhimyr snorted, as the older, curvy woman took a seat at the end of the table, having cleared the last of supper, and kicked her boots up onto the table. While she wasn’t known for being demure and gracious, Kazhimyr had always appreciated and even admired her crude mannerisms—traits that’d earned her the reputation of a cranky beldame who boiled the bones of men.
Or so the rumors went.
Her husband, Grendel, was rumored to have died of questionable causes, which might’ve been believable if Kazhimyr hadn’t been privy to his abusive nature. He’d once seen Zevander step in front of the much bigger man, when he’dattempted to strike her. The older man had walked away with four broken fingers and a bruised ego.
Torryn cleared his throat and when Kazhimyr swung his attention that way again, his brow quirked expectantly. “You were about to tell me where you were.”
“Sat in a cell getting beaten and bloodied by Captain Zivant, while you were getting your beauty rest.”
Torryn’s brows lowered, his gaze shifting toward the plum of a bruise healing on Kazhimyr’s cheekbone. “Zivant did that?”
“Yeah. Looking for Dolion and Zevander. S’pose he’s occupied now that the king’s son has gone missing.”
“Missing, you say?” Morwenna sat forward, lighting a pipe. “Oh, that is a bad omen. Best we all have a bit of catallys claw to ward off any stewing of spirits.” Exceptionally superstitious, the old woman was known to dabble in darker magic on occasion, relying on spells and hexes, much like the Nilivir were forced to do without their blood magic. She didn’t shun the archaic practices, like most mancers. Didn’t shun the Nilivir, either. “Be right back.” Quickly shuffling out of the dining room, she nearly ran into Rykaia and Allura, the latter almost stealing Kazhimyr’s breath when he caught sight of her.
“Two of you missed supper,” Torryn said, his eyes always on Rykaia.
“I wasn’t hungry.” Rykaia plopped down two chairs away from Kazhimyr, and to his delight, Allura sat next to him.
“Neither was I,” the beautiful Elvyniran added. “Has anyone checked on Dolion?”
“Earlier. Seems he had another vision.” Kazhimyr sighed and sipped his wine. “Looks like we’ll be heading to Mortasia.”
Allura’s gaze shot to his, a troubled expression crinkling her brow. “The mortal lands?”
“Yes. My brother managed to rope himself into trouble again. And Maevyth.” Rykaia poured her own glass of wine, filling it tothe brim. “The two of you return without her, and I’ll personally gut you open myself.” She leaned over the cup and slurped at the wine.
In spite of the smile on his face, Ravezio shook his head. “Why must you be so violent?”
“Because men have a tendency to forget important details. Such as, where they placed their swords. How to properly clean their bowls after supper.” She gestured with the glass of wine held loosely in her hand, not spilling a drop of it, to Kazhimyr’s surprise. “Where a woman’s most sensitive spots are during intimacy.”
“Ah, that’s low. I know all the sensitive spots. Even the ones you can’t reach by yourself, shaszha.” Ravezio winked and swept his tongue across his lips.
Beside him, Torryn issued a rough punch to his shoulder, and Ravezio grimaced, rubbing where he’d been hit.
“Was only playing.”
“Alright, who’s up for some catallys claw.” Aunt Morwenna carried a tray into the room, one of said claws caught between her teeth, as she placed the mugs down in front of each person at the table.
“Not in the mood for tea, thanks.” Torryn pushed it forward, lips crinkled.
