Page 116 of Eldritch
Dolion groaned, scratching at his overgrown beard. “Unfortunately, it makes sense. And all the more reason to find Zevander and Maevyth. I’m certain the general will be after her next, if her interest is the septomir.”
“Then, it’s true.” Dravien swung his attention back to Dolion. “You do possess six of the seven stones.”
“Whether I do, or do not, is inconsequential to you now. You have a new mission. How wonderful for you!”
The loathing on his face brought a smile of satisfaction to Kazhimyr’s. “And what am I to do about that curse?” Dravien pointed toward the window, where the ombrevor still peered in, watching him.
“Any idea who may have summoned it?” Aunt Morwenna asked.
Dravien sighed. “Yeah.”
“Your mother?” Ravezio taunted.
“No, pissrag. The woman I bedded last night.”
“Ooh. That bad, huh?” Aunt Morwenna tipped her head, wearing a sympathetic expression. “S’all right, love, we can’t all be skilled when it comes to that.”
Dravien rolled his eyes. “I stole a locket of vivicantem.”
Dolion held out his palm toward the man and flicked his fingers.
Groaning, Dravien reached into his pocket and yanked out the locket. The monster outside let out a wild roar, and he flinched, quickly depositing the necklace into Dolion’s palm.
The old mage crossed the room toward the window and unlatched it. He dangled the necklace over the creature’s bony palm. “Un’det complisz.”
Snarling, the beast closed its claws around it and scampered off.
Dolion turned around. “Your debt has been paid.”
“That’s all it wanted? I could’ve handed it over myself and paid the debt without surrendering my soul to you cunts.”
“Not exactly. It would’ve eaten you regardless. Whereas, I’m a seer, which means I possess the power to call off a summons.”
Dravien dragged a hand down his face. “So, when are you heading out for the mortal lands?”
It still ground at Kazhimyr’s bones that he’d be forced to travel with him. “First light. Don’t be late.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
ZEVANDER
Past …
The quiet clank of chains echoed through the damp cell, where Zevander’s battered body hung limp from his binds like a broken marionette. Arms numb, the agony of each shallow breath rippled through his bruised and aching ribs. Wrists raw from his manacles, he ignored the biting sting of peeling skin each time he lost his footing, his muscles weak from dehydration, starved of food.
Punishment for having killed one of General Loyce’s beloved pets.
He couldn’t say for how many days he’d endured her wrath, seeing as the sunlight never touched the cold, gray stones of his cell. Only shadows, and the kind of chill that wrapped itself around his bones. She’d carved her loathing into his flesh with hot Venetox steel, ensuring that his scars remained, then left him to hang there bleeding out of his wounds.
In silence and suffering. Darkness and pain.
And those screams.
When they’d pulled him out of that pit and brought him back to consciousness, Loyce had forced him to listen to Vaelora’s distant screams. The gut-wrenching sound had gone on for hours.
Even still, he could hear her in his mind. Screaming for her brother.
Zevander let out a shuddering breath, as fresh panic wound through him all over again.
