Page 12 of Eldritch
He brushed his palm over my knuckles, then raised my hand and kissed my fingertips, before flattening them to his chest again. “According to my father, Cadavros threw me into a vein when I was only an infant. He believed the marking was the only reason I survived it. Most can’t even get within a couple of meters of the flame without dissolving.”
The horror of what he’d just said washed over me, snaking itself beneath my skin. “And he threw youintoa vein, as an infant? Why would he do that to a baby?”
“Seemed he was angry about this marking.”
“Who retrieved you?”
“Cadavros.”
“You said most dissolve with the flame. Are there some, besides you, who can withstand it?” It brought to mind when I’d been taken by the mage with the ring, the one who’d wanted to sacrifice me. He’d held the fire in his hand, before shoving it down my throat.
“Yes. There are a few skilled mages who can manipulate it, but even they have their limits. As I understand, Cadavros suffered a burn just before yanking me out from those flames. My mother believed the gods punished him for the ritual.” The hint of amusement in his tone suggested Zevander didn’t believe it.
“You think otherwise.”
“The gods don’t give a damn about us. They find amusement in our suffering. Joy in our pain.” He flattened his palm against mine and curled his fingers over my knuckles, kissing them again. “They’d sooner watch an infant burn in flames than make any attempt to spare it.”
“Why else would he have pulled you out of the vein?”
“I believe he had other intentions. He wants me to join him somehow.”
“That makes no sense. Why would he attempt to kill you as a baby if he wanted you to join him?”
Zevander shrugged. “My father once said Cadavros tried to consume me.”
His comment drew memories of the creature consuming Moros and taking his form.
“Would he acquire your power by having consumed you?” The words stuck in my throat like an oily mucous I didn’t want to swallow. The very thought of him consuming a baby left a haunting stain on my thoughts.
“I would imagine so. I possess the most ancient and dangerous element in the world.” He skimmed the back of his fingers over my shoulders and kissed the curve of my bone. “It makes sense why he’d seek to recruit me to his cause.”
“And what is his cause, exactly?”
“As the prophesied Black Pestilence spreads, his power grows. I’ve never known a mage, aside from Dolion, who didn’t long to be the most powerful, most revered.”
“And he wants you to help him acquire more power,” I said, the conversation failing to distract me from his soft caresses and calm voice that I so desperately wanted to lose myself in. Instead, his words pulled me backward again, reminding me of the worry I’d pushed to the back of my mind. “You’re not building a solid argument for staying in Mortasia.”
Zevander chuckled at that. “We’ve already established that I’m not leaving you here alone.”
“We have.” And still, my overthinking head resisted. “Can he be killed?”
“He shares a blood bond with Prince Dorjan. An amulet ties the two together. Should he die, Dorjan would also die, and a plague would be unleashed in Aethyria.”
“Like here.”
“Yes, but far worse.”
“How could it possibly be worse?”
“Imagine those creatures had blood magic to fight back.”
The very thought sent a tremble through my muscles. In Mortasia, they behaved like nothing more than overgrown spiders, and while quickly elusive, they could be killed. “We wouldn’t stand a chance.” I didn’t notice I was gnawing my own fingers until Zevander gently pulled them from my mouth. “And hypothetically, what would it mean if you were to join him?”
He tipped my head back with a palm to my crown. “I’d sooner take a blade to my own throat,” he said against the curve of my neck and left a kiss there.
Eyes shuttered, I exhaled through my nose, my body weak with a longing for more, but I remained still, forcing myself to seem unaffected by it. Not because I wanted to reject him. On the contrary, I needed his affection now more than ever. Craved him in a way that felt necessary and indulgent—like the times when Agatha, my wretched step-grandmother was feeling particularly cruel, and Aleysia and I would sneak away to grandfather’s cellar, losing ourselves in the merriment of wine and laughter.
A temporary bliss.
