Page 154 of Eldritch
She screamed, dropping the jars of food onto the floor. “Let me go!” She punched and scratched at him.
The other held his weapon pointed at me, and my eyes flicked to Aleysia and back. “Let her go,” I warned.
In my periphery, Corwin collapsed, and a quick glance downward told me he’d fainted.
The soldier shifted his attention to him.
A sharp breath, and I reached out, my deadly fingers gripping his throat before I could stop myself. The soldier disintegrated into dust.
Eyes wide, the second guard shoved Aleysia back into the pantry with us and slammed the door shut, snuffing out the light.
“No!” I lurched forward, and the lock clicked. The door didn’t even have a handle on our side. “No, no!” I slammed the heel of my palm against the unyielding wood. “Let us out of here! Let us out!”
“Maevyth,” Father said behind me, but I didn’t answer, frantic to open the door. “Maevyth!” His voice held the stern tone I remembered from childhood, and I stilled. “What happened just now?”
“Can you not see we’re locked in a pantry, Father?” Aleysia snipped, before I could answer. “Good grief, months in a cell is no excuse.”
“Careful of your tone, girl. I’m still your father.”
“Who abandoned us,” she argued back.
“I was imprisoned!”
“You abandoned us long before that!”
“Calm yourselves.” I pressed my forehead to the door panel and let out a long breath. “As for what happened, Father, the story is far too long to tell, and I’m too tired. Just know, I’m the same person I’ve always been.”
“Yes, just a little more deadly,” Aleysia added. “And a bit paler, if you ask me.”
“Has anyone checked on Corwin?” The darkness offered no indication of where he’d fallen.
“I’m alright. My head hurts a little, and I think I cut myself on some glass…might’ve eaten some raw meat in my delirium, but I’ll live. I think. Just…no one touch me.”
The door clicked, and frowning, I stepped back.
When it swung open, Sacton Crain and a half-dozen men stood blocking the way. His lips pulled to a repulsed expression. “And so the witch returns.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
KAZHIMYR
Atide of nausea swelled in the pit of Kazhimyr’s gut, as he stared out the cloudy galley porthole above Dravien’s head, watching the slate blue water slosh with the ship’s rocking. The scent of brine and charred meat clung to his nose and throat, failing to banish the pungent reek of gutted fish. Tired and weathered wood creaked, as the merchant ship carried them from Wyntertide, down along the southern coast, to where they hoped to land in Veneficarys by the eve of the following day. A faster route, but certainly not the easiest to travel, as far as Kazhimyr was concerned. Dravien had gotten them passage on the ship, claiming the captain was a long-time friend, but Kazhimyr hadn’t come to trust him—or his friends—any more than the first night they’d run into him at the tavern.
The ship lurched as a wave crashed against it broadside, jostling the pots and pans and making them clank behind him. An oil lantern swayed from a hook, casting erratic shadows that set his stomach roiling and his last meal creeping its way up his throat. He’d traveled the seas before, but never on a stretch that thrashed and snarled as if it might chew the keel clean off.
“You’re not much of a seaman, are you?” Dravien smiled as he sat across from him and tipped back a sip of ale. “Looking a little peaked.”
“Never liked the sea much.”
Beside him, Ravezio sat casually in his chair, unbothered by the constant heave of the hull, and sipped his ale.
“I remember the first time I ever traveled to Vespyria from Calyxar. Came down past Maleviarys on route to Wyntertide. Was a horrible storm that rocked the ship like a beast thrashing its prey. A half-dozen men went over into that icy sea.” He knocked on the porthole window behind him. “Watched from the galley as the Syrenians surrounded and devoured them. Their teeth like sharpened blades. They like taunting their prey, making little cuts at a time. The scent of blood in the water puts them in a frenzy.” The smirk never faded from his lips as he stared off, as if lost to the vision. “But not like a shark. Sharks are honest kills. Purposeful. For food and nothing more. Syrenians, on the other hand, kill for sport. They devour because they know the thought of such a thing, living broken in the bellies of beasts, terrifies us.”
The story certainly didn’t lessen the squirming in Kazhimyr’s stomach.
“Well, that destroyed whatever fantasy I might’ve had about them being beautiful and tempting.” Ravezio chuckled and polished off another long swill of his drink, before reaching for the bottle.
“The most vicious beasts in the world are beautiful.” Dravien swiped the bottle from Ravezio and filled his own glass first.
