Page 16 of Eldritch
Color drained from his mother’s face, the betrayal in her eyes mirroring what Zevander felt right then, as he took in Lord Belthane’s words. “Is this true?”
“Lynara, you don’t understand?—”
Her jaw hardened. “Did you take the life of an innocent woman!”
“I did take her life, yes, but I did not?—”
“Do not speak another word to me!” she snapped, and as much as it hurt Zevander to see his parents quarreling, he couldn’t blame his mother for her anger. “If not for our children, I’d watch you suffer. I always thought it strange that I could never read your thoughts. That you remained behind this impenetrable shield. I imagined that you were sparing me your grief and guilt over our sons, in some selfless act of mercy. It turns out, you were hiding your betrayal. How foolish was I to imagine you capable of anything else?”
“I beg your forgiveness.” The elder Rydainn fell to his knees. “Please, Lynara.”
Ignoring his pleas, she turned away from him. “Lord Belthane, I ask that you consider a pardon for my son. He has nothing to do with this.”
“Lord Vanhelm has asked that you be turned over, as well, Lady Rydainn. In fact, he insisted on it. A wife for a wife, as I understand. As I could not bring myself to imagine what they would inflict upon you in retaliation, I offered your son in your stead.”
“Please. I insist on joining my husband in his imprisonment. I will take my son’s place and suffer whatever consequences the gods determine.”
“It is already decided. They will depart for Solassios on the morrow. In exchange, our ships may sail freely, and any conflict will be averted.”
“So soon …” Hand to her chest, she let out a sharp exhale. “I cannot sit idle while my son is executed.”
“There will be no execution. For an unreasonable amount of vivicantem and our best wine, King Jeret has agreed to send them to the Cinderbone Mines in lieu of execution.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, her lips quivering as she glanced at Zevander, before quickly looking away, perhaps not wanting him to see the glimmer of fear he’d caught in that single glance. “I thank you for your generosity, My Lord.”
“It is only through the king’s affection for you that your husband and son will live. But make no mistake, they will still suffer.”
CHAPTER FIVE
ZEVANDER
Present …
Zevander sat at the window, watching the pale creatures slink around the cabin outside. The quiet ticking of chitinous legs scampered over the roof and down the walls, their grotesque forms casting monstrous shadows across the snow. Nothing more than a small distraction to the maelstrom of thoughts pounding through his head. He mindlessly stroked his hand over his skull, as if the act might offer some small measure of clarity in the haze of confusion.
He was certain he’d heard those words pass her lips. Even then, the clarity in them struck his nerves. But how could she have possibly known their meaning? Not only with regard to the language, but the revulsion behind them?
She couldn’t. Which meant he must’ve imagined it.
He ran a hand down his face, screwing his eyes shut as a frustrating realization settled over him. He knew all too well a lack of vivicantem was known to cause delirium, violence, and depending on the length of deprivation—death. He’d seen images in books of those who’d suffered from absolutemalvicantem. The pain. Hunger. An unsettling craving for flesh. He’d minimized his concerns to Maevyth, but his difficulty calling forth the flame when he’d tried to warm Aleysia was a clear indication.
His descent had already begun.
Unfortunately, whatever glimmer of hope there may have been for returning to Aethyria with Maevyth was quickly snuffed the moment they’d opened that pantry door and found Aleysia. He couldn’t summon a single reason why Maevyth would leave the mortal lands knowing her sister was forbidden to cross. While part of him could sympathize, the cold and selfish bastard inside of him wished they hadn’t made the discovery.
Call it centuries of instinct, but something didn’t sit right with him. Through a plague of thoughts, one nagging certainty scratched at his mind—that the old woman had put her down there for a reason. She’d lied to Maevyth’s face. And even through all of that deception, Zevander couldn’t shake the suspicion that she’d done it for Maevyth’s sake.
Of course, he’d keep those suspicions to himself, for now.
The last thing he wanted was to create more division between himself and Maevyth. He could already sense the rift—her hesitation to be intimate. Pushing him away as her mind cemented itself. It didn’t matter, though. His words to her had been true regardless—he had no intention of returning to Aethyria, if she chose to stay in Mortasia.
She was his mate. His destiny. The more time he spent with her, the stronger the pull in his blood, like gravity shifting the tides. An unbreakable thread tied to his chest.
And the fiercer his need to protect her.
Leaving her to fend for herself against this world would be no less painful than cracking open his own ribs and tossing half his heart away.
He longed to tell her the truth of their bond, but he was selfish enough not to risk her rejecting it out of resentment.
