Page 187 of Eldritch
Zevander couldn’t imagine what King Sagaerin had offered to make him consider it this time.
“Your Grace, if I may—” Loyce’s words faded to silence beneath King Jeret’s disgusted glare.
“You may not. Killing that girl weakened us. I have nothing to barter now!” He slammed his fist against the arm of the throne. “Her brother has staked his claim to Kastellias with twenty thousand cutthroats now standing at his side and trained razorwolves.”
They were undoubtedly talking about Vaelora and her brother, Kael. The king’s bastard children.
All Zevander knew of razorwolves—the largest breed of wolf in the forest—was the lore surrounding them. That they hunted with precision and shrewdness, like men, and sometimes toyed with their prey. Some believed they onceweremen, hunterswho’d gotten lost in the woods, cursed as beasts. Any army capable of training them must’ve been formidable.
“It is humiliating when a king can’t even ward off a band of glorifiedpirates.”
“Your Grace, with all due respect, his mercenaries are former soldiers. Trained in mageduell.” It was strange to see her so submissive, so pathetic, for someone who enjoyed doling out brutality.
The king’s lips twitched in scorn. “Yes. And our men are useless. I have nothing to counter them.”
“Perhaps youdohave something significant.” The vicious amusement in her eyes when she turned toward Zevander clawed at his nerves with razor-sharp nails.
“What could that possibly be?” the king asked in a bored voice.
Never taking her eyes off Zevander, she smirked, the sight of her setting Zevander’s teeth on edge. “I’m told this one slips into Caligorya.”
Zevander’s blood crystalized, his muscles rigid. He clenched his teeth in an effort to remain stoic, emotionless, his mind scrambling for an explanation.
Theron. It had to be Theron. He was the only one Zevander had ever told.
The mage behind the king stepped forward, frowning. “Does he not wear the binding band?”
“He does. He slips into states, regardless.”
“Impossible!” the mage argued, as if he were the one insulted by her accusation. “Bring him here.”
The Solassion soldier who’d escorted him to the throne room took hold of his arm, urging him forward toward the steps of the dais. Cautiously, the mage approached and reached into his robe for a small vial of pearly white fluid.
Vivicantem.
He gave a nod to the guard, who swiped up Zevander’s hand and peeled open his closed fist. The imperceptible scars had blended with callouses and other scars inflicted on his skin over the years. Hardly noticeable anymore, even when palpated.
The mage dropped the vivicantem into his palm and swirled it across his skin. A soft tingling vibrated over his hand, and the blue glow that formed there sent a weight of dread to the pit of Zevander’s stomach, as all the glyphs he’d learned in Caligorya illuminated across his palm.
“Impossible,” the mage whispered again.
“Yes. It is quite impossible.” Hands behind her back, Loyce stepped alongside them. “Those bands are designed to stunt all forms of blood magic. Which proves that he’s been summoned by the gods.”
“He must’ve earned them prior to his imprisonment.”
She waved back at Zevander. “He arrived as a boy. Barely old enough to have ascended into his blood magic, let alonemasteredglyphs.”
“Is this true?” The king turned his attention back to Zevander. “Do you dream in Caligorya?”
“I’ve not slipped into Caligory in decades,” he answered honestly.
“But he has, and he can do it again,” Loyce argued, every word that spilled from her mouth driving Zevander further from any hope of freedom. “I believe he’s hiding something. Something he may have been shown in Caligorya. Perhaps a unique power of the gods that would give advantage over the mercenaries. It could very well be the reason Sagaerin insists on his release.”
“To possess a power of the gods would be dangerous.” The mage’s stern eyes tightened beneath the bushy white eyebrows that shadowed them. “Cause to destroy him, if you ask me.”
“Or possess.” The intrigue in King Jeret’s voice told Zevander his chance for freedom was already lost.
He steeled his nerves. “He’s right. You should destroy me. I’d sooner die than fight for the king who enslaved me.”
