Page 188 of Eldritch
“No one said anything about death, boy.” The mage’s lips twisted with scorn. “There are many ways to destroy a man, without such finality.”
The king looked thoughtful for a moment, and the mage standing beside him leaned in to whisper in his ear. He rubbed his fingers together, staring at Zevander all the while. “You’ve seen him slip into Caligorya, General?” he asked. “With your own eyes?”
“I was made aware by another prisoner. A healer who attends Zevander’s wounds.”
“He is a traitorous cunt!” Zevander snarled, lurching forward.
Three guards advanced toward him, their weapons trained on him.
“You will show respect in my presence, or I’ll have you strung up and beaten to a bloody pulp.” The king pushed to his feet, hands clutched behind his back. “As for you, General Loyce, I’ll ask you to investigate this matter. If he’s hiding something, I want to be aware. In the meantime, I’ll decline King Sagaerin’s request.”
It didn’t matter that he might’ve been executed upon returning to Nyxteros, Zevander felt the weight of the king’s words pressing down on him, the impossibility of freedom thick in his throat. He sank to his knees as if he’d been stabbed in the back. Couldn’t bring himself to look at Loyce. Couldn’t bear to see the elation in her eyes.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Through the smug grin she undoubtedly wore on her face, the satisfaction in her voice promised suffering. Retribution for his defiance.
And what did it matter anymore? There was little she could do to him more destructive than watching his freedom slip through his fingers like sand.
“You once demanded to know who conspired to have Aradia betray you,” Zevander said, watching the king and his mage exit the throne room. “I refused to tell you, not out of defiance, but because I knew he’d never survive you. He was weak. Terrified of you. And he would betray you again, if given the chance. In fact, he might just betray your newly found trust with the king.” Zevander hoped for it. Looked forward to the day when she would be forced to reconcile the mistake of not having killed him herself. “It was Theron. He’s the one who plotted against you.”
“I’m aware,” she said, but the twitch of her eye betrayed her confidence. “And he has since redeemed himself tenfold. Under normal circumstances, he’d be food for my pets, but how can I punish the clever mind responsible for the king denying your freedom? Sagaerin offeredten thousandNyxterosi men to help defeat the mercenaries. And Jeretdeclined. Do you understand what a feat that was? I thought I’d lost you forever.” Her lips stretched to a wicked grin. “Theron will help me prove that you are capable of slipping into Caligorya, of acquiring glyphs in the dark realm. And if he fails? He will die.” She circled him, drawing her nail over his silk tunic. “Now, Love, let’s get you out of these fancy clothes and into something more appropriate for your stature.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
KAZHIMYR
The stench of rot and decayed vegetation clogged Kazhimyr’s throat as he stepped over thick tree roots. Bark-covered walls at either side of him stretched nearly fifteen meters above, to the skinny veins of intertwined roots that made up the ceiling. Roots beneath his feet hissed and retreated into the ground with each step he took on his way toward a wooden staircase ahead.
His hair prickled on the back of his neck, like the sensation of someone following him.
He glanced over his shoulder.
Nothing but darkness at his back.
He kept on toward what he hoped was the exit, not immediately noticing the roots that reached out for his ankles, until he felt a tickle at his calf, an almost sentient caress of his skin. The moment he looked down, his legs flew out from under him. The ground crashed against his chin, rattling his teeth, and he turned over, groaning, as stars drifted before his eyes.
Tendrils of bark crawled over his legs, tightening around them. He shot forward, clawing at the painful roots that bit into his bones, holding him down.
The roots climbed higher. Higher.
Kazhimyr raised his hand, summoning his ice glyph. Gnarled branches coiled around his palm and up his arm. One hard yank threw him back against the ground, his spine crashing against the hard dirt. Arms pinned at his sides, he could do little to fight off the attack as he wriggled and squirmed in futility. Skinnier roots banded across his forehead, holding him in place, and Kazhimyr cried out when tiny thorns pierced his skin, wincing as they sank into his bones.
He clenched his teeth, panting through his nose as panic settled over him, and his eyes shot open to a dark figure gliding toward him, its pale white skull face and sunken eye sockets the only other discernible feature, aside from the skeletal legs that made up a spider’s silhouette.
Fear gripped Kazhimyr’s muscles, shaking him as the strange creature edged closer, and pangs of nausea churned in his stomach. Long, silken strands of black hair hung from just above its ears, leaving the top of its skull bald. The strands seemed to move about his head, as if feeling the air, hunting for something. A black substance leaked from the eye sockets like smeared kohl, and as it advanced closer, Kazhimyr could see its carapace was tessellated and bark-like.
The figure reached out a spindly finger with a black-tipped nail, and Kazhimyr grunted as his muscles turned rigid, his body trembling so hard, he could scarcely draw a breath. While he couldn’t see it with his head bound by the roots, the nail pressed into his leg, sending out a hiss when the sharp tip breached his skin.
A bellow of pain tore from Kazhimyr’s throat as a scalding burn snaked through his limb. Below that unbearable pain, an unnerving tickle scampered across his muscles, like the brittle legs of a thousand insects beneath his skin. They settled in hiscalf, and Kazhimyr cried out as that horrific sensation pulsed through his body, climbing up into his chest.
Stop! Please!
He opened his mouth for a scream, but the sound failed to come forth.
Kazhimyr inhaled sharply through his nose, fists tightly clutching fabric, and his eyes shot open to a stern green gaze staring back at him, his mouth covered by a firm hand.
Dravien.
The Elvyniran pressed a finger to his own lips to quiet him.
