Page 221 of Eldritch
I gave his hand a small squeeze and smiled. “The priestess is showing us to our sleeping quarters.”
“Oh, um …” Corwin glanced back toward the Lyverian woman who smiled and lowered her gaze. “Zelaia is going to show me to mine. But thank you.”
Nodding, I hurried back to where Zevander and Erithanya stood waiting for me. The priestess led the two of us out of the temple, back down the stone stairs to the main stony path that stretched through the village. Following after her, I sensed eyes watching us and turned to see children hiding amongst the trees.
The path split around a tall, stone sculpture of a woman holding a scythe that appeared to be made of smooth bone. Silver eyes left no doubt as to whom she was—Morsana.
While the village wasn’t as sophisticated as Foxglove, with its shops and roads, it wasn’t entirely primitive, either. Certainly not what I’d been told, of women running naked and homes no more than small huts. The houses, built from wood and stone with thatched roofs, looked to be as sturdy as any well-crafted home in Foxglove.
Zevander gripped my arm, slowing our pace to allow distance between us and the priestess. “You’re not telling me something,” he said in a low voice, as we made our way through the village, greeted by the stares of the Lyverians we passed.
“You don’t always have to be astute, you know. Sometimes, it’s okay to be oblivious to things.”
“I trust you’ll tell me eventually.”
“I will.”
“Just let me know now if I’ll be killing anyone before night’s end. I may need one more dose of vivicantem.”
“No, I suspect not.” Smiling, I trailed my gaze over the curious faces that watched us, not detecting an ounce of hostility in them. An older woman we passed bowed and gently brushed her hand against mine.
He made a sound of disapproval in his throat. “Perhaps I’ll wait and be the judge. You’re a bit too kind when it comes to these things.”
I chuckled. “And you’re a bit too quick to judge.”
Erithanya smiled over her shoulder as we approached a row of cottages. “Shall I separate the two of you? There are some who’ve eagerly expressed wanting to share a bed with each of you.”
“No,” Zevander growled.
The priestess chuckled and waved us toward one of the small dwellings. “The rest of your family were placed together.” She pointed to a home two down from ours. “They are there. You will be given fresh clothing, and there’s a fresh basin of lavenderwater to wash, along with some food inside.” She leaned to catch Zevander’s attention. “For you, I’ve provided a small bit of vivicantem. I estimated your weight for it. Hopefully, I wasn’t too far off the mark.”
Zevander gave absolutely no reaction, confirming that he still didn’t trust the woman.
“You’re very kind, Priestess. Thank you,” I said on his behalf.
“My pleasure. Someone will come to fetch you for this evening’s festivities. Rest and eat.”
Like that of the temple, the door leading into the cottage held warding spells etched into the wood. I pushed inside to a small but warm room with roughly-carved stone walls, arched wooden beams that made up a domed ceiling covered in thatch, and a crooked cobblestone floor. A fireplace blazed on the other side of a small table and two chairs, where a bowl of fruit, a slab of smoked meat, and a pitcher of water had been set. At the opposite side of the room stood a wooden bed covered in thick pelts and a knitted blanket, alongside a separate table that held the basin, a pitcher, and cloths.
Sachets and small bones hung from the ceiling, one of which Zevander gathered in his palm and studied. “Charming,” he said, and stepped deeper into the room.
I slipped my aching feet out of my boots, flexing my toes to ease the ache in them. A wooden foot bucket filled with water waited on the floor beside the fireplace, and I dipped my toes to find it was already warmed. I stepped into it, delighted by the heat, as I warmed myself by the flames.
Glancing over my shoulder showed Zevander assessing the weapons that’d been left out beside the bed, and he yanked his sword from the scabbard, checking it over.
Once warm enough, I dried my feet off and made my way toward the bed, swiping up a frostfig from the fruit bowl on the way. Two piles of clothes sat on the bed, and I lifted one to finda long, sleek, black dress with a feather collar. From the waist, hung a chain of red jewels and blanched, white bones.
Zevander strode up, running a rag over one of his daggers, and I turned to see him admiring the dress. “I look forward to seeing you in that one. But first, how about you tell me what in seven hells is going on?”
“The priestess believes I am Vasmora.”
“Death vessel,” he said tonelessly.
“Yes. Chosen by the goddess because, at some point in my life, my fate changed.” Lips flat, I tipped my head and stared back at him, but he remained as stoic as ever. “They believe I’ve come to restore their bloodline.”
His brows pinched together. “How?”
“By mating with their best warrior.” I folded the dress back onto the pile, imagining the look on his face right then. “Which I have no intention of doing.”
