Page 224 of Eldritch
“Okay! I’ll come back later!”
Zevander rose to his full height, his face glistening as he shoved his fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean. “The only one coming later will be you.”
Pressing my lips to fight a smile, I tapped him with the back of my hand. “You’re shameless, you know that?”
“Shamelessly obsessed with your cu?—”
I slapped my hand over his mouth and pointed toward the door, where a shadow beneath told me Aleysia was still standing there. “Did you need something more, Aleysia!”
“Oh…no! I …. I was just…going back to check on Father! Later, then!”
He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Nosey, isn’t she?”
“I suppose both of us have had our nosey moments.” I tugged the cloth from his hand and rinsed it in the water that had already cooled. “You might want to warm this again. I don’t want you to freeze when I wash you this time.”
Zevander placed his hand over mine and gently pried the cloth out of my grasp. “Go eat something. I’ll wash.”
“I’d hoped to reciprocate your generosity.”
He smiled and leaned in to kiss my neck. “Tonight. I don’t want to start something we can’t finish.”
Lips curving, I turned to his ear and whispered, “I look forward to it.”
His arms closed around me, pressing me tight against him, and he squeezed my backside as he kissed the crook of my neck. When he released me, his tongue swept over his lips as he raked his gaze down my body. “As do I.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
MAEVYTH
The black feathers at the neckline of Aleysia’s dress bounced around her, as she danced alongside an enormous pyre. Two warriors from the village had taken an interest in her—both of them performing what I’d come to understand was a ritualistic dance, akin to two peacocks vying for her attention. Both clanked bones in their hands and wore headdresses made of black feathers.
“They’re best friends.” A woman who must’ve been only slightly older than me scooted closer, as I glanced around in search of Zevander.
While he’d agreed to stay back for the evening, I didn’t imagine he’d actually keep his distance the entire night, and I fully expected that he was lurking somewhere unseen.
“Whichever one she doesn’t choose will protect her and watch over her, as if she had,” the woman kept on, drawing my attention back to my sister.
I chuckled, watching her weave between the two men, holding her cup in the air. “I don’t think Aleysia is looking to choose a partner. I think she may just be a little tipsy from her drink.”
“The mortelias dance is a rite of passage. An aphrodisiac,” the Lyverian woman said, rubbing her round belly. “I was with child soon after my mate performed.”
I looked back to Aleysia again, imagining her mated to one of their warriors. Happy, as she was right then. Was it possible?
Behind her, Father sat with Erithanya and Corwin. All three of them donned in feathers, laughing and drinking in merriment. I closed my eyes, imagining their lives here, without me.
“Vasmora,” a feminine voice said, and I opened my eyes to find an older woman kneeling in front of me, holding a black rose with silver tips, just like the one I’d seen back in Aethyria. She placed it on the ground in front of me, along with a loaf of bread. Clasping her hands, she bowed her head and gingerly brushed what looked like a small bone fragment against my arm.
The woman beside me leaned in. “A gift of gratitude for Vasmora.”
“Thank you.” I smiled at the older woman, and as she rose to her feet, another knelt before me—that one younger.
She laid a knitted blanket and honeysticks on the ground beside the loaf of bread and flower. “Vasmora,” she said, bowing her head like the other and brushing the smooth edge of a bone over my arm.
Again, I offered my thanks with a smile.
Warmth filled my cheeks as I quickly looked away. All my life, I’d been shunned, spat on, ridiculed for what I was. An entire village had once looked down on me, but tonight, they knelt. As I trailed my gaze over the surrounding faces, I found myself humbled by their show of reverence. My throat tightened, and I reached for my drink with a slight tremor in my hand, burying my discomfort in another sip of wine.
A tall, sturdy man, muscular in stature, lowered to one knee before me and bowed his head. “Vasmora. I would be honored to give you my seed.”
