Page 6 of Eldritch
Snuggling in as close as I could, I also curled my hands into fists to keep my life-stealing fingertips from touching herand draped my arm across her stomach, waiting for any sign of movement.
Had I not heard her heart myself, I’d have surely believed she was dead.
Seconds turned to minutes, and the state of her remained unchanged. Not a single sign of life, aside from the faint rise and fall of her chest. My thoughts rampaged inside my head, my mind trying to piece together a possibility, but nothing made sense. I thought back to the vision I’d had, when Dolion had used the scrying mirror, and I saw Aleysia lying warm and safe.
Had there been any truth to it? Had she been a prisoner of The Crone Witch the whole time? Why? I couldn’t fathom what the old woman would’ve wanted from her.
Zevander stood leaning against the frame. Watching. Waiting. His gaze never wavering from the two of us.
“I can’t make sense of this. How could that old crone be so cruel?”
“She may have had her reasons.” His voice was softer than before, yet I still caught a faint thread of tension. “Or maybe she didn’t. I’ve known many to be cruel without reason.”
I thought back to the scars I’d seen on his body, and while I wanted to delve deeper into his comment, I was too emotionally distracted right then for such a serious conversation. “Earlier, when you couldn’t summon your magic…”
“I think you have much bigger concerns at the moment.”
“I simply want to assure they’re bigger, seeing as men have a tendency to make light of serious concerns.”
His lips formed a reluctant smile. “You have my assurance. I’ve not had much vivicantem since I arrived here. It’s taking a small toll on my body.”
“You don’t have any with you?”
“A very waning supply, laced with stimulants that I stole from your friend at The Becoming Ceremony.”
Anatolis. The scribe I’d recognized, who Zevander had questioned and ultimately killed.
“Under the circumstances, it wouldn’t be wise to indulge in stimulants,” he said.
“What happens if you’re entirely deprived?”
A grave expression darkened his eyes. “Let’s not worry about that now. As I said, greater concerns.”
“Except that it may become greater over time. Promise me that you will tell me if it gets worse.”
“Of course.”
“And, by gods, if you keep it hidden formy sake, I’ll—” A faint tapping against my arm, deliberate in its cadence, stirred a cold ripple of goosebumps across my skin. I shot my attention to where Aleysia continued to sleep, the tapping no longer present, as if she hadn’t twitched a muscle.
“What is it?”
“She moved. I felt it against my arm. Her finger tapped me.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes…I’m…fairly certain.” Wasn’t I?
“Perhaps it was a reflex.”
“Perhaps. It felt intentional, though.”
A hard thump struck the wall, knocking dust onto my face, and with a hand at the hilt of his dagger, Zevander strode from the room. Moments later, he returned, his face a mask of concern. “Quite a few of the infected are gathered just outside. I’m going to keep watch from the window in the other room.” The torn look in his eyes told me the thought of that troubled him, though. “If she should wake …”
“I’ll be fine.”
He gave a sharp nod. “I’m right here if you need me.” When he turned to exit, the light hit his face in such a way that the skinny veins protruding from his scar seemed darker, if thatwere possible. The scar almost seemed longer, too, unless I was mistaken.
Perhaps a trick of the light.
