Eldritch, p.39
Eldritch, page 39
Aleysia eyed him up and down. “Given the state of things, he must not have found you very useful.”
Corwin’s brows pinched together. “It so happens I possess a very important skill.”
“Your mother was the ale maker,” she argued, her tone saturated in boredom. “You were a barkeep.”
“What is the end of the world without a proper drink? Miserable, that’s what.”
“We don’t have time for this.” Aleysia waved her hand dismissively. “If there’s food, we should find it and pack some for our travels.”
“Travels?” Corwin laughed the word, as if it were unthinkable. “You’re traveling with those…things out there?”
“Yes,” Aleysia and I both answered in unison.
He shrugged. “Might I tag along?”
“No,” Aleysia answered before me.
“Please. They’ll kill me here. Sacton Crain happens to believe I’m a poisoner, of all things.” He let out a nervous chuckle, looking me up and down. “No offense intended. He’s convinced the entire village that the ale they’ve consumed for decades is somehow mind altering.” He sighed, lifting his robe. “He also didn’t appreciate seeing me in a mourneclote.”
“What in God’s name is a mourneclote?” Aleysia crossed her arms and tipped her head.
“In Cruxmere, we wear mourneclotes while grieving our dead. I was mourning my dear mother in peace, until those creatures emerged. I didn’t exactly have time to change while a spindly spider was chasing me through the village. Anyway, in addition to being a poisoner, I was tossed in here for not wearing proper trousers.”
“Are you wearing a cammyck beneath, as well?”
“Aleysia.” Sighing, I shook my head and peered past him, searching the cell for any sign of a weapon, and found nothing but a bucket, like father’s. “I will set you free, but quickly. I have to find my …. Well, he’s my friend.”
“He’s her lover. With a hideous scar,” she whispered, and again, I elbowed her in the arm.
“Anyway, please don’t make me regret it.”
He shook his head frantically. “I promise, I won’t. I know Cruxmere is said to be the Port of Pirates, and that is true for some there, but I’m really nothing like them. In fact, I’m the reason Mother and I moved to Foxglove. My father considered me a bit weak. Effeminate, I believe he called me.” His brows pulled together when he lowered his gaze. “He forced me out of the only home I’ve ever known.” A mist of tears shined in his eyes. “My mother chose me,” he said, his lips pulling to a somber smile. “So we both fled.”
“Step back,” I warned, and like before, I closed my eyes, summoning the glyph. In one strike, I broke the lock, and Corwin’s eyes lit up.
“It’s true, then,” he said, his voice sketched in awe. “You really are a witch.”
“You’ve got some nerve.” Aleysia waved toward the lock. “Confine him again, Maeve, and let’s move along.”
“No!” Corwin lurched for the cell door. “I meant no insult.” Gripping the bars of his cell, he glanced around as if someone might hear him. “I’ve always sort of admired the witches, if I’m being honest. Oh, but don’t tell Sacton Crain I said that. He’d have me banished, for sure.”
Rolling my eyes, I stepped forward and unshackled the door, letting it open freely. “I’m not a witch. I don’t know what this is, or why it’s happening to me.”
“The priestess would know,” Father said from behind. “She is all-knowing.”
“Yes, well, unless you’re seeing visions of her, she’s not here. You mentioned food, Corwin?” Aleysia corralled him out of the cell and urged him forward. “Show us.”
“I have to find Zevander. I don’t have time to seek out food.”
Aleysia’s shoulders sagged. “For heaven’s sake, Maeve. Don’t you think Zevander would appreciate something to eat when you find him? Please, I cannot pass up the opportunity to eat something. Father needs to eat something,” she said, waving back at him.
“I’ll survive—”
“Hush, Father, you’re wasting away as we speak.”
I groaned. “Fine. But we need to hurry. I have to find him. He’s not—” I caught myself, but the intrigue in Aleysia’s eyes told me I’d said enough.
“He’s not what?”
“Forget I said anything.” I stepped past her, refusing to entertain any of her questions. “C’mon, Corwin.”
“Yes, of course.” He scurried up to my side, and I glanced over to see him holding up the hem of his robe, as the two of us made our way down the corridor. “These are such a nuisance when you’re running for your life.”
“Tell me about it.”
“It’s almost…there, I’ve got it!” The lock on the door they stood before clicked, and when Aleysia opened it, they found a pantry in which a few dozen shelves stood packed with jars of food. More food than I’d seen in weeks.
“Dear God. You do give a damn about me.” Aleysia pushed to her feet, brushing at her skirts. “Who could’ve imagined?”
“Language, Aleysia,” Father said, stepping inside. “The Red God has provided.”
Frowning, I stepped past him for a jar of peaches. “The Red God would’ve watched us starve to death.” I could feel Father’s stern eyes burning into me from my periphery.
“You’ve lost your faith.”
“She never had it, Father. Nor did I, if we’re confessing our sins now.” Aleysia yanked a jar of meat from the shelf, and my frown deepened as I watched her open the corked top of it.
I lurched toward her, gripping her arm. “What are you doing? That meat is raw. You’ll be sick.”
Aleysia laughed. “This again. The whole world is sick, Maeve. As long as spiders aren’t pouring out of me, what does it matter? Let it rest.” Yanking her arm free, she resumed opening the jar, and I watched in horror as she devoured the raw meat inside, red juices streaking down her chin. She let out a moan and tipped her head back, as if it was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted.
Corwin stood alongside me. “Exactly how long has it been since she’s, um…eaten?”
“Certainly not long enough for that.” I uncorked the jar I held and fished out one of the peaches. The moment the sweet flavor hit my tongue, I closed my eyes, briefly taken back to the days when grandfather would share a bowl of fresh peaches and warm honey bread.
I wasn’t there, though.
I was standing in a pantry of food, in the temple’s eerie dungeons, while Zevander remained missing. Scanning the shelves, I grabbed jars of meat, carrots, and apples. “Take a couple of jars, but not too much.”
An unsettling cold palmed the back of my neck, as they scrambled to collect the jars. “Wait.” The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. “We need to go. Now.”
We spun for the door. Two Vonkovyan soldiers stood blocking the way, their weapons trained on us. One of them lunged toward Aleysia and grabbed her arm, yanking her from the pantry.
She screamed, dropping the jars of food onto the floor. “Let me go!” She punched and scratched at him.
The other held his weapon pointed at me, and my eyes flicked to Aleysia and back. “Let her go,” I warned.
In my periphery, Corwin collapsed, and a quick glance downward told me he’d fainted.
The soldier shifted his attention to him.
A sharp breath, and I reached out, my deadly fingers gripping his throat before I could stop myself. The soldier disintegrated into dust.
Eyes wide, the second guard shoved Aleysia back into the pantry with us and slammed the door shut, snuffing out the light.
“No!” I lurched forward, and the lock clicked. The door didn’t even have a handle on our side. “No, no!” I slammed the heel of my palm against the unyielding wood. “Let us out of here! Let us out!”
“Maevyth,” Father said behind me, but I didn’t answer, frantic to open the door. “Maevyth!” His voice held the stern tone I remembered from childhood, and I stilled. “What happened just now?”
“Can you not see we’re locked in a pantry, Father?” Aleysia snipped, before I could answer. “Good grief, months in a cell is no excuse.”
“Careful of your tone, girl. I’m still your father.”
“Who abandoned us,” she argued back.
“I was imprisoned!”
“You abandoned us long before that!”
“Calm yourselves.” I pressed my forehead to the door panel and let out a long breath. “As for what happened, Father, the story is far too long to tell, and I’m too tired. Just know, I’m the same person I’ve always been.”
“Yes, just a little more deadly,” Aleysia added. “And a bit paler, if you ask me.”
“Has anyone checked on Corwin?” The darkness offered no indication of where he’d fallen.
“I’m alright. My head hurts a little, and I think I cut myself on some glass…might’ve eaten some raw meat in my delirium, but I’ll live. I think. Just…no one touch me.”
The door clicked, and frowning, I stepped back.
When it swung open, Sacton Crain and a half-dozen men stood blocking the way. His lips pulled to a repulsed expression. “And so the witch returns.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
KAZHIMYR
Atide of nausea swelled in the pit of Kazhimyr’s gut, as he stared out the cloudy galley porthole above Dravien’s head, watching the slate blue water slosh with the ship’s rocking. The scent of brine and charred meat clung to his nose and throat, failing to banish the pungent reek of gutted fish. Tired and weathered wood creaked, as the merchant ship carried them from Wyntertide, down along the southern coast, to where they hoped to land in Veneficarys by the eve of the following day. A faster route, but certainly not the easiest to travel, as far as Kazhimyr was concerned. Dravien had gotten them passage on the ship, claiming the captain was a long-time friend, but Kazhimyr hadn’t come to trust him—or his friends—any more than the first night they’d run into him at the tavern.
The ship lurched as a wave crashed against it broadside, jostling the pots and pans and making them clank behind him. An oil lantern swayed from a hook, casting erratic shadows that set his stomach roiling and his last meal creeping its way up his throat. He’d traveled the seas before, but never on a stretch that thrashed and snarled as if it might chew the keel clean off.
“You’re not much of a seaman, are you?” Dravien smiled as he sat across from him and tipped back a sip of ale. “Looking a little peaked.”
“Never liked the sea much.”
Beside him, Ravezio sat casually in his chair, unbothered by the constant heave of the hull, and sipped his ale.
“I remember the first time I ever traveled to Vespyria from Calyxar. Came down past Maleviarys on route to Wyntertide. Was a horrible storm that rocked the ship like a beast thrashing its prey. A half-dozen men went over into that icy sea.” He knocked on the porthole window behind him. “Watched from the galley as the Syrenians surrounded and devoured them. Their teeth like sharpened blades. They like taunting their prey, making little cuts at a time. The scent of blood in the water puts them in a frenzy.” The smirk never faded from his lips as he stared off, as if lost to the vision. “But not like a shark. Sharks are honest kills. Purposeful. For food and nothing more. Syrenians, on the other hand, kill for sport. They devour because they know the thought of such a thing, living broken in the bellies of beasts, terrifies us.”
The story certainly didn’t lessen the squirming in Kazhimyr’s stomach.
“Well, that destroyed whatever fantasy I might’ve had about them being beautiful and tempting.” Ravezio chuckled and polished off another long swill of his drink, before reaching for the bottle.
“The most vicious beasts in the world are beautiful.” Dravien swiped the bottle from Ravezio and filled his own glass first.
“Speaking of vicious beasts, did the good general, your employer, intend to kill Dolion?” Kazhimyr asked, ignoring the sloshing in the pit of his gut, as the ship reeled with each swell and dip.
Dravien snorted. “Suppose it doesn’t matter now. I’m a dead man, whether I tell you, or not. I was to retrieve the bloodstones by any means.”
“Was this a personal request, or at the king’s behest?”
His lips curved again, eyes narrowed on Kazhimyr. “A favor.” He buried his face in his cup and winced as he swallowed. “For Captain Zivant.”
Kazhimyr’s brows lowered. “She hired you as a favor for Captain Zivant.”
“Seems your king’s trusted don’t have a speck of loyalty in their bones.”
Kazhimyr rubbed his hand down his face. It didn’t surprise him to know Zivant was a traitor. It only concerned him that his hunt to find Dorjan might’ve carried a more strategic purpose. “Then, Solassions want the stones. That’s what this is all about. The general is only interested in the septomir.”
“General Loyce doesn’t give a damn about the septomir. She only agreed to track them down in exchange for one thing.”
“Zevander.”
Dravien’s cheek twitched as though even the sound of his name troubled him. “Her obsession knows no bounds,” he said, jaw tight.
“Are you jealous of her affections for him?”
“I’m jealous of the protection her affections affords him. Were he in my position? Having defied her orders this way, he’d suffer no more than stern words and harmless punishment.”
“I’ve heard her punishments are anything but harmless,” Kazhimyr argued.
“You’ve heard correct. And while Rydainn suffered at her hand, he never witnessed her cruelest torment. The kind I’m destined for.”
“All torment is cruel,” Ravezio said, his voice dropped to a more serious tone.
“There are levels of cruelty. The worst I’ve ever seen was what she inflicted on one of her slaves, Theron, all those years ago.” The usual smirk on his face twisted for an expression that seemed too vulnerable for a man like Dravien. One who’d undoubtedly trained himself to be charming, sly, and completely unreadable. The expression crinkling his face held far too much clarity to be mistaken for anything other than fear. “I’ve seen men suffer and die in horrible ways. If given the choice, they’d still fight for their right to keep breathing. But I’ve never heard a man scream for death so desperately as the night she strung him up. There is torture. And then there’s what goes beyond mere torture.” Dravien quickly raised his cup for another drink, and Kazhimyr caught the trembling of his hand.
“We were prisoners in the mines,” Kazhimyr said. “I heard rumors of her cruelty.”
Gaze lowered, Dravien smiled. “The stories you heard are a mere shadow. Your friend may be her favored, but make no mistake, the mask of normalcy he wears hides the nightmares. The voices. The uncertainty that any moment she might find him when he’s least expecting it. She’s undoubtedly sought him out in the mortal lands. Not even the threat of famine and disease could keep her away from what’s owed to her.”
“She hired you for coin?”
He sneered, swirling the drink in his cup. “A slave can’t be hired for coin. They do as they’re commanded.”
It troubled Kazhimyr, how easily he’d been lured into feeling sorry for the bastard.
“I’m gonna go take a piss.” Ravezio pushed his cup aside and stood.
“Be sure to aim leeward. The waves have teeth tonight, so you might grab more than your cock to steady yourself.”
Kazhimyr chuckled at that, his nausea settled enough for a swill of his drink. “Think I might have to piss, as well.”
Dravien nodded, his eyes still showing he was lost to thought.
As Kazhimyr pushed to his feet, he was certain of two things: their time on the ship had not afforded him sea-legs, and the liquor he’d consumed hadn’t dulled the gurgling in his stomach as he’d hoped. He staggered with the rocking of the ship, as he made his way up the creaky staircase to the top deck. Gusts of wind made the trek to the bow even more difficult, but the diminishing twilight had him squinting through the dark to find Ravezio.
He twisted around, looking for his friend, and heard a shout that curled the hair on the back of his neck. Ignoring his unsteady gait, Kazhimyr stumbled to the edge of the ship and peered over, searching the black water below.
Flailing hands broke through the surface. “Help!” Ravezio cried out, and without a beat of hesitation, Kazhimyr shed the scabbard at his back and dove into the water headfirst.
The black sea could’ve been ice cold, but it merely registered as tepid for Kazhimyr, whose blood temperature quickly adjusted—a blessed gift of his magic. He cut through the rough waves, swimming toward his friend, who couldn’t keep his head above water.
Something struck his leg, but Kazhimyr ignored it, keeping on toward Ravezio. When he finally reached him, the other Letalisz had just sank below the surface again, and Kazhimyr dove under for him. A soft glow lit the water beneath them, and Kazhimyr twisted around as something slipped past him. Another slipped past on the other side.
Sharks?
He couldn’t tell, the way they moved so quickly and fluidly in the water. Clutching Ravezio’s arm, he dragged him upward, and both of them broke the surface on a gasp of air.
Ravezio coughed and spat water, as Kazhimyr kept his eyes on the movement below them. “They…pulled me right…off the deck.”
“What are they?”
“Think they’re the Syrenians…Dravien mentioned…tried to bite me, but…I don’t think they cared for my blood much.” He wheezed a chuckle, gripping Kazhimyr’s shoulder to stay above water. “Damned fish harpies.”
The ship stood like a beacon beyond their grasp, and Kazhimyr gnashed his teeth. A hot streak of pain slashed the back of his leg, and he jerked forward. “Fucking hell!”
“They’re toying with us.”
“Let’s see how well they swim in ice.” He growled and held out his hand to the water, sending a white mist across the surface. Swells of waves froze into place, looming over them like crystal giants. Their bodies bobbed in a diminishing halo of water, as the ice closed in around them. Kazhimyr yanked Ravezio to the edge of a flat stretch and, in one heave, hoisted him upward.
