Page 143 of Eldritch
Theron paused in stitching a gash at his thigh, his usually steady hand trembling.
Zevander stared at him, imagining what she’d opt to do for punishment. Perhaps, toss him into her serpent’s pit, just as she had Vaelora. Maybe she’d shackle him in a cell, starving him as she tormented and abused him, the way she had Zevander. No matter the punishment she opted for, he was certain Theron wouldn’t survive it.
Zevander inwardly sighed. There was a time he would’ve killed for a chance to return to the mines. Would’ve offered up his fellow slave without a thought, or care. The unsettling image of facing his friends after what he’d suffered, however, the shame and humiliation of what’d been done to him, would’ve sickened him. He would’ve retched to hear them lament over their longing to fuck something, as they often did in the hours before sleep.
He couldn’t return to the mines. Not after what he’d become.
Zevander would sooner die as her slave, than wear a mask of normalcy, pretending the abuse and torment had never happened.
“Dravien Nockvayne,” he said.
Theron’s shoulders sagged with relief, and he resumed his stitching.
The general ground to a halt again and tipped her head. “Dravien Nockvayne,” she echoed. “Aradia’s slave. Interesting.You suffered days of torment, and never once mentioned his name.”
“You never once offered my return to the mines.”
She let out a breathy laugh. “And, still, your wry wit remains ever present.” She resumed her pacing. “We are connected, you and me.”
“I share no connection with you,” Zevander asserted.
“Oh, but you do.” She yanked her dagger free from her hip, and the sight of it, the memory of the many times she’d dragged that blade across his flesh, stirred an uneasy feeling in his gut. “My father was a general before me. A fair and dutiful man. I wasn’t his natural-born child, I never knew the orgoth who impregnated my mother, but I was grateful for the man who loved her so dearly, he raised me as his own.” Pressing the tip of the blade into her finger sprouted a drop of blood. “He was put to death, after he failed to track down and hand over the king’s own bastard children--the very children your father hid away all those years ago.”
Again, Theron paused his stitching just long enough to sail a confused frown at him, then busied himself again.
“It was fate that your father would die here,” she added.
“Shouldn’t your enmity be directed at your king?” Zevander spoke through clenched teeth.
“My father failed to carry out his duty. He told me himself, as he lay dying. He’d have done the same in King Jeret’s position.”
Zevander sneered at that. “Then, he’s a fool. So bound by duty, he failed to see the cruelty in the task. Murdering innocent children isn’t honorable.”
Theron shook his head, wincing, the sight of him stirring Zevander’s urge to laugh.
“Innocent, yes. But what comes of those children when they grow to be mercenaries with ten thousand Kastellian cutthroats at their back?” The way her hand clenched into a fist asshe walked with a tightly-restrained tension in her steps told Zevander he’d rattled her. “I should loathe your existence, but I must admit, I find myself increasingly intrigued by you, Rydainn.”
“Your greatest fault is imagining that I care.”
Theron dragged his hand down his face, undoubtedly ready to throttle Zevander himself.
In spite of whatever retaliation he might’ve expected from her, she chuckled. “Even now, as you crawl from the brink of death, you are still brimming with fire and grit. I can never quite tell if I want to kill you, or fuck you. It’s utter madness.”
“I’d welcome the killing more.”
Her cold, dispassionate eyes remained locked on Zevander. “That’s enough, Theron. Please excuse us.”
“I’ve one more wound to stitch.”
“Now,” she said firmly, and he gave a curt nod, rising to his feet.
“My apologies.” He bowed and scurried off, out of the room.
At first, she didn’t say a word, her gaze unwavering. She exhaled a sharp breath, then hands behind her back, she paced again. “You want your freedom. You can earn it, you know.”
“Returning to the mines isn’t exactly freedom.”
“I’m not talking about returning to the mines. I’m talking about the world.” She lowered to one knee beside him, staring at the scarred side of his face. “Earn my trust, and you will see a life outside of these walls.”
