Page 238 of Eldritch
“I was jealous, Your Grace.” The quiver in Theron’s voice told Zevander he was terrified. “I’d heard of King Sagaerin’s prior attempts to secure his release and I sought to sabotage it.”
Jeret turned toward his mage. “They glowed under the vivicantem. Surely, false glyphs wouldn’t appear that way.”
The mage looked thoughtful for a moment. “If they are associated with his bloodline, they might.”
“How would Theron know that?” Loyce argued. “He’s lying. He did not carve those into Zevander’s flesh.”
“Whether he’s lying, or not, the fact remains—you’ve not produced a new glyph in two decades. Sagaerin claims his only interest in this young man has to do with his mother. Rather than rely on useless claims of magic, I’d much prefer the guarantee of men. I will accept Sagaerin’s offer. Zevander Rydainn of Nyxteros, you are hereby released of your sentence per order of the king.”
Zevander’s knees buckled beneath him and he fell to the floor. Freedom.
Freedom.
Freedom.
He raised his shackled hands and through tears, stared at the scabs and callouses where his skin had grown used to the metal.
The glance he threw at Theron was fleeting but potent the way it struck his gut like a sharp blade. The other slave stood shivering. Terrified. His face white as fresh snow.
Loyce was going to kill him. Slowly. Painfully.
Zevander turned toward the general, his throat tight, begging him to remain silent, but he pushed out the words trapped in his chest. “I’ll stay. Don’t lay a hand on Theron and I’ll refuse the offer.”
“You’ve no choice in the matter.” The mage sneered. “It is already decided.”
Zevander slid closer toward the king on his knees. “I demand that my friends are released.”
King Jeret laughed and gave a dismissive wave. “You’re in no position to make demands.”
“You’re wrong,” Zevander said boldly. “I know who the squatter of Kastellia is to you. I know why you long to see him killed. It is a secret that will die with me if you grant four of my friends their freedom.”
The king’s eyes narrowed like a snake. “I could have your head for such a threat.”
“You could, yes.” Zevander’s voice trembled. “And I would welcome a swift blade. But that will not earn your twenty thousand men from King Sagaerin.”
“A very generous offering for aslave.” Disdain dripped from the mage’s voice like venom. “Perhaps you might show some humility.”
“I have paid for a crime I didn’t commit.”
“Which four?” The king held out his goblet and without hesitation, his cup bearer surged forward to fill it. “What difference does four slaves make, after all? You’re all useless.”
“Well, hurry up, then.” The mage turned away, his robes dancing after him. “I’ve more important matters.”
“There are three in the mines. They go by the names Kazhimyr, Ravezio and Torryn. And then …” He only gave a fleeting glance toward him. “Theron.”
Loyce stepped forward. “Your Grace, it is my opinion that Theron should not be granted his freedom. He lied to a king.”
“Agreed,” Jeret said in a bored tone. “I’ll grant freedom for the other three. Theron must be punished.”
Zevander turned toward the other slave whose face had gone ghostly pale, his body trembling so hard, it was a wonder he managed to stay upright. “I’m begging Your Grace. General Loyce will subject him to brutality.”
“He admitted his lies.” Just as before, the king waved a dismissive hand and tipped back a drink of his wine. “He would be fortunate to breathe at all. The matter is closed. Fetch the three from the mines and prepare them for release.”
“I refuse!” Zevander jumped to his feet, his chains clattering.
“Guards! Get him out of my sight.”
As two guards gripped Zevander’s arms, Loyce strode up to him. “I’ll be sure to keep him breathing through it all,” she whispered.
