Page 124 of A Legacy of Wrath and Reckoning

Nye’s hands rested over her face, thumbs wiping away the tears that rolled down her cheeks. “Nothing. You should have nothing.”

Zylah let the words wash over her. Let herself acknowledge that her brother wouldn’t have acted any differently, would never have let her take that hit. Regardless of whether she was Fae, she’d have likely bled out just as quickly as he did.

“I am so glad you’re still here with us, Zylah. And so grateful to Zack for that,” Nye added.

Holt’s agreement down their bond mirrored the sentiment, but Zylah could only press her lips together and draw in a deep breath. Zack was gone, and she would never see him again.

One of the Iyofari swooped down, a rider in full battle leathers dismounting from their saddle with grace as the great bird arced upwards.

“Cirelle.” Nye greeted the High Lady as formally as she would any other soldier, but Cirelle only took one look at her niece and pulled her in for a hug.

“Don’t ever do that again,” the Fae told her gently. “You know I think of you as my own. And if you don’t, it is my failing for not telling you many times.”

“I’m fine, Mother,” Kej said dryly beside them, Cirelle shooting him a withering look over Nye’s shoulder.

And he had only shifted once, as far as Zylah knew, scratching Kopi on the head as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck.

Daizin’s influence?Holt asked.

Looks that way.

A hint of exasperation, quickly followed by respect for Daizin.I’ve been trying to convince Kej for decades that he leaves himself too exposed.

Zylah arched a brow as she looked up at him.Not the way Kej wanted to be convinced, apparently.

The corner of his mouth twitched, and Zylah resisted the urge to tease him further. Rin and Arlan had joined them, Cirelle tugging her daughter into a hug with Kej, the twins leaning into their mother’s embrace. Daizin hobbled up to Holt’s side, shadows bracing his leg, black blood crusted across his neck.

All of them looked as exhausted as Zylah felt, though a little of the adrenaline had subsided, a quiet calm settling in its place. And then she remembered Cirelle’s gift, her command of emotions, and wondered how the Fae hadn’t crumpled under the weight of it all.

“A few riders will remain with the soldiers here. To burn what remains,” Cirelle explained.

Zylah watched as two riders dismounted, their birds taking to the skies immediately. “Your timing was impeccable.”

The High Lady hummed. “Some left their young far too soon. But once news of Ranon’s plans crossed the oceans, the Iyofari were eager to leave. To help.” She glanced at the lifeless priestesses, the soldiers gathering up dead comrades. “They have felt the weight of our losses, our desire to live freely.”

And it would take time for that dream to become a reality. For Fae to live among humans as they once had. But they were moving in the right direction, and that was something. Quiet fell over them all as that thought seemed to sink in, Arlan tucking Rin into his side, Kej fussing over Daizin, shadows swatting his hands away.

A soldier stepped up to Arlan, mumbling an update in his ear, and he turned to address the group. “Sira offered to close the gate behind us when we return to Virian. We’ll be ready to depart soon.”

There was so much to do, so many things that needed addressing, but Zylah suspected Cirelle was still trying to give them all this moment of calm, this quiet instant in each other’s company as soldiers and Iyofari riders moved around them. So many had given their lives for this. And just as Holt had promised, they would make sure those who had fallen would not be forgotten.

There was talk of home. Of wine. Sleep. But all of that would have to wait. It was time to put their dead to rest.

Chapter Sixty-Three

Theweeksthatpassedwere not easy, but none of them had expected they would be. There had been almost as many wounded as dead, and a few that had succumbed to their injuries in the days after the blood moon.

Caring for the wounded had become Zylah’s priority, her friends each taking on different responsibilities in the aftermath of so much bloodshed. She thought of her brother often. Of how much he’d have loved every moment of rebuilding, of seeing everything they’d worked for coming together. But she let herself be sad that he would never get to see it. Let herself miss him; feel angry that he was gone. And though sadness often overtook the anger, Zylah let herself feel all of it, even on the days she hated every moment of feelinganything at all. But she didn’t shut it out. Not anymore.

“Three drops of ointment daily,” she told the patient seated before her, handing over a corked vial and a bundle of dried besa leaves tied in cloth. “Chew one when you feel that heavy weight on your chest.” The human nodded her thanks, and as the woman hobbled away down the row of cots, Zylah washed her hands in a bowl of warm water, her day at the hospital coming to a close.

It was one of four they’d set up across Virian as citizens had slowly started returning, word of how the army made up of both humans and Fae had defeated the monsters together spreading wide. All vampires and thralls in the city, at least. Some still remained across Astaria, Kej and Daizin taking up the mantle of leading soldiers to hunt them down. Holt and Zylah had wanted to join them, but after several fraught conversations with Nye and Arlan about the condition they’d both been left in after the blood moon, they’d finally given in.

Holt had focused his efforts on setting up the new council with Okwata’s and Ahrek’s help; the rest of his time was spent on coordinating the Black Veil posts Zack had begun to set up across Astaria. Zylah had elected to help establish the hospitals. The shadows in her eyes had remained, and though she still had her other sight, it wasn’t what it had once been. She was fortunate to still have the luxury of her threads, and between both versions of her vision and her magic, she got by just fine, considered herself lucky. Others had lost limbs. Their lives.

Some days, the echo of Pallia’s magic shuddered through her, the taste of ash bitter on her tongue. Zylah would hide herself in the hospital store cupboards under the guise of taking inventory, have to clench her teeth at the shadow of pain, at the agonising sensation of it burning through her. Holt’s soothing caress would whisper over her skin, no matter what he was in the middle of or where.

And he had not been so fortunate.

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