Page 15 of A Legacy of Wrath and Reckoning

The only sound was the steadydrip drip dripof water from the rocks above, the occasional movement of bats. She could wait, Zylah supposed. Observe. Wait until nightfall to see if she could catch a glimpse of the moon, try and discern when this blood moon would be. Her knowledge of lunar phases was limited to the basics, but if she could reach her friends, they might know something she didn’t.

The cavern felt quiet, peaceful, as if it were waiting for her to make her decision. But Zylah knew even indecision would come with a price in the maze. Something fell through the opening above, fluttering like a leaf, drifting down in lazy circles.

Not a leaf. A feather. She held out her hand. Called and called and called on that place within herself where her magic once dwelled, willing the falling feather to appear in her hand.

A breath escaped her as something soft tickled her palm. It was one of Kopi’s; she’d recognise it anywhere. He’d made it out.

Zylah tucked the feather into her braid, decision made. She’d managed to top up the water bladder a little from the moss, and she had enough of the wiry green plant to keep her going. She surveyed the water carefully, eyes roaming over the places the fallen rocks created stepping stones across the surface, the nearest a stone’s throw from the shore where she stood. With the bag shifted higher on her shoulders, Zylah stepped off the shore.

Frigid water seeped through her boots. Hit her knees. Her thighs. She shoved the cloak away from the surface, determined to have one item of clothing remain dry. At the very least, she had Arioch’s flint and striking rock held above her.

The water came to her waist when she reached the first of the fallen rocks. The bag went first, then Zylah heaved herself up, scrambling to the centre of the plinth and catching her breath. Purple crystal winked at her from all around, glittering in the sunlight. High above, the opening to the world beyond the maze taunted her. But no matter how much she tried, how much she called, nothing within her answered when she tried to evanesce.

It was enough to keep her moving. With calculated leaps, Zylah made her way from plinth to plinth, almost losing her footing more than once on the slippery rock. At the sixth, a skeleton lay prone, a spear beside it. There was no hesitation as Zylah snatched it up, using it to steady herself as she moved to the next stone.

She spared a glance back to the shore, movement in the shadows drawing her attention. Likely more bats, she told herself. Still, Zylah didn’t linger. She was halfway now, and if she couldn’t find a way to climb the rock on the far side, she’d be forced to turn back. Leap, steady, measured steps, repeat. Only four remained. A splash sounded from somewhere, but Zylah refused to turn and look. Leap, steady, traverse. Another splash. Three left to go.

She leapt again, the water beneath her rippling, a shadow moving under the surface. Her legs slid out from under her, a foot grazing the water, but Zylah hauled herself out as quickly as she fell. A crack sounded, her fingers tightening around her weapon as the entire cavern rumbled, shards of rock crashing from above.

Not good, not good, not good.

A dark shadow moved beneath the water. A very large, dark shadow, with a glimmer of something that looked far too much like scales. All she could think of was water serpents, more creatures from Kara’s storybooks, her stomach flipping. Zylah didn’t wait to find out if she was right. She leapt for the next plinth, the spear falling from her grasp as she landed face down, steadying herself with her hands. A shadow blotted out the light, a curtain of frigid water showering her from head to toe. Zylah held her breath, fingers wrapping around the spear, and rose slowly, a hot gust of fetid, damp air blowing across her face.

At her full height, a wall of dark green scales faced her. Zylah swallowed. Took a tentative step back to the edge of the plinth and looked up. Three jaws snapped open, and Zylah ran, hauling her body past the creature to reach the final plinth, then leapt for the shore. The beast roared, rocks smashing off the cavern walls, bats darting out from their hiding places.

Three. Heads. And she had one godsdamned dagger and one rusted spear that she hastily fastened behind her with the hem of her cloak as the beast searched for her.

Rocks bit at her fingers as she climbed, her wet clothes slowing her ascent. Water splashed from somewhere, then stilled, as if the thing had submerged itself. Three heads, each with dark eyes in lidless slits, long, gnarled snouts and mouths full of four rows of deadly teeth, each one taller than her. The water serpents in Kara’s books hadn’t had three heads. And the heroes who slayed them had real weapons. Armies. All Zylah had was sheer desperation and the will to live.

She’d almost reached the platform when the beast emerged, all three heads roaring as they lunged for her again. Zylah leapt. Slammed the spear into the neck of the nearest one, the weapon rattling in her hands as she swung from it, the creature screaming.

Another head snapped for her, and again Zylah leapt, unsheathing her dagger and sliding across the third head as the second snapped its teeth into the first. The two heads thrashed and fought, the third writhing beneath her, but Zylah slammed the dagger into its scales to maintain her hold. Black blood sprayed across her face, the creature screaming and bucking beneath her.

Something crashed into her side. A tail, Zylah realised dully, as her grip slackened, her vision blurred. It slammed again, and this time Zylah fell and fell until she hit the frigid water, the bag and the cloak dragging her down, down, down.

Above her, the three heads became shadows, her eyes falling shut as she sank. She was back in the hot springs, running from Arnir’s men, her wrists bloodied and bruised from her cuffs. Something had appeared in the blue, a face, and then it was gone. A feeling, a tremor in the water she hadn’t understood then. She felt it now. Stirring. Louder.Holt.

Her eyes snapped open and Zylah kicked. Shoved the bag over her head. The cloak followed it. Her lungs burned, but she fought for the surface, arms thrashing as she swam for the shore. She heaved herself onto the rocks, gasping for breath as water splashed behind her. A weapon. She needed a weapon. Zylah shook as she climbed, cold seeping into her bones, each breath like hot coals in her throat. But she’d felt him, and the thought urged her to climb higher.

The serpent still fought with itself. The centre head lolled, lifeless, while the outer two snapped and thrashed at each other, smashing into rocks and crystals, and Zylah climbed. She stilled in a shadow as her body trembled, as she willed her breaths to steady. Called on her magic, hand held open for her dagger. A sob escaped her when its weight sank into her palm, when the serpent’s black blood marred her skin. She shoved it in her belt and climbed higher, the rock shaking beneath her fingers, pieces tumbling around her. One clipped her shoulder and Zylah screamed.

That was enough to ensnare the serpent’s attention. Two heads roared, and Zylah flung her dagger without hesitation, the blade hitting its mark: an eye. The beast thrashed and wailed in pain, the injured head sliding across rock in an attempt to free the blade, narrowly missing Zylah as she climbed.

But a dagger could only do so much damage. What Zylah needed was a sword. Her sword. The one Holt had given her, before they knew what they were to each other. She didn’t close her eyes this time. Zylah pulled from that place deep within her, felt the flare of magic along her skin, the weight of her sword in her hand as her fingers tightened around the hilt, and didn’t hesitate. With one swift push, she hurled herself at the head that wasn’t thrashing, her wounded shoulder screaming in protest as she clung to the ridges and flares just above its eyes.

Purple crystal blurred in her vision, shards of rock narrowly missing her head as the creature bucked. Zylah held herself in place with her thighs pressed tightly to one of those gnarled ridges, raised her sword above her head and slammed it between the thing’s eyes.

The serpent roared. Flung its head back and Zylah lost her hold, lost her grip on her sword, her body hurtling towards the broken platform. For a moment, she thought she’d made it, but then her fingers brushed the edge and she was falling, a hand still outstretched as if she could will the rock to bend and meet her.

Only it wasn’t rock that reached for her, but roots. Roots that for the span of a blink looked like an outstretched hand, then wrapped around her wrist and pulled. A broken laugh escaped her, and Zylah tugged on her magic, willing more vines to reach for her and pull her to safety, scrambling to pull herself onto the platform, her heart pounding in her chest.

She rolled to her back, and for a heartbeat, it felt like a shadow lay beside her, but then the serpent smashed its head against the edge of the plinth and Zylah leapt back as rocks crumbled away. It couldn’t reach her, but it could smash through the rock with enough blows.

With one hand at her side she called for her sword, leaving the thrashing serpent to destroy the cavern as she turned away.

Chapter Ten

NowthatZylahcouldsummon things to her once more, the days that followed became more manageable. The first items had been a change of clothes, Nye’s, from the room they’d given her at the Aquaris Court. She’d considered retrieving one of Holt’s shirts from the tavern in Virian but changed her mind at the last moment. No matter how much she wanted to believe it had been his roots that had reached for her, helped her to escape the water serpent, she knew it was her own magic that had pulled her to safety. Knew that even though it had felt like his presence lying beside her on that platform, it was just as likely to be his ghost.

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