Page 66 of A Legacy of Wrath and Reckoning

“What is it?” Holt asked beside her.

“Spiders. Lots of them.” Zylah reached for Arioch at the same time Holt reached for her, and then they were moving through the aether, Holt’s magic wrapping around them as they left the maze. She thought of how she’d followed his evanescing outside the mine, his elation when she’d broken Jesper’s compulsion, the warmth and love and gratitude that had poured through their bond. If only she’d known it would be one of the last times she’d feel it.

They reappeared farther away from the maze than Zylah had expected, though she couldn’t say she was sorry to put so much distance between them and it. Holt moved five or six times before her ability to evanesce returned and she took over, stopping only when they reached the cave they’d stayed at the night before. It felt like days had passed since they’d been staring at the entrance to the maze, snow flurrying around them and apprehension rolling through her.

Despite how exhausted he must have been, Holt offered to set up for the night, giving Zylah time to approach Arioch at the mouth of the cave, too many questions on the tip of her tongue.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, passing the Seraphim a plate of bread and cheese and a brin fruit Holt had handed to her a few moments before, summoned from the Aquaris Court judging by the fineness of the plate.

“My kind don’t feel the cold as you do.” He smiled in thanks at the food, his eyes widening when he took in the brin fruit, reaching for it first and holding it to his nose as he inhaled. “It’s been lifetimes since I ate an apple. Thank you.”

“Do you know anything about the blood moon?” Zylah asked, because she couldn’t hold on to the question any longer.

Arioch took a bite of the brin fruit—or apple, as he’d called it—and hummed his approval. “Ten of us arrived on a blood moon.” He gestured to the sky peppered with stars, the moon barely a sliver amongst them. “Sira and her sisters used it to open a window from their world to this one, but I have no idea how they did it.”

“Their world. Not yours.”

“Not mine,” he agreed, a sadness in his tone that hadn’t been there before. “I’ll take first watch, you must be exhausted.”

“You don’t want to sleep?” she asked, gesturing inside the cave to the flickering firelight.

The Seraphim shook his head, gazing up at the sky. “I’ve slept enough over the years; I’d like to watch the stars. Get some rest, both of you. And thank you, Zylah. For keeping your word.”

“Of course.” She left him to his meal, glad for the warmth of the fire Holt had set up in the cave, her sight restored enough that she could take in the bedrolls and blankets he’d laid out for them, the little basket of food she recognised like the ones in the Aquaris Court.

She moved to sit beside him, running a hand over a soft blanket beneath her, strands of something plush carefully knitted together. “These look like something Kej would have on his bed.”

Holt chuckled, handing her a plate just like the one she’d given to Arioch. “Kej’s, Rin’s, Nye’s, the bed I used to sleep in when I stayed. I took as many as I could. You seemed cold last night.”

Because he watched her just as closely as she watched him. Maybe Aurelia had been wrong. Maybe she hadn’t been successful in her task. Zylah forced herself to eat something as she considered the possibility. The way he reached for her whenever he could, touched her, held her. The brin fruit felt like a stone in her throat and she set her plate aside.

Holt reached into the basket, his huge hand closing around something, the delicious smell rising between them.

“A canna cake!” Zylah gasped, pulling at the parchment paper at the base to tear off a piece of the soft sponge and pop it into her mouth. She didn’t hide her groan at the taste, her eyes scrunching shut under the cloth, though she could still see how Holt watched her, the way his eyes fixed on her fingers at her mouth, the way his eyes darkened.

“I hate that you can’t see my eyes,” she murmured.

His attention flicked up to the cloth, concern lacing his features and his fingers tightening around his plate. “Does it hurt?”

Zylah shook her head. Picked at another piece of cake and considered her response. “Only when the two versions of my sight are fighting with each other.” She was tempted to pull down the cloth, to try to marry the two visions of him together, but there was something else she wanted to try to use her magic for before the night was through.

“So what happens when Okwata’s anti-venom works?” he asked, cleaning their plates away into the basket and summoning another log to throw onto the fire.

“I don’t know,” Zylah admitted, picking at the last of the cake. But she would need to practise getting used to it as soon as she could, or there was a very real possibility the variations in her sight were going to be a problem. She discarded the parchment in the basket, dusted the crumbs from her hands, and moved to her knees. “Now. Are you going to let me try to break Ranon’s command, or do we have to barter for it?”

Holt’s lips twitched, but he held back his smile as he shifted to his knees to mirror her position. “I just played the only card I had.”

“Gratefully received,” she told him, fighting a smile of her own. But the thought of what they were about to do, what they needed to attempt had her straightening. “May I?” She reached her hands up tentatively to his head, waiting for his consent before resting them in his hair.

This close, his breath danced over her skin, sweet from the brin fruit, warmth drifting from him, so close all she’d have to do was tilt her chin to brush her lips over his. She’d never stopped wanting him. Not even for a second. But she needed to stay focused.

Zylah couldn’t help the flex of her fingers through his hair, shifting slightly on her knees so that she was careful not to lean her weight into him. He brought a hand to the small of her back to steady her, the heat of him searing through her clothes and warming her skin.

“Ready?” she whispered, a jolt of fear slicing through her that she was going to hurt him.

His thumb stroked once, head dipping in acknowledgement. She didn’t need to ask what she was looking for, what word Ranon had used; was almost too afraid to think it for fear of hurting Holt. Instead, Zylah let a single thread unfold, imagined it like a gossamer strand at her fingertip falling through his mind as softly as a drifting feather, searching, sifting, sorting.

Images slammed into her, almost too many at once for her to make sense of, and Zylah was vaguely aware of Holt gripping her tighter, tethering her mind to her body. She saw them together in their room in the tavern, Holt sitting on the edge of the bed. Saw him gift her his mother’s sword at the festival, saw him braid her hair back in their room. All of it from his perspective, looking at her, watching her, taking her in. His fear when the bounty hunter had taken her shuddered through her body, her heart rate picking up, the way he almost fell to his knees when he first caught sight of her staggering through the trees towards him, his breaths, now her breaths, coming in heavy gasps from how fast he’d been running.

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