Page 107 of A Legacy of Wrath and Reckoning

Zylah studied her friend’s face, the dip of her chin and the way her lips pressed together. “So have you. But that’s not what you were really thinking,” she said with a gentle smile.

Nye hummed. “As a general I’ve learnt not to let myself get too attached to anyone.”

“That sounds like a very lonely way to live.”

Another hum. Rin and Arlan made their way past the tents opposite, eyes only for each other and oblivious to Zylah and Nye watching them. Rin leaned into him, Arlan pressing a kiss into her hair as they slipped behind a tent out of sight.

“Does your cousin share your fear?” Zylah asked.

Nye laughed softly at that. “She spent so long arguing with Malok about her choices, about how her heart was hers to give, that when she fell in love with Arlan she couldn’t reconcile that it all might actually work out. That she might like the male she was betrothed to.”

“And Kej?”

Nye shrugged. “They’re two sides of the same coin. Rin has something she was given and can’t accept it’s truly hers. Kej finally has something he thinks he doesn’t deserve and can’t accept he does. They’ll figure it out eventually.”

Zylah considered her friend’s words as a soldier threw another log onto the fire, embers spitting in the dark.

“My uncle told me to offer you his thanks again,” Nye said after a few moments of silence. “What happened between you and Holt is your business, but in matters pertaining to my home, I’d like to know—”

“He died.” The words were choked. “I think. I don’t know. He was gone but he wasn’t,” Zylah said, her throat painfully tight.

“And you brought him back.”

Zylah met her friend’s amber eyes and nodded. “I did.” She twisted her hands in her lap, breathed through her nose at the memory of it, another burst of affection settling over her shoulders from Holt, easing some of the tension in her body. “There was an attack. Holt fell from the courtyard into the ocean after rescuing Malok from a vampire. Killed the creature with his magic when they hit the water, and I pulled him out.”

“And broke Ranon’s command.” It was a statement, because Nye already knew the answer. “Holt is known for his loyalty to his friends, for the fierce way he protects those he loves.” She studied Zylah’s face. “His soul spoke to yours because you’re the same, Zylah. Because your heart is just as fierce, just as willing to fight. I don’t need to tell you he means a great deal to my family. To me. You both do.”

Nye’s eyes were glassy in the firelight, her smile warm, and a laugh escaped her when Zylah threw her arms around her friend to pull her into an embrace. She’d never been good at receiving help from others. At letting people in. Kara had been her only friend growing up, and Zylah had accepted it, accepted that she was too different for the other children to want to get close to her. But since fleeing the gallows, running from Arnir, leaving Virian, she’d found friends who embraced her just as she was. Nye. Saphi. Rin and Kej. Daizin. And she hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate that. To consider how very real the prospect of losing them in the next few days was.

“Whatever Ranon is planning will likely be ritualistic,” Nye said when Zylah released her, her expression hardening.

“Like making his followers cut out their own hearts?”

“Precisely.”

Zylah thought of Saphi’s scar. Of how terrified she must have been when Sira spoke to her. The priestesses had always referred to themselves as Pallia’s, and Zylah wondered if that was because they belonged to both of them. To Imala too. Whether all of the history she knew had been entirely fabricated by Ranon at some point along the years.

She’d been taught the sprites saved Imala, that the Fae celebrated her freedom. Fae freedom. But was it Ranon they released her from? They would find out soon enough. A soldier pulled Nye away to her duties, leaving Zylah alone beside the fire, the camp winding down around her. The story of the original nine occupied her thoughts, of how their actions, theirdecisionschanged the course of Astaria’s history. A history that was full of many gaps and inconsistencies. Yet the suffering was undeniable. The years of Fae living in hiding, disguising who they were.

Just over a week until the blood moon, and the prospect of true freedom felt so close yet somehow still so far beyond their reach.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Zylahspentthefollowingweek working in shifts with Holt to evanesce the army into the tunnels, stealing a few hours’ sleep here and there, their friends shoving a brin fruit or a hunk of bread into their hands between trips to force them to eat. There had been few chances to be alone together. With Holt, or her friends, all of them focused on their task and the approaching blood moon, but Cirelle’s people still hadn’t shown up, and they couldn’t delay moving in on the palace any longer.

Despite the arrenium, Zylah had still suggested that all the soldiers drink water infused with baylock to give them every possible chance against the vampires. As she made her rounds through the dark tunnels to hand out a fresh supply of leaves, quiet grumbles and complaints followed her. But she would gladly take their dissent over their deaths. The merging of the armies hadn’t gone entirely smoothly down in the tunnels at such close proximity, but for the most part, humans and Fae were cooperating.

The plan was to rise to the surface as one, to overpower whatever vampires and thralls lurked the city and advance to the palace, and that had meant no skirmishes, no outings for the soldiers to blow off steam, though they were rather creative in coming up with other means for that.

On more than one occasion, Zylah had rounded a corner, threads wound in tight to conserve her magic, only to inadvertently come across two, sometimes three soldiers in compromising positions. Others chose to spar; many drank Kej’s never ending supply of stolen wine. Rumour had it he’d stashed half the city’s supplies down there somewhere.

The tunnels were stifling. Far too similar to Ranon’s maze for Zylah’s liking, the lack of air and light terrible for morale. Kopi was too easy a target, too tiny for Zylah to be worrying about him constantly, so she’d asked him to stay behind at the camp. But that didn’t mean he would remain there.

She rounded a corner, handing more baylock to a small group of human soldiers, a sensation that had become as familiar as breathing tugging at her bones. Her skin prickled and Zylah resisted the urge to stretch up onto her toes to see over the crowd of soldiers, to search for Holt. The need for him hadn’t relented, no matter how exhausted they’d been. The longing. Theache. Orblights cast long shadows over the stone, some of the soldiers napping in gloomy alcoves, and Holt’s presence grew the closer she came to the end of the tunnel.

She felt certain he could see her, even though she couldn’t see him yet, her body drawn to his body, her soul to his soul. Though her other sight was back to full strength, with her threads pulled in tight and the shadows in her eyes, Zylah’s vision was still limited. The thought afforded her another caress from Holt, and she bit back a smile when she finally located him, waiting for her behind a stack of supply crates.

The last of the baylock forgotten, she leaned against the opposite side of the stack, pulling off her apron and folding her arms across her chest, mirroring the pose she knew he’d be standing in. Anticipation had her pressing her back against the wood, no hope of hiding how much she craved the press of his body against hers. “Searching for Kej’s fabled wine stash?”

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