Page 114 of A Legacy of Wrath and Reckoning

The grin faded. “I’ll always be looking out for you, Zylah. You might have magic, but you’re still my little sister.”

Zylah’s heart swelled at his words, but there wasn’t time to reply. He gave the signal and soldiers began advancing, moving out in groups of three and four to make their way across the gardens.

Another shiver of trepidation rolled over Zylah’s shoulders as she followed, always walking the line between expending too much magic and keeping her threads spread wide. Not until she located Ranon and Aurelia.

Favouring her dagger, she advanced, fighting beside a Fae male as two vampires stalked towards them. One held a vanquicite blade, the other possessed magic, embers sparking at its fingertips. She focused on the female with the vanquicite as she attacked, her threads reaching out for the weapon to mute the magic within it.

The vampire bared her fangs. “We were warned about you. The pet Ranon covets most. Every one of my kin will try to bring you to him.” Roots erupted from the soil beneath her feet, wrapping around her legs at Zylah’s silent command.

“Good luck with that.” One swift slash of her dagger, and the vampire slumped against the roots, Zylah’s magic peeling away as it fell, lifeless. There was something else about the vampire’s signatures. Not just the cloaking spell, some other magic settling over them all. Something that turned Zylah’s trepidation to dread. But a lick of flames snapped her from her thoughts, the Fae that had been at her side screaming in pain, his sword arm smoking and charred.

Another burst of flames shot towards her and she evanesced away, reappearing to slam a blade beneath the vampire’s ribs, the male roaring in agony and smashing its elbow against the side of her head as it reared back in pain.

“Fuck Ranon’s orders,” it seethed. “He said nothing about bringing you to him unharmed.” Flames erupted from his fingertips, and Zylah had no time for anything other than for her threads to heave at the fire, one hand grasping the side of her head where he’d struck her.

At the sight of his magic disappearing, the vampire lunged for her with a vicious snarl, the pair of them colliding in a tangle of limbs, rolling and tumbling through the dirt, hands at each other’s throats. Zylah released the fire her threads had stolen, let it flow through her fingertips where they pressed against the vampire’s flesh as she fought for breath. The male’s pained scream was almost enough to make her recoil, but she didn’t. Not until its grip on her neck slackened, until its body went limp beneath her, its head collapsing to one side.

With gasping breaths, Zylah shoved the corpse away, crawling towards the Fae whose arm the vampire had burnt. “Let me see,” she told him, ignoring the look of terror in the male’s eyes that was no doubt for her just as much as the vampire whose life she’d just ended.

He held out his arm slowly, his throat working as he swallowed down his fear. The skin was a blistering mess, but it was his sword arm, and he possessed no magic. Without it, he was as good as dead.

“Hold still,” she told him, hands hovering as close to his arm as she dared to heal the wound. There wasn’t time to heal him properly, only enough to have him holding his sword again, enough to be satisfied with the way he curled his fingers around the hilt just as another Fae fell beside them. Dead.

Zylah didn’t spare another look at her patient, only evanesced them both a few feet away before releasing him, drawing her sword to rejoin the attack. The closer they moved towards the palace, the stronger the strange magic became. Holt’s presence in her mind was a constant as she fought, her awareness of his movements as acute as she knew hers would be for him. They were making their way towards each other, but just as Zylah had her brother to keep an eye on, Holt watched Raif closely.

An ear-splitting blast rang out, and then another and another, the explosives Nye and Okwata had worked on being put to good use. The gardens were chaos. Too many soldiers had fallen or pulled back, so many dead at their feet it was almost impossible to decipher friend from foe. But Zylah kept moving, her body fuelled by adrenaline, her movements repetitive, rhythmic, sweat slicking her skin. Holt had been preserving his magic, and though she’d tried to do the same, she relied on it too much to help her fight. Her evanescing, her sight, the roots and vines to slow her opponents. A constant drain she knew she wouldn’t be able to maintain for much longer without consequences.

Three vampires surrounded her and the two Fae soldiers she fought beside, each of the vampires possessing magic. Each of them holding vanquicite blades. Leave the vanquicite, and she’d be faced with taking the three of them alone. Nullify it, weaken herself further, and she’d be fighting beside two Fae soldiers, unhindered. It wasn’t a difficult decision.

Zylah’s threads reached for the vanquicite as the vampires attacked, the Fae soldiers brave enough to charge their opponents regardless of the weapons the monsters possessed. As she swung her sword at the male that targeted her, her threads fumbling for purchase against the magic within the vanquicite, pain lanced through her temples. But she ignored it.

Her blade met with the vampire’s, threads pulling and pulling and pulling as the male bared his fangs, every clash of their swords rattling Zylah’s bones. With a ragged gasp, she found the snag in the magic, heaved until she was certain the material was inert.

Magic flared around her. Blasts of light, some white, some undoubtedly flame, but she didn’t dare pull her attention from the male before her, the way he adeptly evaded her attempts to bind him. His speed reminded her of Jesper’s, his skill with a sword far superior to her own. Zylah needed stronger magic, and with a single thought, shadows licked at the vampire’s body, darkness spiralling around his face and obscuring his eyes.

He opened his mouth to sneer, but Zylah cut him off, dragging her sword across his torso and kicking him back, swapping sword for dagger as she slammed her blade into the soft flesh of his neck. Another sharp stab of pain, and Zylah had to close her eyes to steady herself against the vampire’s corpse, her threads pulled in tight. Her other sight had begun to falter, and she was far too exposed to be without it.

Holt’s concern sang in her bones as he fought, and she offered him her silent reassurance in response as the pain receded.

“Zylah!” Her eyes flicked open at her brother’s voice, her thoughts clearing enough for her to have the sense to evanesce a few feet from her current position. She reappeared awkwardly, rolling to her feet only to take in the burning body of the vampire she’d just been leaning over. At the corner of her faltering vision, Kej and Daizin fought amongst soldiers, shadows flaring from her friend.

But then a flash of white covered everything. Zylah moved, pulling roots from the earth to shield herself. The strange feeling, the signature of magic, familiar yet foreign, called to her, her threads unravelling to seek it out as she spun to face the attacking vampire, summoning her sword just in time to parry a blow. Not the one with magic. Another. At her side, two humans worked together to drive the vampire back, allowing her to withdraw and turn her attention to the other as another flash of white shot past her head.

One of the humans fell, and Holt’s apprehension soared in her mind. He and Nye fought beside Raif and Rose, the four of them surrounded from what Zylah could ascertain, but her attention remained on fighting beside the second human, just as white flashed once more, someone barrelling into her side and knocking her sideways.

Her brother’s arms wrapped tight around her, both of them tumbling across the dirt as another blast of magic narrowly missed Zylah’s head. She untangled herself from Zack just enough to tear a dagger from her boot, her threads snagging the vampire’s magic as it shot another burst of white light at them both. She heaved at the threads, pulling the power into her weapon, and in the same breath she aimed for the vampire’s head and let the blade fly. The dagger hit its mark, the vampire twitching before collapsing into the dirt. It was only then that Zylah registered her brother’s weight.

“Zack?” She was already sliding out from under him, hands shaking, her stomach twisting as she realised the dampness covering her chest wasn’t sweat but blood. His. “Zack?”

He was barely breathing. Zylah rolled him over, healing magic pouring from her hands of its own accord. He tried to speak, the words broken by a cough, blood trickling from his mouth.

“Save it for when we get out of this. Okay?” she managed, her voice shaking as glassy eyes met hers.

A gaping wound marred one side of his body, his uniform completely destroyed, the burns reaching to his neck. Zylah stifled a sob as he tried to breathe her name, the word nothing but a wet, broken rattle.

“I told you not to watch me,” she rasped as a tear rolled down her cheek, realisation washing over her at what he’d done. How he’d shoved her away from the vampire’s attack only to take the hit in her place. His hand came over hers as she tried to heal him, his skin ashen beneath the dirt and blood.

Vaguely, she registered Holt’s presence and the fighting around her, but all she could focus on was her brother, on keeping his heart beating, his lungs breathing, even as she felt them growing weaker beneath her magic. Felthimgrowing too weak to hold on. She pushed harder, pain throbbing at her temples as she tried to heal him, the wounds so deep and so many.

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