Page 121 of A Legacy of Wrath and Reckoning

And then Holt groaned, rolled to his side, and Zylah choked back another sob. His eyes found hers immediately, darting to the open wound at her wrist and back to her face, concern etched across his features. And though she knew every part of him felt like it was on fire just as she did, he dragged himself towards her, because Zylah suspected he no longer had the strength to stand. Magic sparked again, but she reached out a hand, trembling fingers brushing against Holt’s.

We need to have our perfect day, remember,he told her gently, easing himself closer despite the pain she knew coursed through his body, an echo of every inch of agony she felt in hers.

Pallia resumed her chanting, magic swirling like a storm in the air around them, but Zylah had nothing left to give, nothing left within her to fight against it. Neither did Holt. And as his hand folded tenderly over hers, she wasn’t afraid.

He pulled her towards him, curling his body around hers, his comforting scent wrapping around her one final time. His love. Tremors wracked his body just as badly as Zylah’s, but he threaded his fingers into her hair, tilted her face up to his, his thumb stroking the tears from her cheek.

So that you’re the last thing I see, he said softly, and she knew he had done it just as much for her as for him as she looked up into his eyes, her failing vision narrowed only to him.I’ll find you, he told her one last time.

And she believed him.

Shadows swarmed, blotting out every last bit of crimson light as magic crackled so thickly the air vibrated with it. Holt’s lips came over hers, his arms wrapped tightly around her. He tasted of blood and ash and tears andhome, and Zylah curled her fingers into his shirt as she kissed him back, as they braced for the sting of Pallia’s magic.

Together. Whatever came next, they would meet it together.

Someone screamed.Something. Multiple somethings, a crescendo of voices and sounds, something beating heavy like a drum, the ground shaking beneath them. The shadows began to clear, and a single Fae stood before them. Not Pallia… Nye, a gaping wound on her head, her shadows lashing out at the ancient Fae. To protect them; to fight back, no matter how futile.

And then their friend’s shadows were joined by fire. Shadows and fire and lightning and flashes of magic: white, blue, red, so bright Zylah had to curl her face into Holt’s chest and look away from it.

The shrieking. They were Iyofari. The great birds Cirelle’s people bonded with, the beating the rhythmic sound of their wings. Shouts cut through the noise, Arlan’s voice commanding soldiers. Rin’s too, a broken laugh escaping Holt as he held Zylah tighter, as magic and soldiers and chaos erupted around them and their friends fought back against Pallia, together.

“To the plinth,” a voice Zylah didn’t recognise called out as multiple hands grasped her shoulders to pull her and Holt back from the commotion.

Healing magic poured into them both, weak, but enough to staunch the flow of blood from her wrist, to stop them bleeding out in each other’s arms. Zylah twisted in Holt’s embrace as Sira chanted in the same strange language Pallia and Ranon had used, as their friends joined her, driving Zylah’s grandmother back onto the stone base she’d emerged from.

Shackles wrapped around the ancient Fae’s calves and her grandmother cried out.

“For my daughter,” Sira told her, the aether rippling and bending and warping her silhouette with the strength of her power. “And for yours.”

The ground shook, pieces of rock hauled by unseen hands towards Pallia as she tried and failed to fight the onslaught of so much magic. Piece by piece it surrounded her, the fissures healing over with a burst of light, sealing her into the rock until all that remained was a stone statue in her likeness.

With a final word, a final command to their friends to join her, Sira raised her hands, magic and fragments of rock swirling around her, and the stone shattered.

Chapter Sixty-One

Afewsoldierscheered,but their elation quickly faded, and a quiet part of Zylah was grateful for the fact she was too weak to see. She focused instead on the steady sound of Holt’s heartbeat, on his deep, slow breaths, his strength as small tremors wracked her body. Someone was still healing them both, the strange sensation of someone else’s magic setting her teeth on edge.

It was over. They were gone. Aurelia. Ranon. Pallia. Zylah had to say it to herself again and again as Holt held her, his love and reassurance sliding into her bones, her blood. Quiet sobbing cut through the murmur of voices, but she wasn’t certain who or where it came from.

Rose.So many mixed emotions wrapped around the thought as Holt thanked the healer. A quiet groan escaped him as he rose to his feet, hooking an arm around Zylah’s waist to pull her to his side.

I’m alright,she told him, though in truth, she could barely stand. He didn’t let go, hands sweeping over her to check. They’d both drained themselves entirely, neither of them left with so much as a drop of magic to replenish themselves with. Without the healer, Zylah had no doubts they wouldn’t be standing at all. She braced herself, testing the strength of her legs, but even her head felt like a lead weight atop her shoulders.

The storm had subsided, the reddish hue of the blood moon fading to the dark shadows of night. Flickers of light danced at the periphery of Zylah’s vision, orblights she assumed, summoned by Fae soldiers. The aftershocks of Pallia’s magic still rippled through her, but Holt supported her weight as he led her quietly, murmuring shadows—soldiers—parting for them as they made their way to Rose.

Zylah swallowed the sharp lump in her throat as her shadowed gaze dipped to the lifeless body before them. To the way Rose cried over her brother’s corpse just as she had cried over hers. She sank to her knees and wrapped her arms around her friend, not caring how tumultuous their relationship had always been. Rose shook beneath her embrace, and Zylah couldn’t fight her tears, her own grief too raw to hold back.

Not for Raif, though he’d been a good brother to Rose. He’d loved her, despite his faults. It was Zack Zylah cried for. For Rose. For herself. For who Zack, who Raif, might have become, and now would never get the chance.

Despite everything Raif had done to them, every bit of pain he’d caused, he’d wanted to change, and Zylah chose to believe that. Chose to believe there had still been a scrap of good in him before he’d left this life. Holt lowered himself beside her, just as many conflicting emotions spiralling through him as he reached for her, his attention fixed on the body of his old friend. His brother. His adversary.

Raif’s mouth and eyes were closed, no hint of the vampire lurking beneath the skin. He looked like any other sleeping Fae, with no traces of the dark magic that had irrevocably changed him. He’d fought to the end to protect his sister, and Zylah quietly wondered if he’d understood there was every chance he wouldn’t walk away from Aurelia and fought her anyway.

She shoved aside every terrible memory to make space for that. To think of how he’d once been: gentle. Kind. To try to remember the good heart Saphi had told her about the first time they’d met. The way he used to make them all laugh.

Holt’s love skittered over her skin. His gratitude, despite everything. Despite all the terrible, awful things that had transpired between them all.

“I told him to hold on,” Rose said at last. “That you would defeat them.” She swept a piece of hair from Raif’s face and smoothed it back carefully, her long fingers shaking. “But he died in my arms before the others arrived.”

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