Page 35 of A Legacy of Wrath and Reckoning

Holt tracked her progress, hands moving from bars as he followed her faltering steps. “Are you going to tell me your name?”

Zylah almost lost her footing again. She’d said those words to him when they were running from Arnir’s men, evanescing in bursts through the forest when this whole mess had started. “Zylah,” she told him, studying his face for any sign he remembered her and stamping down her disappointment when she found none, though her sight was failing her with so much vanquicite between them.

Her head was already pounding, and five of them still remained behind bars. She took a step closer towards Holt’s cell, but he held up a hand to stop her. “The others first. Please.” And she would have ignored him had it not been for the plea in his tone, the desperation.

Every part of her protested at turning away from him and heading for another of the cells. A Fae with lilac skin stared back, eyes impossibly wide and round, her fear so thick in the air Zylah wondered how she hadn’t choked on it. A tremor shook through the palace, and Zylah faltered. Magic. She almost missed another step, hands falling to her knees as she sucked in a deep breath. She’d pushed herself too far, too soon, had been naive to think the vanquicite wouldn’t affect her when she’d already exerted herself so much.

She evanesced inside the cell before she could talk herself out of it, barely registering the females she reached for. When she brought them to the empty passageway, her chest heaving, she repeated her instructions and staggered back to the throne room.

Holt’s gaze burned into her as she clung to the throne to steady herself. “You need to rest,” he told her.

Zylah swallowed. Her head throbbed; sweat dampened her tunic, but she shook her head. “If I rest, we risk discovery.”

“Then take them and go.”

A bitter laugh escaped her. “I’m not leaving here without you.” How could she tell him that he was as much hers as she was his, if he didn’t even know who she was?

Movement in the palace snagged her attention. Her magic might have been failing her, but her other senses remained unaffected—footsteps, outside the throne room. Another ripple of magic rolled over her skin just as the doors opened, and this time when Zylah tried to evanesce, nothing happened.

She called her spear to her hand, swinging it in a wide arc as they approached. The female swore as it struck her, black eyes glaring as the other vampire circled Zylah with a sneer. She drew her sword for all the good it would do, praying the others had already made it to the tunnels.

“Well isn’t this just glorious,” a voice called out. Aurelia.

Two more vampires followed her into the throne room, and Zylah knew she stood no chance in a fight. She lowered her weapon, the female snatching it from her grasp. The male that had been circling yanked Zylah’s arm, shoving it behind her back at an awkward angle until her shoulder burned against his grasp. The female levelled her with a glare as she pulled the spear from her shoulder and cast it aside with a curse.

There was no sign of Ranon, and Zylah couldn’t yet feel him within the palace, but right now she could feel very little, the edges of her new sight becoming hazier by the minute. “What have you done to him?” Zylah asked, flicking her chin in Holt’s direction.

Aurelia surveyed the cells as she made her way through the room. “You owe me four prisoners.”

Zylah said nothing. Aurelia hadn’t mentioned her son, and Zylah wasn’t about to.

“Where are they?” the Fae demanded, coming to a stop in front of Zylah.

The vampire shoved against Zylah’s arm and she stifled a gasp, the burn spreading across her back, but she didn’t answer, too afraid to draw any attention to the passage beyond the throne. If Aurelia thought she’d found her way in without evanescing, better to let her believe it.

The Fae was silent for a moment, taking in the cloth over Zylah’s eyes, a sly smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. The vanquicite didn’t seem to affect her, but she still seemed changed, weakened by whatever she’d done for her father, whatever she’d given. Aurelia ran the back of a hand over Zylah’s cheek like a caress then struck her hard, the force almost sending her stumbling had it not been for the vampire at her back. She felt Holt shift in his cell, the way his eyes burned into her.

“You two. Find the prisoners.” The vampires nearest the door left without a word. “Remove the cloth,” Aurelia commanded. The male restraining Zylah did as she asked, ripping the fabric from Zylah’s eyes with cold fingers.

She tugged and tugged on her magic, begging it to evanesce her inside Holt’s cell so she could just get them out of there, but nothing happened. Instead, Zylah blinked at the sudden onslaught of light, her brain trying to align the two different versions of her vision, both broken and failing. Shadows, what she could see with her eyes, overlayed what she saw with her magic, or perhaps it was the other way around, the thought making her dizzy. She knew only from Deyna’s description what the Fae could see, the way her eyes clouded over, the milky hue of the venom turning her purple irises a dark blue.

Aurelia hummed a sound of pleasure, the details of her face lost to shadow and light as Zylah’s magic faltered. “Rhaznia’s handiwork. Isn’t she remarkable?” Her voice was filled with nothing but admiration and awe at the monster’s feat.

Butremarkablewasn’t even remotely close to the word Zylah would use to describe Rhaznia. She held her head high, though she knew her ruined eyes likely looked a mess. “Answer my question.”

A bark of a laugh escaped Aurelia’s lips. “Put her in a cell.” A pause. “That one.”

“Let her go, Aurelia.” Zylah’s breath stuttered at Holt’s words, but the vampire tugged at her arm, forcing her to move.

He unlocked a cell, shoving her in and Zylah fell to her knees, hands thrusting out to catch her fall and hitting something hard. Zylah recoiled with a ragged breath. A corpse.

“I don’t know how you escaped my father’s maze,” Aurelia mused. “Raif always had a soft spot for broken things.”

His name brought the unwelcome thought of his arrogant smirk, the repulsive feel of his touch and Zylah fought back the previous night’s dinner. She pulled herself to her feet, grateful for once that she couldn’t see clearly when she was certain not one, but two Fae lay dead beside her, fingers curling around the bars despite the dull hum that rippled through her bones. “Did you truly think you could keep me from him? That I couldn’t feel—”

“Marcus is dead because of your meddling,” Aurelia snapped. She circled the cell, nails clicking as they trailed the bars between them, the sound too like Rhaznia’s legs tapping against stone. A blanket of magic fell over them, the same kind of strange bubble Aurelia had used outside the mine, only this time, she only held her and Zylah within it. So that Holt couldn’t hear them, Zylah suspected.

“And this…” Aurelia’s shadow moved away for a moment, as if she were taking Holt in. “This isn’t even half of what I have planned for him.” The shadow came closer, until Aurelia’s face was close to Zylah’s, nails digging into her fingers until they drew blood. “Our minds are like a tapestry; pull at a few wrong threads and the whole thing begins to unravel.”

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