19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

T welve cells—cages—because one was barely big enough for Holt, lined the throne room, the plush carpets and tapestries across the walls surrounding them in stark contrast to the gleaming black of the vanquicite. Most of the occupants were dead, all of them Fae, both High and Lesser, from what Zylah could tell.

Holt was alone in his cell, but the others each held two Fae, and he’d insisted Zylah free them first. The few that were still breathing. Six of them across three cells, but they were weak. Zylah approached the first, early morning sunlight filtering in through the windows behind the throne and casting long shadows across the bodies lying still in the ones beyond it.

There was no telling how long the corpses had been there, though she tried not to look too closely. No blood stained the carpets beneath them, no obvious wounds or signs of injury, as if they’d merely just fallen asleep. A chill danced over her spine and she glanced over her shoulder to find Holt still watching her.

“Please,” a female rasped from the nearest cell, a slumped over male staring into nothing beside her. Both High Fae, their clothes tattered and stained. “Help us.”

Zylah stood before the bars, wondering if she was going to fit beside them both, and more importantly, if she’d be able to leave again. She took a deep breath and evanesced inside, the vanquicite rippling over her skin. There wasn’t time to waste dwelling on it; she rested one hand on the male’s shoulder, the other on the female’s elbow and held her breath as she evanesced them to the secret passage behind the throne.

When they reappeared together in the dark, Zylah’s hand slipped from the female and she slumped against the wall, the familiar and unwelcomed feel of the vanquicite skittering along her bones. “Follow this to the tunnels and don’t stop.” She didn’t wait for a response, pushing through the door back into the throne room, nausea turning her stomach. The door fell shut behind her, invisible against the wall as if it were just another panel in the wooden cladding, but she could feel it’s outline in the wood, and that was enough. Three more trips, that was all she had to manage. She stumbled without her spear as she rounded the throne again, pulling back on her magic where it spread too thin across the palace.

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.

But remarkable wasn’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.”

Zylah bit back a whimper. “You removed me from his memories.”

“I shredded your existence from his mind,” Aurelia spat. “His mind is one tiny little tug away from breaking. Just the slightest bit of meddling will shatter it. But now you’re here, you may as well enjoy the show.” Aurelia yanked her nails free and the blanket of magic fell away. “Bring them in.”

Voices cried out, Zylah’s blood chilling as more Fae were dragged into the throne room and shoved into the cages, their cries turning to pleas when they no doubt discovered their cell mates were dead.

“What’s this? My grandson tired of his plaything so soon?” Ranon had joined them, a chuckle lining his words. He held something as he walked, light bouncing off the top of it. A staff, Zylah thought, though she couldn’t make out the details.

He stopped before her cell, tapping a blood red orb against the bars. “You escaped. Impressive. Though not without Rhaznia leaving her mark.” Another chuckle, and he moved away. Their lack of concern for Raif might have been disturbing had they not already been the worst kind of monsters. And as much as Zylah wanted to tell them what fate she’d left him to, she wouldn’t risk any harm coming to Holt.

Aurelia approached again, and this time Zylah had the sense to step back from the bars, for all the good it would do. “Call Pallia here,” she commanded.

“I told you,” Zylah ground out. “I can’t.”

A bitter laugh from the Fae. “Come now. Escaping my father’s maze is impossible. Pallia must have helped you.”

Zylah had been given help, it was true. Wouldn’t have been able to leave without Arioch and Kopi, without the limited magic she’d been able to utilise whilst she was there. “Pallia is gone. And if she isn’t, she doesn’t give a shit about me, so the outcome is still the same: she isn’t coming.”

Ranon laughed. “Arioch. That old bastard.”

Zylah held her tongue.

“Rhaznia would never let you go free,” he mused. “But Arioch. Arioch would have taken one look at you and thought you were Pallia. He helped you, didn’t he?” Ranon didn’t wait for a response. “Aurelia, my darling, we’ll deal with the Seraphim another day. Proceed as normal.”

As normal. Nothing about this was normal. Zylah’s heart beat loudly in her ears at how fucking helpless she was. She doubted she could survive four days in a cell until her friends arrived, but then, Holt had. And even when they arrived, what good would it do? They wouldn’t be able to get near the throne room with this much vanquicite inside it.

The vampires left at Ranon’s words, the heavy wooden doors closing behind them. Aurelia moved up the dais to the throne, her father remaining beside Holt’s cell.

“Since your blood didn’t heal me as it should, Zylah, my daughter was kind enough to have a backup solution in place.” Ranon tapped the orb against the vanquicite bars. “Turns out, even an old dog can be taught new tricks.” His light chuckle set the hairs on the back of Zylah’s neck on end. “ Ignium .”

Holt groaned. “No,” he gritted out.

Zylah held her breath, fingers wrapping around the bars of her cell.

“Ignium,” Ranon repeated.

Holt fell to his knees, hands pulling at his hair.

“Stop,” Zylah pleaded, begging her magic to answer her when she tried to evanesce to him.

“Ignium.”

A blast of magic erupted, the feel of it both painful and familiar all at once as it washed over her body, her skin. Zylah sucked in a breath, body trembling, clutching the bars to keep herself upright. Pain stabbed through her chest. Pain she’d felt countless times over since waking up in Ranon’s maze, so sharp she could barely breathe. She blinked against the tears filling her useless eyes, her other sight failing her. Zylah couldn’t see Holt, but she knew the pain she felt was just as much his as it was hers. That it had been all along.

In the silence that followed, there was only the sound of Holt’s ragged breaths, her own broken gasps. Too much silence, because every Fae besides Ranon and Aurelia was dead.