21. Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

“Y ou need to rest,” Holt told her after what felt like hours of trying to summon a single fucking hairpin.

Her other sight had improved, at least, although the vanquicite still impacted everything else; she wasn’t sure how. Exposure to so much vanquicite should have killed them both, but Zylah tucked the thought away, let it give her hope that their bond still remained, somehow. He’d heard her when she’d tried to speak to him in his thoughts; that had to count for something.

“I’m afraid that if I rest, I’ll fall asleep, and we’ll miss our opportunity,” she admitted. Even now, she was so exhausted from trying to use her magic even her thoughts felt heavy.

But she could see the hairpins Holt had mentioned, and the metal hooks at the base of the throne, and she hadn’t stopped trying to summon either all day, even when the daylight began to fade and the throne room grew dark.

“What was your promise?”

Zylah let herself look at him. Let herself study his face for a moment longer with her strange sight. “What?”

“When you arrived this morning, you said you made a promise. What was it?” He’d schooled his expression to neutrality in that way she’d become so accustomed to, but she knew his tells. The slight tilt of his head. The way he held himself preternaturally still. To anyone else, it would have been unsettling, but to her, it was as familiar as breathing.

Only the truth, for him. Only ever the truth. “I promised you I’d find you. Just like you promised me.”

“What—”

Zylah held up a hand at the sound of footsteps beyond the throne room moving closer. “Someone’s coming.”

The doors slammed open, and a single vampire entered, Zylah’s blood running cold at the sight of him.

“My, my, Zylah, seems like we’ve both undergone quite the transformation since we last met. Holt, always a pleasure.”

Zylah didn’t want to give too much away, not yet. Though the vampire approaching her cell would likely find out soon enough. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognise your voice.”

“Tsk tsk. Liar.” Thallan stopped before her, and Zylah shielded her thoughts as best she could with the little energy she had left. Thallan, Rose’s rejected mate. Thallan, Maelissa’s general, commander of the archers who had gone missing on their way to meet Nye and the others. Thallan, who was no longer High Fae, but a vampire, the same blond curls but his black, empty eyes bore into her.

“So now what, you’re one of Aurelia and Ranon’s puppets?” she asked, willing herself to think of things that would be utterly useless to him: her time in Ranon’s maze, the endless passageways and tunnels, the staircases and the rock formations that had damn near driven her crazy. Thallan’s gift was reading minds, and Zylah possessed far too much information that he could use, had no doubt been sent in to discover and take back to Aurelia and Ranon, but she needed to keep him away from Holt, needed to prevent him pulling at more loose threads. If he hadn’t already spent the last couple of months doing exactly that.

The vampire laughed, fingers trailing against the bars of her cell. The maze. The maze. The maze.

“Curious,” Thallan mused, head tilted to one side as he assessed her.

“Leave her alone, Thallan,” Holt cut in.

The vampire turned his attention away from Zylah, made his way slowly over to Holt’s cell. “Still just as protective of her, I see.” A dry laugh escaped him. “Tell me everything going through that handsome head of yours.”

“No!” Zylah cried out. Too late.

Holt fell to his knees at whatever mental onslaught Thallan inflicted on him, hands wrapped around his head as he groaned. Zylah felt his agony smack in the centre of her chest, felt it hit her like a wave over her skin. Three months of Ranon and Aurelia’s torture and they’d lured Thallan in, turned him into a vampire, and had him torment Holt too.

“Stop,” Zylah pleaded. Holt groaned again, grasping at his chest, and Zylah rested a hand against her own at the echoing pain. “Please, Thallan. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Just stop.”

Black, empty eyes snapped up to her face, but Thallan didn’t move. This time Zylah thought of nothing but Holt, of their bond, of what they were to each other, of how he’d had the memory of her stripped away from him, of how she hadn’t given up on him, wouldn’t. The truth, every last drop of it. Thallan glanced back at Holt, and for a moment she thought the vampire might tell him the truth just to torture him further, to watch the fragments of his mind crumble under the weight of it.

Rose had rejected Thallan, and Zylah knew it haunted him. No matter what Raif had tried to tell her, that they were different as vampires to the Fae they had been before, something told her this part of Thallan had remained, that he was still the same inside. And the Thallan Zylah had met at Maelissa’s court loved Rose, no matter that she had rejected him, he would do anything to know she was safe. If he was still Thallan as Zylah had once known him, if only briefly, he loved Rose still.

The vampire frowned. Took a slow walk around the room, inspecting the bodies lying still within the cells, crouching before one and making his dismayed tsk sound again before continuing his circuit. Zylah wrapped her fingers around the bars, breath held as she waited, her attention darting between the vampire and Holt, her thoughts filled only with her concern and love for her mate. She would do anything for him— anything , and Thallan would know that now, but in that moment, she didn’t care if he was going to weaponise that fact against her, only that Holt was safe from more mental attacks.

Thallan came to a stop in front of her cell, hands lashing out so fast and closing around hers, Zylah didn’t have time to move away. “You can still see,” he said quietly, eyes roaming over her face, the fabric over her eyes.

Zylah held her breath, her heartbeat so loud it was as if it were the only sound in the room.

“You were wrong,” he told her, his voice strained. “I am not the same inside. Not anymore.” His fingers tightened over hers as he flashed a savage smile, sharp canines on display, and Zylah readied herself for his attack, for the feel of his teeth sinking into her flesh.

“Don’t, Thallan, please—” Holt began, but with one look from Thallan, he was on his knees again, hands pressed against his temples.

You are still familiar to him, still there in the recesses of his mind, Thallan said in her thoughts, and though Zylah recoiled at the intrusion, her heart skipped a beat at his words, even as his hands held her tightly in place. Something cold slid into one of her palms, and in the time Zylah took to realise what it was, the vampire had slipped away, making for the door.

“Curious,” he said again, with one glance back between her and Holt, a look of something that might have been remorse passing over his face for a moment before he left, slamming the doors to the throne room behind him.

Zylah released the breath she’d been holding, fingers squeezing around the hairpin Thallan had given her. He must have seen it in Holt’s thoughts, must have known the entirety of their plan, and yet, he’d helped them.

“Holt,” Zylah said softly. “Are you alright?”

He was still crouched in his cell, cradling his wrist, his eyes distant. No, not his wrist. He was toying with the silver bell, rolling it between finger and thumb in the way she’d seen him do so many times before. A reminder, Zylah had told him, and her heart broke at the sight. Come back to me , she wanted to beg him. Just come back to me . She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob, and at last, he seemed to remember she was there.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, pushing to his feet, his eyes still distant. “He saw our plan.”

“It’s alright, Holt.” She was already trying to pick open the lock on her cell, willing her fingers not to shake. If the pin broke, they were out of options. And Zylah doubted Thallan would help them again. You are still familiar to him, still there in the recesses of his mind, he’d said, her heart soaring at the words.

She forced herself to focus. Focused on how the task at hand had always been about what she could hear and feel, and though Zylah could count on one hand the number of times she’d been successful, she forced herself to move slowly. Just a little more manoeuvring—

“Stop,” Holt murmured, and Zylah froze. More footsteps outside the throne room. She just had time to remove the hairpin and slide it back into her pocket before two vampires slammed open the doors.

A male and female approached, both of them Zylah recognised from earlier: the female she’d wounded with her spear and the male who’d shoved her into her cell. Neither of them held food, but the female carried Zylah’s weapons, which could mean nothing good. Zylah spared a glance at Holt, and he tipped his head just a fraction. Not now , the gesture said. Wait.

“Tesha and I have a theory we’d like to test,” the male sneered, making his way over to her cell as Tesha cast her weapons aside. The male’s fingers closed around the padlock, a key sliding into the lock Zylah had almost opened moments before. He yanked her out of the cage, and Zylah stumbled.

“Go on,” the male spat. “Pick them up.”

“I can’t see.” Zylah willed her tone to remain even, careful not to inject too much emotion into her voice.

“Horse shit,” he snapped.

He kicked at the weapons, and Zylah dropped to her knees, patting her hands on the carpet to make a show of feeling for them, hissing and snatching her hand back when she nicked her palm on the edge of her sword. But she did as they asked, fingers closing around the hilt and rising to her feet, the weapon raised before her, her other hand dripping blood on the carpet.

“Disappointing,” the male said, taking another step closer, canines bared at the sight of her blood. “We were hoping for a challenge.”

Zylah pivoted as they both came at her, swinging her blade and narrowly missing the male. Tesha laughed. “You’re a good liar, I’ll give you that.” Zylah moved as she did, slashing and striking, but Tesha evaded every blow, laughing as if it were all just a game to her, which, Zylah supposed, it probably was. One Zylah knew she had no chance of winning.

She struck again, her blade almost meeting skin this time as something hard and heavy cracked into her back, then her knees. Zylah stumbled, the male knocking her sword from her grip and tackling her to the floor. She scratched and tore at the vampire’s hair, his face, anything to keep those fangs from sinking into flesh, and just as Zylah thought the male was going to strike, the vampire gasped. Hot, wet liquid seeped over Zylah’s torso, and she shoved at the dead weight against her, struggling to get out from underneath it, panic rising in her at the thought of being trapped again.

The vampire’s body rolled aside, and Holt’s warm, calloused fingers wrapped around Zylah’s, pulling her to her feet. “Nice to meet you, Zylah,” he said, the corner of his mouth tipping up in another almost-smile that squeezed at her heart.

She thought of the first time he’d ever said those words to her, when he’d helped her run from Arnir’s men and the promise of the rope. Now he held her spear, blood spattered across his face and chest, the vampires dead beside him. This close, she could feel his warmth, the earthy scent of acani berries washing over her.

“How did you get out of your cell?” Zylah breathed, adrenaline still coursing through her as she stared at him in silent awe.

“I borrowed this.” He pressed the hairpin into her palm. “From your pocket.”

Zylah couldn’t hide the surprise from her face. “You summoned it?”

He dipped his chin in acknowledgement, and Zylah’s heart swelled with another surge of hope. He was in there still, no matter what Aurelia and Ranon had done to him, no matter that he’d once been able to open locks with his magic, to send messages to fixed points, that he had been so powerful he had to keep his magic muted for fear of it being traced.

“Good,” she managed. “That’s good.”

Holt’s smile grew at the echo of his words, and she resisted the urge to reach for him again. Instead, she reached for her sword, her skin prickling as her fingers closed around the hilt. “What was that?” Zylah murmured, the feeling washing over her again.

“More of them are coming.” Holt’s attention snapped to the doors, the words barely out of his mouth as an explosion rattled the foundations of the building.

Four vampires came at them, and Zylah knew she and Holt stood no chance of running. She struck at the first, Holt moving beside her to swing the spear at two more.

“Holt,” Zylah said through gritted teeth as she narrowly missed a strike. A plea. They couldn’t fight their way out of this, and he knew it.

“I can’t,” he cut back.

“Now,” Zylah rasped, narrowly missing a sword to the gut. “Just do it.”

For a heartbeat, she thought he wasn’t going to unleash his power. That he couldn’t, or maybe he flat out refused. But then the familiar surge hit her, knocking the breath from her lungs and shoving her to her knees. Her vision failed, receding to a dark haze again, her breaths like fire in her lungs.

Strong arms pulled her to her feet. “Come on,” Holt breathed, his voice strained, concern edging his tone.

“I can’t see,” Zylah murmured, her head spinning, or maybe it was the room around her; she couldn’t tell anymore.

Holt eased her sword from her grip and pulled her into his arms, lifting her like she weighed nothing. “Show me,” he said, jostling her to keep her awake.

“Behind the throne. To the wall,” she managed. He pressed her good hand to the wood, moving her hurriedly along it. “Here,” she rasped, the signature of the hidden door snagging at her fingertips.

She felt the air change as they slipped into the passage, heard the door click shut behind them.

“Hey,” Holt said softly, pulling her a little tighter as he moved. “Rule number one, remember. Just stay with me.”

Zylah couldn’t help the tear that escaped at his words, his comforting scent wrapping around her, could do nothing at all as she let him carry her away from the cells, towards the safety of the tunnels.