23. Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Three
Z ylah didn’t know when she’d fallen asleep, the bed dipping as someone called her name. “Zylah.”
Zack. With the cloth still over her eyes, she could make out only hazy pieces: his face, the short beard he’d grown making him look older than she remembered.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she said, pushing to her elbows. It felt like it had when they were children, her brother coming to pull her from bed before they carried out their morning chores. “Thanks for moving me to the cot.”
“I didn’t move you,” he told her, and she could hear the smile in his words.
Which meant—“Where’s Holt?”
“Outside.” Zack pressed a steaming mug of tea into her hands as she sat up. “He has a lot of people to catch up with. This was his operation long before it was mine.”
“That’s going to take some getting used to,” Zylah admitted, blowing on her tea, the scent of honey and alea blossom hitting her.
Zack chuckled. “We have no Fae in this part of the tunnels because of the proximity to the vanquicite, but things have been going well, given the circumstances.”
A small amount of time in the vicinity of the material would strip away deceits and nullify abilities, but the kind of exposure from day-to-day living so close to it could be devastating. They were wise to keep their distance.
“There were some wounded Fae… did they make it out?”
“They did, thanks to you.”
But there were more, Zylah was certain of it. “Where are Ranon and Aurelia keeping the rest of their prisoners?” The palace dungeons had been empty, and Holt… there must have been dozens of captive Fae to begin with, before he’d been forced to unleash his power on them all.
Her brother moved from the bed, a hand at her elbow to guide her.
“It’s alright,” she told him, “I can manage.”
He didn’t argue, but he still pulled a chair out for her anyway, an uneasy sigh escaping him. “They keep them in the main courtyard. But few remain, from what Holt’s told me.”
She pictured the courtyard as it had been during the festival, its gleaming white pillars, Arnir sat on his vanquicite throne, Marcus beside him. There must have been some vanquicite in the courtyard now to keep the prisoners docile, the question was how much. Prolonged exposure would kill them, and Ranon wouldn’t want them to be too weak before he’d have had Holt take their lives.
And that only few remained… she didn’t want to dwell on what few meant. All she knew for certain was that their deaths would be a weight Holt carried for the rest of his life. And as for the remaining prisoners, their friends couldn’t come soon enough.
“Three days,” Zylah said at last, warming her hands on the mug where it sat on the table. “What can I do?”
“Two days, now. And you can rest.” Zack rested a hand over one of hers. “You risked your life coming here for him. Alone.”
Zylah swallowed. It had been a while since she’d felt his particular brand of brotherly love, though he’d always been protective of her. They’d never really talked about their romantic relationships, but this wasn’t just some crush she might have confessed to him on the walk home from school when they were teenagers. And though she didn’t know how much he understood of Fae traditions, whether he would recognise the weight of what she and Holt were to each other, she knew he held the concept of marriage in high regard.
“And now he doesn’t remember you,” Zack said, repeating her words back to her from the day before. “You’re in love with him?”
It was an easy enough assessment. “What do you know of Fae customs?” she asked quietly.
Her brother was quiet for a moment, but she could feel his attention on her, felt the shift in him as he said, “Shit, Zylah, don’t tell me he’s your mate?”
All she could do was nod, her throat tight. It hadn’t taken Holt long to fall asleep the night before. She’d got as far in their story as their arrival in Virian together, Kopi in tow, before the sound of his steady breaths had filled the small space.
“What did they do to him?” Zack asked cautiously.
Zylah tried to explain it all to her brother, as much as she understood of it, anyway. All the hope she’d let herself amass fizzled away the more she told him, her head sinking into her hands. “Whatever they did to him, combined with having been in the vanquicite cell for so long and… what they made him do.” Her voice wavered and she took a moment to compose herself. “I don’t know if by telling him anything at all, I’m already pulling at the thread that completely unravels him.”
Zack’s hand fell over hers again. “What if it was the opposite?”
Zylah bit down on her lip, fighting back tears. “Because I tried…” She shook her head. “I tried to reach him, the way only I could and I…” She swallowed. “I hurt him.” Witnessing how much pain Holt had been in when Thallan had been in his mind… she couldn’t bear the thought of having harmed him in the same way, that he saw it as a violation.
Her brother blew out a quiet breath, his hand leaving hers and a shadow moving that told her he was dragging a hand over his face. “He’s well respected here; he’s barely stopped catching up with people since he woke. And there are plenty of Fae down here that I’m sure he’ll be paying a visit to later.” A small laugh escaped him. “Even before, it was like this. Back in Dalstead.”
It was strange to think that they knew each other before she and Holt had met, when they both worked for Arnir. Though really it was Marcus and Aurelia they’d worked for all along.
“I want to hear about everything,” her brother added, “but—”
“We don’t have time to sit around chatting. I know. Would an apothecary’s daughter be of any use to the Black Veil?” She rose from the table and made her way to the door. “My magic is not what it was, but I can help.”
“Shit, I’m sorry, Zylah, I shouldn’t have left you both so close to the vanquicite; let’s get you out of here.”
“No, that’s not… I’m fine, it doesn’t affect us as much as the others.” She wasn’t entirely certain why, though she had her suspicions. Her hopes, however fragile. “I meant”—Zylah waved a hand at her eyes—“I’m still adjusting.”
“Of course.”
“It’s fine, it’s just that so much has happened I don’t really think my mind and my body has truly had time to catch up. I’ll just need a bit of time.” She elbowed him playfully, just to reassure him she was alright. “Now show me the way, oh, benevolent leader.”
“I heard what happened with Jesper,” Zack said, quietly enough that only she would hear as they passed a few humans eating their morning meal. “Back at the mine.” Groups of humans lined the tunnel, barrels acting as tables and crates as stools. A mixture of candles and orblights lit the space, and as far as Zylah’s still sluggish magic could stretch, there were members of the Black Veil chatting quietly, the occasional laugh breaking through. They were all weary and exhausted, some wounded, and she felt their tired attention on her as they passed, no doubt taking in her covered eyes.
“You did good,” he added, this time loud enough that anyone beside them would have heard it.
Zylah offered him a tight smile at his words. She knew he meant it, but even at the time, Jesper’s death had left her feeling hollow. And now, now, it was just another death in a long list of many, and there was nothing good about so much loss.
A stout, middle-aged woman worked a ladle in a large pot, filling bowls and handing them to any who passed. Zack led Zylah over, introducing her as his sister and handing her a bowl, the contents so thick the spoon he shoved into it remained upright. “We’re running short on supplies,” he admitted. “But we’re doing what we can. A friend of yours has been letting us raid the vegetable supplies in the botanical gardens, but we lost three soldiers to thralls the day before yesterday on their run.”
“Jilah’s here?”
Zack hummed. “The children too. The Fae that remain down here have limited abilities between them. None are left that can evanesce or heal.”
Because they were dead. Zylah didn’t want to linger on that. “Are there humans here who aren’t Black Veil?”
“We bring more refugees down every day; we’re almost at capacity. Luan, this is Zylah, my sister.” Zack greeted a young man with short black hair and dark shadows marring the pale skin beneath his eyes, a warm smile on his face as he offered Zylah a polite hello. “Zylah spent her life working in our father’s apothecary.”
Luan’s face lit up and he clapped his hands together. “That’s wonderful but, and forgive me for saying this, your eyes…”
Zylah turned her attention to the barrel beside him, the pestle and mortar he’d abandoned when Zack had approached. “You’re making anti-inflammatories,” she told him. “A pinch of nastura might make it a bit more potent.” She didn’t need her eyes to scent the ingredients, and she was fairly confident she could use a pestle and mortar in her sleep. Even if the contents were too difficult to discern with her new sight, the smell and the feel would be enough for her to work. “I can see well enough, just not the same way you do.”
Luan let out a quiet, “huh,” with no effort to hide the astonishment in his tone. “I could certainly use the extra pair of hands on my rounds.”
“Perfect,” Zack said beside them. “I’ll leave you to it. I have to—”
“Go,” Zylah told him, nudging him again with her elbow.
“Luan—”
“I’ll be fine, Zack. Go.”
Luan chuckled beside her. “He’s like a mother hen.” There was a warmth to his words, and though Zylah didn’t know him well enough to read into it, there was no missing the admiration in his tone. “I’ll just finish up here, then let’s get started.”
Rounds were not what Zylah had anticipated, though she hadn’t known exactly what to expect, either. They moved slowly through the tunnels, Luan’s disposition as bright with every human they met as it had been with Zack. He introduced her to everyone, making no secret of the fact she was Zack’s sister, and all were polite, though some regarded her with something akin to awe. Zylah suspected those were the ones who had heard about the attack on the mine.
The injuries were varied. Many were dehydrated, for which Luan administered a mix of minerals to add to the little fresh water they had. Zylah’s ability to summon had returned, but she’d only be stealing from someone else who likely needed it. Some humans had minor wounds from skirmishes, and a few lay in cots with severe injuries from thrall attacks. Thralls, because no human had survived an encounter with a vampire and returned to the safety of the tunnels.
Everyone asked for updates about General Niossa’s arrival; word of her scouts and their ability had spread and everyone seemed to cling to that fact to keep them going. Zylah didn’t need Luan to fill in the gaps for her; so far she’d only attended to injured humans, and there were Fae trapped down there too, spread out beneath the city.
“Most want to take back their homes,” Luan explained as they moved through a large chamber, farther away from the palace district. The space served as an armoury of sorts, weapons and armour stacked along the walls.
“Even the ones that were in hiding?” Zylah asked.
“There’s nothing like trauma to bring people together,” Luan said gently. “There were a few bumps in the first few days, but now, human-Fae interactions are much better. The Fae don’t use their deceits to hide themselves like they used to. We’re helping each other as much as possible. Cohabiting as well as we can.”
“Then why the separation? I understand the proximity to the vanquicite, but is there a reason to remain segregated?”
Luan shrugged. “Change takes time. But we’ll get there. Once this is all over, Virian could be an example of what humans and Fae living together peacefully could look like for the rest of Astaria.”
Another little flutter of hope danced in her chest. Humans and Fae, together. Free. Virian was only one city, but it had been the capital once. Perhaps it could be again.
“Why aren’t the tunnels overrun with vampires and their thralls?” Zylah asked him.
“Warded by our Fae friends. It makes them much easier to protect. And we think Marcus kept the tunnels a secret, even from Aurelia.” He handed her a brin fruit as they made their way across the city. “This was a much faster task when there were more medics.”
They were gone now, too, Zylah understood. But that Marcus kept the tunnels a secret, that she found much harder to believe. They’d moved so far from the palace district, Zylah could detect no traces of vanquicite anymore, and the first few Fae greeted Luan as they approached. High Fae and Lesser Fae all shared the space, wings and scaled skin and pointed ears, all just as happy to see Luan as the humans had been.
Zylah wondered what they made of her, her strange eyes and the scars that no doubt marred her skin, but the thought was cut short by a familiar face. “Jilah!” she called out to her old friend, the children hanging off him rushing over.
“You’re just like us,” Kihlan said.
“I always knew you were,” Niara added.
Zylah couldn’t help her quiet chuckle, the warmth spreading through her chest at seeing them safe. Hiding beneath the city wasn’t exactly the life she would have chosen for them, but they were alive. That counted for something.
“Zylah. It’s so good to see you safe.” The old Fae pressed a warm hand to her shoulder, a wide smile across his face.
“I owe you an apology,” she told her friend, taking his hand in hers. “I’ve had to borrow from the gardens a few times.”
Jilah chuckled. “All for a good cause, no doubt—”
Zylah didn’t hear the rest of his words, pain almost bringing her to her knees. Holt. She hadn’t meant to call to him, panic flaring through her alongside the pain. But it was his pain, the pain of using his ability.
“Zylah?” Luan asked gently, a hand resting lightly on the centre of her back.
“I-I have to go. I’m sorry,” she breathed, already turning, pushing past a group of Fae, their surprised voices trailing behind her as she broke into a run.
It felt like hours passed before she found him, but Zylah thought it might have only been minutes. She recognised the space, the wooden door marking the entrance to the tunnels she’d broken into the night she’d rescued him from Marcus. Holt sat slumped with his back against the damp stone, two vampires dead before him, his chest heaving with broken breaths, his head in his hands. “It’s like a drug,” he’d told her once, and she could see the war going on inside him. He’d killed them both, and he’d been exhilarated by it.
Zylah knelt before him, fingers flexing to reach out but then she pulled away. She had no right to touch him without his permission, no matter how much she wanted to. “Hey,” she whispered gently. “I…” She wanted to apologise for calling out to him, for hurting him, wanted so many things she didn’t know where to start. “It’s alright, Holt. You’re alright.” Zylah knew she was saying it for herself just as much as she was him, her voice breaking with her words. “Talk to me. Please. Tell me what I can do.”
He lowered his hands, lifted his chin to look at her, eyes studying her face. She’d have given anything to see him with her own eyes and not the strange, hazy lens she saw him through now.
“Just stay with me,” he rasped, another echo from another time cutting her heart in two.
Zylah took his hand in hers, rubbing a thumb over the back of his. “I’m here,” she told him.
He was silent for a while, his breaths slowly steadying, his eyes never leaving her face. “I fell asleep.” Something shifted in his expression, some of the darkness lifting. “You were telling me how we met, and I fell asleep.”
“Some of us need to work on our apologies, for some of us, it’s our storytelling abilities,” Zylah said with a half shrug, her hand never leaving his.
A huff of air left Holt in as close to a laugh as she thought he might be able to manage in that moment. “Looks like my gratitude needs some work, too.”
“How about another deal? Come back to the tunnels with me, and I’ll tell you more.”
“You drive a hard barg—” His brows pinched together.
“Holt?”
He scrunched his eyes shut, one hand dragging through his hair in a way Zylah couldn’t decipher. “I’d like that,” Holt told her, his husky tone travelling over her skin. He pushed to his feet, pulling Zylah with him, and she was careful to keep a respectable amount of distance between their bodies as he released her hand, no matter how much everything in her seemed to be drawn to everything in him, no matter how much it was killing her not to touch him. He remained close, his gaze sweeping over her face. Remember me , she wanted to tell him. Beg him. Remember me, please .
For a moment, she thought he’d recalled something. Anything. Some tiny detail about their past. But Holt just gave her a small smile, his head inclined and his hand held out to one side as he said, “Lead the way.”