30. Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

Z ylah had forgotten how much she loathed the mountains. They moved in much smaller bursts than they might have done had they both been at full strength, though Zylah wasn’t certain if she was tiring Holt or the other way around.

They had no need for a map now that she understood how to track her own evanescing. Whether Holt was simply moving north or some instinct was guiding him, too, she couldn’t be sure, but his knowledge of the Northern Territories was far more extensive than hers.

“This happened in the maze,” Zylah said as they paused to catch their breaths, waving a hand at the cloth over her eyes, her feet crunching in freshly fallen snow.

Holt summoned a brin fruit to his palm, offering it to Zylah.

Another echo of a memory from the first time they’d met, twisting the knot in her chest. She shook her head. “I’ve been dreaming about canna cakes.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up at her confession, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “I’ll bake you one when we get back.”

“Only one?” A bird called out somewhere in the distance and wind rustled through the trees, but there were no other signs of life up in the mountains, only the frigid air and the sound of them both catching their breath. No sign of grimms, but that didn’t stop Zylah from reaching out as far as she could every time they stopped to be certain.

“Fine. A whole tray.” An almost smile. “Your eyes,” he prompted.

Zylah pulled back on the threads of her magic for fear of overstretching herself, withdrawing them all to a reasonable perimeter, and still she couldn’t help but scan the trees just as Holt did for any signs of danger. “Rhaznia,” she said after a heartbeat, “Lower body of a spider, upper body of… a Fae, I suppose. She has many children in the maze.” Zylah repressed a shiver at the memory. “Arioch helped me escape, and I came upon a cyon wolf and a spider, twice the size of you, fighting so hard they shook the rock around me.”

“A water serpent, giant spiders, cyon wolves. Is there any monster you haven’t stood up against and won?”

“Hmm. The cyon wolves weren’t my adversaries. Not in the end, anyway.” She thought of the female, of the wolf’s heart in Rhaznia’s hands. Of the male, curled up around her to keep her warm, fighting beside her until it met its end, gratitude warming her chest.

“Kopi was with you for all of this?”

Zylah shook her head. “I sent him away not long after I woke up. I fell in and out of consciousness for weeks… months, I guess. I can’t remember.” She wondered now if it was tied to his memory loss, to whatever torture Aurelia had been inflicting upon him, the familiar urge to reach for him rising through her, and the longing that came with it when she remembered she couldn’t. “Raif was there. And when he left to do whatever it is vampires do, Aurelia paid me a visit.”

Holt’s brin fruit was long forgotten in his hands, his body utterly still as he watched her. “What happened?”

She hadn’t told the others any of this. It hadn’t been necessary. But Holt had experienced firsthand what it was like to feel powerless at Aurelia’s touch, even if her power had been diminished by whatever her father was doing to her.

“Her magic was weaker than the last time she used it against me. But it was enough for her to break my wrist. To use the little shattered piece of pottery I’d intended to use on her to slice into me a few times.” Zylah pulled aside the neck of her tunic to show him the slash of a scar across her collarbone. “I’m sure there’s a few more on my face with her name on them.”

A ripple of Holt’s power fell from him, thick and angry and vicious, and he cast the brin fruit aside into the snow. “Abusing her power was always her favourite trick.” His eyes danced over her face, the anger dissipating into something else. “I’m sorry you had to endure that.”

“She’s done far worse,” Zylah murmured. To both of them. But she didn’t need to say that part out loud, not to him. Hated that the conversation would have taken him right back to that cage, reliving every moment of his torture.

Holt shook his head, an exasperated sigh leaving a cloud of cold air in front of him. “Raif never stood a chance with parents like that.” He reached for Zylah’s hand, their break over.

“No. I suppose he didn’t.”

She thought about that as they evanesced the next few turns in silence: the choices Raif had made and how much of a say he’d have had in them. He’d never been compelled, he’d told them. But if Aurelia had manipulated Holt’s mind, would she have done it to others? To her own son? Part of Zylah couldn’t bring herself to care, whispered that he deserved whatever fate Rhaznia had dealt him. But there was still that quiet voice that wondered if he’d been used just as she had. Just as Holt had.

“You were telling me about Rhaznia,” Holt said after their seventh or eighth move, exhaustion demanding Zylah stop and catch her breath.

The sun had long since dipped below the mountains, and soon they would need to find a place to rest for the night. She’d allowed herself to feel hopeful when he’d told her he was coming with her, but as the day stretched on, she had to keep reminding herself to be patient. That he might never remember her, never feel what he once felt for her. And then there were moments where she was certain she could feel him through their bond, just as she had back in Ranon’s maze, a flutter of emotion in her chest, light and whisper soft.

“Her web is just as awful as you’d imagine,” she admitted, hands on her knees as her breaths steadied. “And her venom… It’s in her hands.” Zylah straightened to looked at her palms, turning them over and marvelling at how much detail she could see with her magic. “She was toying with me, licking it from her claws like she couldn’t get enough of the taste. Then one of the wolves returned, seeking retribution for its mate, and Rhaznia sprayed the venom all over my face.”

Holt studied her in that way she was becoming accustomed to, and she knew he was likely trying to remember her again, to cover up whatever pain it caused whenever he did. “How did you get free?”

Zylah hesitated. “Raif.” The whole truth for him, she’d told herself. “And then I left him to Rhaznia. And I ran.” She eyed some wood cups holding a fresh dusting of snow on a fallen tree stump beside her, reaching for the dagger in her boot as she waited for Holt’s response. For his scolding, perhaps. She wasn’t sure. He and Raif had been like brothers to each other, and though Raif had shoved a vanquicite sword through Holt’s chest, Zylah couldn’t work out whether he blamed Aurelia more for that than her son.

“What are you doing?” he asked as she carefully cut the mushrooms away one by one. They were too big for her pockets but too useful to leave behind, would suit them well for a meal later on.

“Foraging for our dinner.” She thought he might say more about Raif, but he just watched her quietly as she pulled one of the cloths she used for her eyes from her bag and wrapped the mushrooms in it. Before, she’d been able to decipher what others might have deemed his unreadable expressions, but that was when she wasn’t a stranger to him. But even now, it was an effort to keep her distance from him, to not reach for him, to not lean into his touch when they evanesced, to not raise her arms to his neck and curl her fingers through the ends of his hair. She cast the thoughts aside at the fresh wave of pain they brought with them, her movements a little harsher than they were a moment before.

“We’ll stop for the night soon,” Holt said quietly, tearing his gaze away from her. “Know a place?”

Zylah laughed quietly. “I think I might.” It was her turn to hold her hand out for his, and he took it without hesitation, fingers lacing through hers and squeezing once. They didn’t have to move this way. A hand to the elbow would have been enough, and though Zylah wanted to believe he needed to touch her just as much as she needed to touch him, she couldn’t let herself dwell on it.

They reappeared at the mouth of the cave she’d visited with Daizin and Kej. There were no supplies left, but at least it was dry.

“We stopped here on our way back to camp,” she told him by way of explanation. It felt like a lifetime ago, but it had barely been more than a week. Another version of herself, running from those who’d wronged her.

They went about setting up for the night, working around each other in comfortable silence. Whatever supplies they hadn’t carried between them, Holt summoned from somewhere. The tavern in Virian, perhaps, judging by the condition of the small cooking pot. Zylah couldn’t help but watch the way he moved, the way he stole a few glances at her too every now and then as he tried to make the cold cave more comfortable. She wondered what he made of her cloth-covered eyes, the scars that no doubt marred her face, but if it bothered him, he didn’t let it show.

They’d had so little time together since she’d accepted the bond between them, barely a few days before everything had happened at the mine that the intimacy of setting up for the evening was almost bittersweet. But there was still every chance he could decide to reject the bond, that if he didn’t know now, didn’t feel the connection between them, he might never. The thought crushed any sparks of hope she’d let herself feel, her mood souring as she made their meal.

Her father would have scolded her for cooking with a bitter temperament, would have warned her it would spoil the food and launched into a lengthy story she’d have heard a dozen times before about the meals he’d ruined when she was a child.

“What do you want to do when we reach the maze?” Holt asked when she handed him a steaming bowl of mushroom soup.

Zylah watched the fire he’d built, the way the embers floated in the space between them, and marvelled at the way her magic seemed to enhance the sparks, dancing around Holt where he sat across from her. She’d thought him a god when they first met, and even now the sight of him made her breathless. The silver bell on his wrist caught the light as he ate, waiting for her response. He’d toyed with it absentmindedly throughout the day, just like he used to. Was this how he’d felt when he’d found her in Varda, half-starved and going out of her mind? When he’d taken care of her with nothing but love and patience and his unwavering presence at her side. Always at her side. Always patient, even when he knew what they were to each other, and she didn’t.

And she was taking him to Rhaznia. To a monster who could easily take his life. To where Raif had held her captive, healed her with his blood. The thought made her rest her untouched bowl in the dirt beside her.

“You and Raif,” Holt began, pulling Zylah from her thoughts. “I know it’s wrong of me to ask… but it feels like it might help me understand. Help me remember.” His voice was strained, his eyes full of pain, and she swore she could feel an echo of it in her chest.

“You can ask me anything,” she told him, injecting as much sincerity into her voice as she could manage, because having to explain this to him was never going to be easy. Zylah blew out a breath, choosing her words carefully. “After what happened with Jesper I just needed… to feel in control.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat. “Part of me knew it was only ever meant to be temporary. And I know how awful that sounds. Like… like I used him.” Her voice broke at her admission, but Zylah didn’t look away from his gaze, hating that he couldn’t see her eyes, see the truth in them.

“Whatever you’ve told yourself, you didn’t use him. I don’t need to see your eyes to see the truth of that.”

Zylah sucked in a breath, wondering if he’d heard her thoughts, too afraid to ask him for fear of the answer. “You said as much back at the Aquaris Court.” Did he remember? Or was he just being kind, sparing her any embarrassment? “Minus the part about the eyes,” she added with a small smile, but it quickly faded. “And then we all watched Raif fall at Jesper’s hands. And I mourned him. For months. Until we discovered what he’s become.”

Zylah knew she was skipping parts, but he’d asked about Raif, and he deserved to know. “Raif used to keep things from me.” She hated the irony of that. “He never wanted to teach me about my magic, and there were things that never added up.” She shrugged. “Maybe it was Aurelia’s doing all along, I can’t be certain.”

Holt’s gaze moved from her face to the fire, his eyes glowing in the dancing light. “Eat,” he told her, flicking his chin at her bowl. “It’s been a long day; we need to be ready for Rhaznia.”

Zylah picked up her bowl without argument, if only for something to do with herself other than wonder why he’d said nothing more about Raif, about his behaviour, about their relationship. Perhaps he thought she was making excuses, grasping at reasons to justify her actions. She barely managed a few mouthfuls of her soup before pushing it aside, an involuntary shiver making her grasp her knees.

“We’ll deal with Rhaznia first before retrieving Arioch; three might be better against one but we can’t risk losing him,” Holt said, his eyes on her discarded bowl.

Zylah could barely manage a nod, pulling a blanket Holt had summoned from the tavern over her shoulders and swallowing down another lump of emotion at the way it folded her in his scent.

“Get some rest,” he told her when she didn’t reply.

“Don’t you want to try—”

“Sleep, Zylah. It’s been a long day. I’ll take the first watch.”

He must have been as exhausted as she was, but Zylah didn’t have it in her to argue with him. Any attempt at pulling apart what Aurelia had done to him was only going to cause more pain, and she already felt raw, cut open around him in this strange new dynamic. With their healing connected to each other’s her exhaustion wasn’t going to do them any favours, so she settled into the blanket, the weight of Holt’s gaze still heavy on her skin, another shiver dancing over her flesh.

“Goodnight, Holt,” she whispered.

“Goodnight, Zylah.”