32. Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Two

H olt bolstered her roots and vines with his, that much she could ascertain by sound alone. Zylah summoned the staff Nye had set aside for her, her grip still tight on her sword. Nothing attacked. Either the vines were holding the smaller creatures at bay or they were hanging back in Rhaznia’s presence, Zylah couldn’t be certain; only knew that she needed time for her sight to return.

“What did you do with Ranon’s grandson?” Zylah asked, her face angled in Rhaznia’s direction.

“You didn’t seem too concerned with his welfare when you left him with me,” the monster said.

Zylah half expected some reaction from Holt at that, but he was quiet beside her, and she imagined the impassive look that would have settled across his face, his mask of indifference firmly in place. “I’m concerned he lived,” she admitted.

The telltale click click click of Rhaznia moving closer had Zylah instinctively taking a step back, Holt moving with her.

Rhaznia made a guttural sound. “First my children. Then you insult me.”

Shadows flickered first in Zylah’s vision, the cloth still firmly over her eyes. But it was enough combined with her hearing for her to know precisely where Rhaznia stood.

“I meant no insult,” she said, hoping to stall Rhaznia a little longer. “Only that he’s a danger to your children.”

Rhaznia’s laugh was barely a chuckle. “As much of a danger as the two of you. Ranon’s grandson took an eye and a horn from me; I suppose he felt it retribution for me taking your sight. You’re blind.” She would have taken one look at the cloth over Zylah’s eyes to reach that conclusion.

But the few moments of back and forth had been enough to allow Zylah to develop a narrow field of vision, a tunnel of sight directly in front of her. And within it, the jagged stump where Raif had snapped Rhaznia’s horn, the gaping wound where he’d gouged out her eye. Combined with the burns Zylah had inflicted, it was a ghastly sight to behold.

She didn’t dare turn her head to check on the other spiders, but from the little movement at the edges of the tunnel, she knew they were either dead or bound by roots and vines.

They could leave. Maybe they should. But if there was a chance at getting her sight back, Zylah had to take it. There was no use in telling Holt to go. If he wanted to, he could at any moment, which meant he’d chosen to see this through just as she had.

Rhaznia dragged a clawed hand over the roots binding the spider nearest to her, setting her child free one leg at a time and running a hand over the spider’s body with something akin to affection. “We will enjoy feasting on you both.”

“I’ll take Rhaznia,” Holt murmured, and she realised he’d have likely thought she still couldn’t see. Admittedly, she could see very little, but it was enough. It would have to be.

“Don’t let her touch you,” Zylah warned. He hadn’t asked her to leave, either. So she did the only thing she could think of to give him a second’s advantage; she swung her staff in a wide arc as if she truly were blind, clipping the leg of the spider at Rhaznia’s side.

Rhaznia laughed, and Zylah didn’t dare tear her tunnelled vision away from the smaller spider as Holt and Rhaznia moved for each other.

But her attention couldn’t remain on them. Spiders came for her, legs swiping and spider silk covering her hair, her face. Zylah swung the staff again, her sword following its path. Some of the spiders had freed themselves of their bindings, others had descended from above, pressing in from all sides.

Zylah cast the staff aside as they closed more tightly around her, both hands grasping the hilt of her sword. Magic might risk what little vision she had remaining, and they would need everything they had against Rhaznia, enough to get away when they had what they wanted.

So she fought, her blade swinging and striking at the creatures, web covering her limbs and settling over her torso. She hacked at it wherever she could, rolling and narrowly missing a leg slamming into her sternum.

Zylah thrust her sword into the spider’s chest, yanking it free and moving to the next, her tunnel vision faltering as Holt used his magic to bind more of the spiders.

Rhaznia was taunting them, letting the other spiders wear them down. As if she had so many they were merely expendable. So much for her beloved children. But Zylah didn’t need her sight to know she and Holt were overwhelmed.

He hadn’t used his blast of power; Zylah wasn’t sure whether it was a case of couldn’t or wouldn’t. Wouldn’t risk his mind, and she couldn’t fault him for that. But the more he used his magic, the less she could see, the tunnel vision becoming shadows, until the shadows turned to darkness.

She swung her blade, spider silk catching it, catching her , throwing the weapon from Zylah’s grasp and knocking her off her feet.

Another leg slammed into the dirt beside her head, and Zylah reached for her dagger, slashing and striking at anything it came into contact with, web slowing her attack. They were binding her. Cocooning her. Zylah tried to evanesce, but nothing happened. Her breath faltered and her chest tightened as panic threatened to overwhelm her, but she tried again. Still nothing.

Rhaznia screamed and Zylah tried not to echo the sentiment as spider silk pinned her to the dirt. If she risked distracting Holt, it could expose them both. But as another leg smacked the dirt beside her chest, as spider silk fell over her face, her mouth, Zylah bit back a whimper.

It was just like before. When Rhaznia had trapped her, when she’d blinded her. When she’d been moments away from tearing out her heart. Zylah’s breaths came shorter as she fought to pull back the threads of her magic, to summon a dagger to her palm, to evanesce… anything. But nothing answered, nothing snapped back into place.

Magic rippled over her, whatever spider had been working away at its cocoon stilling. Hands tore at the cobwebs over her face, warm fingers gently pulling away the webbing over her lips, her nose.

“Take us to the next location,” Holt rasped, hands bracing Zylah’s face.

“I can’t,” she choked out.

“Show me.”

Zylah could barely breathe, even as Holt tore at the spider silk across her chest, her arms. “I can’t,” she whispered when she realised what he meant.

“Zylah.” Now. Holt’s hand closed around hers at the same time as his voice echoed in her thoughts, Zylah’s chest aching at the familiarity of it. But she didn’t argue, just pushed an image down their bond, and barely a second later they were moving together through the aether.

The familiar scent of the cavern where she’d fought the water serpent assaulted her senses when they reappeared, Holt’s hand slipping from hers.

“Thank you,” she said softly, his pain almost tangible in the air between them. She still couldn’t see, but Zylah could feel the way he grasped his head beside her, fingers knotting in his hair as if he might chase away the pain that had assaulted him.

He was in pain because of her. Because she’d wanted to stay, because she’d wanted to retrieve the venom. Because he’d asked her to invade his mind. The thought made her simultaneously miserable and furious all at once. Fuck Aurelia for this; fuck Ranon. Thallan. For everything they’d done. All the pain they’d caused.

“I’m alright,” he told her, his voice strained. She didn’t dare hope he’d heard her thoughts; it felt like too cruel a thing to want when it hurt him so badly.

“Rhaznia?” Zylah asked, tugging at her clothes for any pieces of spider silk her fingers snagged against as she caught her breath, as her racing heart quietened and she pushed herself to a seated position, legs stretched out before her.

“Dead.” Holt remained at her side, knees pressed into her thigh, his heart racing just as much as hers. Something rustled, something in his hand, Zylah thought. An echo of his magic danced over her skin, and she knew he’d sent away whatever he’d been holding. “We got what we came for,” he said quietly. “I’ve sent it to Okwata.”

Thoughts and words bubbled up inside her, gratitude and relief keeping the negative feelings at bay. The combined use of their magic had interfered with her vision, but voicing that seemed pointless. They were alive, and they were one step closer to finding Arioch and getting out of there.

Holt tensed at her side. “I remember this.”

“What?”

“Being here. With you.”

Zylah hugged her knees, wishing she could see him, recalling how it had felt the last time she was on this platform, gasping for breath. “You weren’t here with me. I was alone. But I think you helped me, somehow.”

“From my cell.” He shifted, taking his warmth with him, and she imagined him peering down at the dead water serpent below.

The movement stirred the air, the scent of blood hitting her and shoving whatever she wanted to say aside. “You’re bleeding.”

He hummed a response.

She wanted to ask what he remembered, to let him piece together what it meant that he’d helped her, but she’d caused him enough pain for one day. “I can try to heal it.” It would mean her sight likely wouldn’t return for a little longer, but she wasn’t about to let Holt continue their task with an open wound.

The air shifted as he knelt beside her. “Tell me how you killed the serpent.”

“That’s not how bartering works,” she said with a quiet chuckle.

“Tell me anyway.”

Zylah reached for him, his hand finding hers and guiding her to a spot near his shoulder. She had to rock up onto her knees to reach him, his other hand resting at her hip to steady her. “Healing first,” she murmured.

“Bossy, aren’t you?” he asked, an echo of what she’d said to him back in the tunnels.

Zylah didn’t hide her grin. There was a chance she couldn’t heal him. That she was too depleted to have anything left to give. But not being able to see the wound was elevating her heart rate, her mind conjuring all kinds of injuries that he might have sustained fighting Rhaznia, and she’d try whatever she could to fix it.

All her doubts eddied from her thoughts when she focused on her task, let the sound of Holt’s steady breaths guide her, leaning into his touch a little more than she probably should have. She couldn’t help it. He steadied her, settled something in her and quietened all the doubts and emotions that had been warring inside. Zylah tugged gently at first, pulling on that place her healing magic resided until it warmed her chest, flowed through her arms and down her fingertips, pouring into him.

Holt sucked in a breath.

“What is it?”

“It’s alright,” he told her, catching her hand when she made to pull away. “Keep going.” She did as he asked. “I saw you,” he said quietly, his voice tight. “A vision, or a memory. We were in my cabin. I gave you Adina’s cloak. Fastened the buttons over your heart.” His fingertips brushed just below her collarbone, a featherlight touch there and then gone, and Zylah had to force herself to focus.

“A memory,” she murmured as she felt his wound stop bleeding, knew the moment the flesh knitted back together beneath her touch.

“You looked different then.”

“I was different,” she admitted. She should have moved away. Should have pushed to her feet, given Holt space, but nothing could make her move away from him.

“Something tells me every version of you has been just as incredible, Zylah.” He helped her stand, his hand warm in hers. “Tell me about the water serpent.”

So Zylah did. She told him how she’d arrived in the cave, the skeletons strewn across the shore, certain he was looking down at them all. Told him about the spear she’d stolen when she had no weapons and no magic to aid her. How the beast had risen from the water, three heads snapping and snarling. He listened to all of it quietly, his hand never leaving hers, but she could hear the racing of his heart at her words, the way he stilled when she explained that it was his vines and roots that had reached for her, pulling her up onto the platform where they stood as if his presence was lying beside her, gasping for breath.

“I thought it was your ghost,” she whispered, and his fingers squeezed hers gently.

An echo of his pain hit her, but Zylah didn’t want to draw attention to it, didn’t want to do anything that might make him slide his hand from hers.

“The purple crystal,” he mused, and she felt him turning, taking in the cavern. “It’s like the stone in my mother’s sword. Like your eyes.”

“You haven’t seen my eyes.” Only glimpsed the ruined mess they were now.

“I remember them.”

“That’s…” Zylah swallowed. “That’s good.” She hated how afraid she was. Afraid of hurting him. Afraid that if she told him the truth and it wasn’t what he wanted now, that she would lose whatever remained of the bond between them. “I can’t evanesce yet,” she said instead. “You’ll have to take us in much shorter bursts for a while, I don’t think we should linger for too long.”

“I don’t know how I helped you, but it was you who killed the water serpent.” There was no denying the reverence in his tone. “I’m sorry I took Rhaznia’s death from you.”

Zylah shook her head. “You saved my life. You have nothing to apologise for.”

“I’m starting to sense a pattern here.”

That elicited a laugh. “Perhaps.”

“Where were you going to begin our search?” He uncurled her fingers and pressed the hilt of her sword into her open palm.

He must have summoned it to him. Zylah sheathed it at her waist, nodding her thanks and calling the staff to her next. “Where Raif kept me.”

“I think I know the way.”

She didn’t ask him how. Just let her mate take her hand and pull them together through the aether.