33. Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

I f it had been any other location, surprise and delight would have warmed her chest at what he’d done. But Zylah could feel neither of those things in the room where she’d been Raif’s prisoner.

Anger rippled from Holt, easing his hand from hers to walk around the space. Not that there was much. She wondered what he made of it, if it looked as much of a prison to him as it had felt to exist in it.

“He kept you here in the dark?” The words were clipped, and a whisper of his power brushed against her skin.

“I had an orblight,” Zylah said quietly, trying not to inhale too deeply for fear Raif’s scent still lingered in the air. She gripped the staff so tightly she was certain her knuckles had turned white.

Holt didn’t answer, but pieces of wood scraped together where she’d left them by the wall before her escape. The scent of the spilled stew hung in the air, the baylock heavy among the aroma. “You poisoned him?” he asked.

“I tried to. After Aurelia’s first visit, he…” Zylah swallowed down the acid taste of bile. “His blood. It healed me, but…” She thought of the way Raif had held her, forced her to drink from his vein, the way he’d pressed his skin to her mouth and she fought back the urge to be violently sick. Magic flickered over her skin for a moment, gone before she really had time to register it.

“Hey.” Holt’s fingers closed over hers, easing the staff from her hand. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Zylah yanked the cloth from her eyes, because seeing his shadow was better than seeing nothing at all. “I didn’t want it. I don’t want any part of him.” Her voice broke, a tear escaping and rolling down her cheek. “I know you remember him as your friend. Your brother. But I can’t forgive him for the things he’s done. I won’t.”

Another tear fell, and this time Holt brushed it away, his hand cupping the side of her face and another flicker of his magic pressing against her skin as if he was trying to keep himself in check.

“I’m sorry for what he did,” he said softly, and there was no mistaking the pain in his voice. “To both of us. For all of it.” He pulled her into an embrace, wrapping his arms around her and resting his head on hers.

Zylah fought back a sob. To both of us . If only he remembered. If only she could tell him without fear of hurting him. Because it was one thing for him to have witnessed it all, but another entirely to hear it explained. And what had happened between her and Raif before she and Holt… when they hadn’t known what they were to each other. More tears fell, and Zylah let them. For all the mistakes she’d made. For all the time they’d had taken from them, over and over again.

“Let’s get out of here,” Holt murmured into her hair.

It was an effort to pull herself away from him, but they had a task to complete. And Arioch didn’t deserve to remain imprisoned in the maze for a moment longer.

“I think we’ll be better off retracing my steps for a while since I can’t evanesce.” Zylah wiped a hand over her face, but Holt’s shirt had soaked up most of her tears, and she was glad for the way his scent enveloped her, blocking out any traces of Raif.

“Show me.”

In his mind. Zylah sucked in a breath. “No.” She held up a hand before he could protest. “We can’t risk you not being able to get out of here. You’re still healing, too.” And she knew he couldn’t argue with that, not with how many of Rhaznia’s children likely still crept through the maze.

Holt didn’t reply, the sound of snapping wood breaking the silence. Light danced amongst the shadows before her, woodsmoke filling the small space. He pressed the staff back into her hand, the grain rough against her fingers, then looped her free hand over his arm. “You’ll fill in some gaps for me whilst we walk?”

The hope in his voice made her squeeze her fingers reflexively against his shirt. “And you claim I’m the bossy one.”

His quiet huff of air was his only response as he led the way out of the space, wards rippling over Zylah’s skin the minute they stepped out into the passageway, the stale air just as she’d remembered. This first section was nothing but passageways hewn from rock, compacted dirt beneath their feet. She dragged the tip of her staff along the wall beside her, just as she had done with her fingers the first time she’d tried to escape, leading Holt through twists and turns, hoping she remembered the correct route.

All the while, Zylah filled him in on her time in Virian, her training with both him and Raif, how no one knew at the time about the control Aurelia and her family had over him thanks to Jesper’s compulsion.

Glints of magic began to return, enough that she needed to stop to replace the cloth when the two versions of her sight fought with each other. “Raif had to be using magic to get in and out. I just don’t know how. Or where,” she mused, taking a moment to let her sight adjust. The same tunnel vision from before, but better than nothing at all, threads unfurling from her like leaves curling open after winter.

“Did you like working at the botanical gardens?” Holt asked, ignoring what she’d said about Raif. If the thought of a door Raif could access concerned him, he didn’t show it; perhaps he had as little desire to talk about the vampire as she did. And if his anger at her cell had been anything to go by, his response to Raif forcing his blood on her, he loathed Raif just as much as she did.

“I did,” Zylah confessed. “I loved it. But you never let me pay you a single copper for staying at the tavern.”

“With me.” He almost said it like he remembered. They turned another corner, his hand over hers on his arm like they were taking an evening stroll together, not searching an ancient maze for an even more ancient being.

“You wouldn’t let me take the lounger, even though you’re far too big for it.” She thought of the way he’d sleep, one arm above his head, the way she’d always felt a pull to him but hadn’t been ready to face it. “You left the night Mala died.”

“You healed me then, too.”

Zylah almost missed a step at his words. He was remembering things; small details, but memories none the less. Another flutter of hope in her chest. “I did.” But he deserved to know what came next, too, no matter how much she wanted to erase it from her past. “And you were gone the next day until the attempt on Arnir’s life. Until everything went to shit.”

With her tunnel vision, she could only make out the flickering shadows from Holt’s torch dancing over the rock a few feet in front of them. But her threads she could spread much farther, far enough that she could feel another nest of spiders, sections of the maze full of the awful crawlers she’d encountered before, and—“Arioch,” she breathed. “This way.”

They were only a few passages away from where she’d first met the Seraphim, and Zylah called his name into the dark, spiders be damned. “Arioch!”

Holt remained close at her side, the torch still burning strong, and she realised then that he must have replaced it at least once. He tensed, and she followed his gaze. “It’s alright,” she told him, raising her staff to the Seraphim in greeting. “Arioch.”

“Zylah.” Arioch assessed them both, a hand over his eyes to shield them from the light, his gaze settling over the cloth at her eyes. “Facing this maze always comes with a price.”

“Rhaznia paid it,” Holt said as he lowered the torch, his demeanour shifting to the way she’d seen him hold meetings back at the safehouse in Virian.

Arioch dipped his chin, eyes darting between the two of them, and Zylah made swift work of the introductions. The Seraphim’s beard seemed a little more unruly than the last time Zylah had briefly seen it, and she wondered if the kernel of hope she’d offered him had been too much to keep hold of in the dark.

“We’ll take you wherever you wish to go. But we’ve come to ask for your help against Ranon and his family,” Zylah explained quickly. There were spiders on the move, but she didn’t want to pressure Arioch, not yet.

“I’m not sure I can be much help to you,” the Seraphim said thoughtfully, toying with his beard. “But I’ll gladly go anywhere that isn’t here.” He gestured to the small space they stood within, bare and dark and cold, and Zylah couldn’t begin to imagine how he’d survived there all those years without losing his mind. It had only been a few hours, and already she couldn’t wait to leave and never return.

“Is there anything you’d like to take with you?” She extended her hand for his but paused halfway, head tilting to the side.

“What is it?” Holt asked beside her.

“Spiders. Lots of them.” Zylah reached for Arioch at the same time Holt reached for her, and then they were moving through the aether, Holt’s magic wrapping around them as they left the maze. She thought of how she’d followed his evanescing outside the mine, his elation when she’d broken Jesper’s compulsion, the warmth and love and gratitude that had poured through their bond. If only she’d known it would be one of the last times she’d feel it.

They reappeared farther away from the maze than Zylah had expected, though she couldn’t say she was sorry to put so much distance between them and it. Holt moved five or six times before her ability to evanesce returned and she took over, stopping only when they reached the cave they’d stayed at the night before. It felt like days had passed since they’d been staring at the entrance to the maze, snow flurrying around them and apprehension rolling through her.

Despite how exhausted he must have been, Holt offered to set up for the night, giving Zylah time to approach Arioch at the mouth of the cave, too many questions on the tip of her tongue.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, passing the Seraphim a plate of bread and cheese and a brin fruit Holt had handed to her a few moments before, summoned from the Aquaris Court judging by the fineness of the plate.

“My kind don’t feel the cold as you do.” He smiled in thanks at the food, his eyes widening when he took in the brin fruit, reaching for it first and holding it to his nose as he inhaled. “It’s been lifetimes since I ate an apple. Thank you.”

“Do you know anything about the blood moon?” Zylah asked, because she couldn’t hold on to the question any longer.

Arioch took a bite of the brin fruit—or apple, as he’d called it—and hummed his approval. “Ten of us arrived on a blood moon.” He gestured to the sky peppered with stars, the moon barely a sliver amongst them. “Sira and her sisters used it to open a window from their world to this one, but I have no idea how they did it.”

“Their world. Not yours.”

“Not mine,” he agreed, a sadness in his tone that hadn’t been there before. “I’ll take first watch, you must be exhausted.”

“You don’t want to sleep?” she asked, gesturing inside the cave to the flickering firelight.

The Seraphim shook his head, gazing up at the sky. “I’ve slept enough over the years; I’d like to watch the stars. Get some rest, both of you. And thank you, Zylah. For keeping your word.”

“Of course.” She left him to his meal, glad for the warmth of the fire Holt had set up in the cave, her sight restored enough that she could take in the bedrolls and blankets he’d laid out for them, the little basket of food she recognised like the ones in the Aquaris Court.

She moved to sit beside him, running a hand over a soft blanket beneath her, strands of something plush carefully knitted together. “These look like something Kej would have on his bed.”

Holt chuckled, handing her a plate just like the one she’d given to Arioch. “Kej’s, Rin’s, Nye’s, the bed I used to sleep in when I stayed. I took as many as I could. You seemed cold last night.”

Because he watched her just as closely as she watched him. Maybe Aurelia had been wrong. Maybe she hadn’t been successful in her task. Zylah forced herself to eat something as she considered the possibility. The way he reached for her whenever he could, touched her, held her. The brin fruit felt like a stone in her throat and she set her plate aside.

Holt reached into the basket, his huge hand closing around something, the delicious smell rising between them.

“A canna cake!” Zylah gasped, pulling at the parchment paper at the base to tear off a piece of the soft sponge and pop it into her mouth. She didn’t hide her groan at the taste, her eyes scrunching shut under the cloth, though she could still see how Holt watched her, the way his eyes fixed on her fingers at her mouth, the way his eyes darkened.

“I hate that you can’t see my eyes,” she murmured.

His attention flicked up to the cloth, concern lacing his features and his fingers tightening around his plate. “Does it hurt?”

Zylah shook her head. Picked at another piece of cake and considered her response. “Only when the two versions of my sight are fighting with each other.” She was tempted to pull down the cloth, to try to marry the two visions of him together, but there was something else she wanted to try to use her magic for before the night was through.

“So what happens when Okwata’s anti-venom works?” he asked, cleaning their plates away into the basket and summoning another log to throw onto the fire.

“I don’t know,” Zylah admitted, picking at the last of the cake. But she would need to practise getting used to it as soon as she could, or there was a very real possibility the variations in her sight were going to be a problem. She discarded the parchment in the basket, dusted the crumbs from her hands, and moved to her knees. “Now. Are you going to let me try to break Ranon’s command, or do we have to barter for it?”

Holt’s lips twitched, but he held back his smile as he shifted to his knees to mirror her position. “I just played the only card I had.”

“Gratefully received,” she told him, fighting a smile of her own. But the thought of what they were about to do, what they needed to attempt had her straightening. “May I?” She reached her hands up tentatively to his head, waiting for his consent before resting them in his hair.

This close, his breath danced over her skin, sweet from the brin fruit, warmth drifting from him, so close all she’d have to do was tilt her chin to brush her lips over his. She’d never stopped wanting him. Not even for a second. But she needed to stay focused.

Zylah couldn’t help the flex of her fingers through his hair, shifting slightly on her knees so that she was careful not to lean her weight into him. He brought a hand to the small of her back to steady her, the heat of him searing through her clothes and warming her skin.

“Ready?” she whispered, a jolt of fear slicing through her that she was going to hurt him.

His thumb stroked once, head dipping in acknowledgement. She didn’t need to ask what she was looking for, what word Ranon had used; was almost too afraid to think it for fear of hurting Holt. Instead, Zylah let a single thread unfold, imagined it like a gossamer strand at her fingertip falling through his mind as softly as a drifting feather, searching, sifting, sorting.

Images slammed into her, almost too many at once for her to make sense of, and Zylah was vaguely aware of Holt gripping her tighter, tethering her mind to her body. She saw them together in their room in the tavern, Holt sitting on the edge of the bed. Saw him gift her his mother’s sword at the festival, saw him braid her hair back in their room. All of it from his perspective, looking at her, watching her, taking her in. His fear when the bounty hunter had taken her shuddered through her body, her heart rate picking up, the way he almost fell to his knees when he first caught sight of her staggering through the trees towards him, his breaths, now her breaths, coming in heavy gasps from how fast he’d been running.

Holt caught her hand, thumb stroking her wrist and his pain hitting her square in the chest so sharply she pulled back on the thread with a careful tug. But the pain didn’t end.

“Stop,” she pleaded, tearing the cloth from her eyes and resting her hand over his heart. “Whatever you’re thinking, just stop. Please.”

“I keep trying to remember what we were to each other,” he said hoarsely, pulling her body flush against his, his other hand cupping the back of her head. “When.”

He’d have seen and felt everything she just had, every emotion that danced over her skin. His emotions, every moment of his love. So much love in those memories, stripped away by whatever cruel thing Aurelia had done to him.

“Holt,” Zylah breathed. “I want to show you but I…” She swallowed back the lump in her throat, fingers curling into his shirt to stop her from doing all the things she wanted to do. “I’m selfish,” she whispered over his lips. “And once I start, I won’t be able to stop.”

“Be selfish. Show me. Please.” The need in his voice matched the same wild desperation she felt, desire coursing through her. But she wouldn’t deny him. Couldn’t.

Zylah wasn’t sure if he moved first or she did, only that his mouth was on hers, his tongue sliding between her lips as if he couldn’t wait to taste her. Her hands tangled in Holt’s hair, a moan escaping her that he echoed with his own, the kiss turning into something wild and frantic. But then another wave of pain hit, warring with her desire just like the two versions of her sight.

Zylah pulled back, her forehead resting against his, their chests heaving. “I can’t,” she said softly against his lips, fingers tracing the line of his jaw like she’d dreamed of doing so many nights back in the maze. “I can’t be the one to hurt you.”

“Then stay with me,” he murmured against her mouth before stealing another kiss, this one slower, softer. “Just to sleep.”

Zylah nodded, because she couldn’t refuse him, let him pull her down into the soft blankets. Strong arms wrapped around her, Holt’s heart still racing just as much as hers.

Heartache cooled the desire, the heaviness of sorrow fighting with another flash of anger, but Zylah focused on the feel of him, his warmth, the scent of him to ground her. She’d seen his memories. Which meant they were still there. Some of them, at least. Which meant whatever Aurelia thought she’d done had the potential to be undone.

Zylah held onto that sliver of hope, told herself that this was just their first attempt, that there would be other opportunities and they wouldn’t all hurt him. But a voice in the back of her mind did its very best to argue with that logic. What if it always hurt him? What if the suffering was too much, and he chose to walk away?

“Are you like Thallan?” he asked her quietly, his chest pressed against her back, his heart still racing. “The mental abilities.”

It was no surprise he would have jumped to that conclusion, but the disappointment that it was his first assumption still stung. Zylah ran her thumb over his where he’d banded his arm at her waist, wondering if there was more to his question. Rose had rejected Thallan, and she knew Holt’s thoughts would have taken him to that conclusion more than once. “I’m nothing like Thallan.”

She felt his relief everywhere their bodies touched. “Then what did you say to him to make him stop, back in the palace?” When Thallan had been torturing him.

Zylah glanced up over her shoulder, her gaze unintentionally settling on his mouth, lips still swollen from their kiss. “I told him what you mean to me.”

“Tell me,” he pleaded, brushing a stray piece of hair from her eyes, his hand lingering on her face. But the echo of his pain still remained in her chest, tinged with the unmistakable tang of fear. Zylah wouldn’t let either ruin this moment with him, intent on treasuring whatever few seconds she had in his arms.

Despite the pain, the lust she could still very much feel the evidence of between them, his eyes were bright, his features soft, hopeful, his happiness that she’d laid down beside him undeniable, and it only made her love him even more.

“If I tell you, will you go to sleep?” She bit back a smile as she turned away, sinking into him further and settling down to sleep.

“Bossy,” he mumbled into her hair, pulling her into him, more of the tension easing from them both.

They lay quietly until their heartbeats slowed, until the memory of the pain faded and Holt’s steady breaths told her he’d fallen asleep.

“Everything,” Zylah finally whispered into the quiet of the cave as sleep finally claimed her too.