36. Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Six

N ye’s plan worked. Zylah spent the next three days distracted by training, aiding the healers, and sparring with anyone who was willing. Kej and Daizin mostly, though they came and went throughout each day. Sometimes for missions, sometimes, Zylah suspected, for more engaging activities if Kej’s innuendos were anything to go by.

Since her magic and her healing seemed to be tied to Holt’s, she hadn’t felt comfortable beginning testing without him, but Okwata had enough on his hands anyway with the arrenium, working with Nye’s blacksmiths to forge blades from the bow Kej and Daizin had stolen.

As the fourth day rolled around, unease settled under her ribs, heavy and persistent. Nye had told her not to worry, but by the fifth afternoon after barely sleeping at all, the unease had turned to full-blown panic. Both Holt and Zack had accompanied Arlan and a cohort of soldiers, and there had been no word from any of them.

Rin had made herself scarce, and Zylah was beginning to wonder if the Fae was ignoring her as she spotted her friend darting from the healers’ tent, tucking a vial into her pocket. Whatever arrangement existed between Arlan and the Aquaris Court, Rin had clearly been unsettled by it before, but things seemed different now. She watched her friend slip away between tents, not, Zylah noted, in the direction of the tent they’d been sharing to sleep in, though Rin was scarcely in it. Arlan’s army were mostly stationed on the side of the camp her friend headed for, Arlan’s tent included. Zylah huffed a quiet laugh to herself at the sight, at how very wrong her previous assumptions had been.

The scent of herbs hit her as she entered the healers’ tent a few minutes later, Deyna waving her over. A young female from Arlan’s army lay on a cot, half her left arm shredded and bloody, a shard of shattered bone exposed at her elbow. Zylah willed a gentle smile to her face as she rested a hand over the female’s undamaged one, noting the way Deyna had somehow stopped the wound from bleeding.

Soldiers had been coming back like this every day; skirmishes with vampires and thralls were frequent, but that was part of Nye and Arlan’s strategy. To pick off as many as they could with small groups, the ones that had scattered across Astaria and were terrorising the towns and villages, no doubt at Aurelia and Ranon’s command. And though Zylah could heal flesh wounds, broken bones were a different matter entirely, though Deyna had been gently trying to nudge her towards that task.

Unease slithered over Zylah’s skin at the question she knew was coming.

“This is Maya,” Deyna told her. Zylah squeezed her hand gently, and the soldier offered something halfway between a grimace and a smile in return, sweat dampening her cheeks and forehead. “I’ve explained there’s very little we can do to save the arm. She’s agreed to let you try to heal it with magic.”

Zylah kept her eyes covered when she entered the healers’ tent, only so as not to startle the wounded, and in that moment, she was grateful for the wince the cloth would have concealed. She’d inspected her eyes closely in a mirror now that she was growing accustomed to using her other vision to aid her damaged eyesight. Both eyes had a milky film over them just as Deyna had described, the pupils grey, irises a dark blue instead of their usual violet. Despite the damage to her eyesight, with practise, she could almost align the two versions of her vision, though it was still mostly shadows and a grainy haze that lingered in her eyes thanks to Rhaznia’s venom.

The effect reminded her of her father’s cellulose paper; he’d used it often to trace diagrams for clients at the apothecary, two images lining up over each other as he checked his work for accuracy. Only right now, there were thick shadow spots on Zylah’s first layer that she was still learning to tune out during sparring. Another reason to be grateful for the cloth, as this was a task that required accuracy.

“I’m Zylah,” she told the soldier with a small smile. “Is this true? Do you understand I have no idea of knowing if this will work?” The words were gentle but firm, because Zylah needed the Fae to understand the truth of them.

Maya gave a tight nod. “If I’m going to lose it, I want to know I tried everything. Even if it hurts.”

Zylah swallowed. Deyna had a kind of magic of her own. The removal of the vanquicite from Zylah’s back was evidence enough of that, though she understood Holt had played a huge part in her healing. She’d seen the witch set bones, but nothing on this scale.

“Very well,” she said lightly, swapping places with Deyna and settling her weight on the witch’s stool. She took in Maya’s damaged arm without touching it, seeking out the best place to begin and opted for the female’s shoulder.

Beneath the cloth, her eyes flicked up to meet Deyna’s, the witch giving her an almost imperceptible nod. No pressure. Only the prospect of this young Fae living the rest of her life with only one arm. Zylah had been careful over the last few days not to pull too deeply on her well of power, not to delve too far into the part she now understood she shared with Holt, whether he understood it or not. Which meant she needed to watch her reserves closely as she worked, to refine her outpouring of magic rather than throwing everything she had into it.

Zylah allowed herself one last look at Maya’s face before she shifted her concentration to the Fae’s shoulder, hands resting over her uniform before the wound opened over the bicep. She didn’t close her eyes, didn’t try to close her mind’s eye to her other sight, but instead, did the opposite. Zylah let the threads of her magic pool into the wound, tracing over ruined flesh, torn muscle, shattered bone, feeling, learning, understanding how it all wove back together again.

In the past, she’d emptied her healing magic into the recipient, pulling it from within herself like pouring water from a cup. But now, with a deep breath, she commanded it to pull. To weave, to knit, to mend, to create.

More, more, more , she silently told it. And it responded. Power flared at her fingertips, threads of light spiralling around Maya’s arm, the Fae gritting her teeth and groaning. It wasn’t pleasant; Zylah could feel the echo of every sensation tremoring down the threads all the way back to her bones. But she didn’t stop, not until the bone mended, the muscle, the flesh. Not until the Fae’s arm was smooth skin exposed only by her tattered and bloodied uniform.

Maya loosed a breathy laugh. Let out a delirious whoop in elation, her head falling back onto the cot. Her other hand grasped Zylah’s arm, and for the first time, Zylah noticed the claws at the end of her fingers. A half Fae.

“Thank you,” she breathed, a tear rolling down her cheek as Zylah checked the reflexes on her mended arm. “Holt told me you were skilled, but that was incredible.”

Zylah stilled. “You were part of his cadre?”

“They aren’t back? They were supposed to follow us. Zack made me leave with one of the scouts and the other wounded.” Maya tried to push to her elbows, but Deyna stopped her with a gentle hand.

“I can finish here, Zylah. Excellent work.”

Zylah barely heard the witch over the drumming in her ears as she pushed to her feet. To go where, she didn’t know, but she only knew she couldn’t sit still. Zack and Holt were part of that mission, and neither had returned. She pressed a hand over her chest as if the action might call Holt back to her, dread pooling in her gut. Something flickered in response along with voices shouting outside the tent, and Zylah darted through the rows of cots, out into the open, her heart galloping under her ribs.

Holt knelt over her brother, hands pressed to Zack’s chest, shouting something at Arlan. But Zylah didn’t hear it, all she saw was her brother’s ashen face, the blood coating Holt’s hands, and she ran for him, sliding to her knees beside her brother.

Zylah’s hands fell over Holt’s where he was putting pressure on the wound—still no sign of his healing magic—and he eased his hands away, his gaze heavy on her face before he moved aside to let her work. Zylah sucked in a breath at the extent of her brother’s injuries, Holt and Arlan’s argument continuing around her, but she tuned out the sound. Tuned out everything to focus on her brother.

“It’s alright, Zack,” she told him, unspooling her magic again to feel for every torn piece of flesh and broken bone across his body. A gash across his sternum, two broken ribs, a fractured hand. Too many small wounds to count. Zack didn’t respond, and Zylah’s heart thrashed against her chest as she willed the threads to mend what they could, the knowledge that she’d already used a portion of her power to heal Maya nagging at the back of her mind.

She fought with the urge to drain herself too quickly. None of the wounds were deep or over arteries, but with the sheer volume of them, the broken bones, the way his face contorted in agony, all of it turned her stomach. Zylah willed herself to focus, to breathe slowly until her brother’s breaths steadied, until his eyes fluttered open and settled on her face.

“Zy,” he wheezed, already pushing to his elbows.

“Stay,” she barked, pushing a hand a little too roughly into his shoulder. “I’m not done yet.” She’d mended flesh and the fractured hand, until all that remained were the two broken ribs, and she resisted the urge to yank her threads roughly just to try and dissuade him from putting himself in danger again. But that wasn’t Zack, and it wasn’t her, either.

Still, he gasped at the pain as she eased the broken ribs back into place, her magic mending the breaks. He flexed his fractured hand, eyes widening in awe as he dragged his fingers over the healed skin at his sternum. “Amazing.”

The arguing ceased, Arlan and Holt quiet for a moment, but Zylah paid them no heed as she checked on her brother until she was satisfied he could be moved. She threw Zack’s arm over her shoulders, helping him slowly to his feet, a brief wave of nausea causing her to stumble, but she blamed it on her brother’s height. Holt took a step closer, hands coated in Zack’s blood. He didn’t intervene; no doubt the murderous expression on her face told him not to.

“Father would be so proud of everything you’ve become, Zy,” her brother told her as they staggered back inside the healers’ tent.

“Flattery will get you nowhere. Do you have any idea how furious I am with you?”

“I know I am,” he said, ignoring her question. “Proud of you, that is. Truly, Zylah. Thank you.”

Some of her anger cooled as she helped him onto a cot. “What happened?”

“There were too many of them.” He shook his head. “We’ve been trying to gather up their weapons so that they don’t return for them later—Black Veil from every unit secure the vanquicite in a designated location. This time we were just outside of Morren, but two more vampires came when we were securing everything. Bastards must have been hanging back, watching us rip apart the others.”

“What do you mean, secure the weapons? Why aren’t you distributing them to the humans in the towns and villages?”

Zack laughed. “That’s exactly what Holt said. Arlan didn’t want us arming the humans against the Fae. Didn’t want them to have an advantage in the future.”

“We already have an advantage.” Zack raised an eyebrow at her words in the way only a brother could. “I don’t need to tell you we’re stronger, or that many of us have magic. Maybe the vanquicite weapons will show them we’re true to our word.” Zylah finished checking him over, content that she hadn’t missed anything that could become infected.

“Holt said that, too,” her brother added.

That explained the arguing. Zylah ran a hand through her hair, the effects of using her magic beginning to creep into her awareness when a sharp stab of pain flared across her shoulder. “Holt,” she breathed.

Zack frowned, glancing around the tent. “He should be in here, he took a blow trying to protect me when I was moving the weapons.”

Zylah pushed to her feet. “I have to go,” she breathed. “You’ll be alright?”

“Go,” he told her with a dip of his chin, and again, Zylah was running, feet carrying her without knowing where she was going, cutting through tents until she settled on one and swung the flap aside.

Holt caught her eye in the mirror opposite the tent opening where he held a soaked cloth to the bronzed skin of his shoulder, a wound as long as Zylah’s forearm broken and bleeding across his back.

Zylah didn’t ask to enter. Just closed the space between them and prised the cloth from his fingers. “Sit.” She forced her emotions down as she cleaned her hands on a piece of unsoiled cloth, rinsing and drying them carefully, adrenaline still heating her chest. She hadn’t touched Maya’s or Zack’s wounds directly, wouldn’t need to touch Holt’s, but her old human life and medical hygiene were still muscle memory, the familiarity of the movements softening the sharpest edges of her temper.

“You’re angry with me,” Holt said, brow pinching together as he studied her face.

Zylah ripped the cloth off her eyes. “Angry doesn’t begin to—Sit down. Please. It’s easier for me if I don’t have to reach up.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Holt’s mouth but he did as she asked, sitting on one of only two cots that filled the tent. She didn’t ask who the other bed belonged to. Told herself it didn’t matter as she sat beside him, taking in the extent of the wound and settling her hands above the broken flesh before he could protest.

His back tensed as her healing magic moved through him, the muscles of his jaw tightening so much it was a wonder he didn’t crack a tooth.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, “I’m trying to be gentle.”

Holt glanced over his shoulder, eyes meeting hers. “It doesn’t hurt.” She almost turned away from how he studied her eyes now that they were free of the cloth, but she held his gaze. “Don’t burn yourself out for this. It’ll heal,” he added.

He made to move, but Zylah pressed a hand to his undamaged shoulder to stop him from stepping away, the touch of her skin against his sending a jolt through her fingertips, sparks dancing down her arm. “I’m almost finished,” she told him, her voice sounding more breathless than she’d intended. “Tell me what happened.”

He faced away to allow her to continue, his gaze fixed ahead on the canvas of the tent. “Zack was securing the weapons. Two vampires came for him as we were about to leave; the others couldn’t approach.” The words were clipped, his anger at Arlan unfurling for a moment before he locked it away.

Zylah imagined the way it would have all gone down, how he would have helped her brother when none of the others did. “Because of the vanquicite,” she murmured, the last of his wounds sealing shut beneath her fingertips, a wave of dizziness urging her to press her hands to the cot.

Holt dipped his chin, shifted to face her. He must have cleaned the blood from his hands before he’d begun tending to the wound on his back, fingers toying with the empty bell on his bracelet, his eyes fixed on her face. “The first I bound. But the second was fast, like Jesper was.”

“You… remember fighting Jesper?” Zylah fisted her hands into the sheets, her heart racing as the implications of that statement settled over her.

“Flashes of it,” he confessed, his attention flicking to her heart as if he could see it beating inside her chest, then back to her eyes. “The second attacked Zack, and I thought he was gone. The remaining scout had already returned with Maya and the others, so I was their only way out of there.” He canted his head, assessing. “Are you still angry with me?”

Some of the tension eased out of her at that. He was safe. Whole. And he was right beside her. Zylah clung to those truths as she made a show of considering her answer, one eyebrow arched at him. “A healthy chunk of it has been redirected at Arlan.” Another quirk at the corner of his mouth, and it was an effort for her not to lean up and press her lips to it.

“Only a chunk?” he asked, laughter lining his words.

But then Zylah remembered what Nye had said to her. Remembered the reason Holt had gone on that mission was because he couldn’t set foot in Virian without fear of harming his friends. “Let me try and remove the command.”

“Tomorrow.” Zylah began to protest but he added, “First thing. When you haven’t already healed half the camp.” This time he didn’t hide his smile or the reverence in his tone.

It was impossible to be angry with him. He’d saved her brother’s life; no matter how much his time in the vanquicite cell had changed him, his heart was the same. Her gaze lowered to the scar Raif had given him, and this time Zylah couldn’t help herself from reaching for it, fingers tracing over the ruined skin, warm against hers. “Maybe you could tell me more about what happened so that I can better understand. If you’re comfortable with that.”

“Which part?” Holt asked roughly, though he didn’t pull away from her touch.

“All of it.” Zylah dragged her eyes away from his chest to meet his, afraid of what she might see in them. Or rather, what she wouldn’t. “Starting with what you remember from the moment Raif gave you this scar.”

Holt caught her hand. “I saw you,” he said quietly. His fingers slid to the scars at her wrist until he could examine them, the pad of his thumb swiping over her skin. “You were bleeding. Here.”

Zylah stilled. “Aurelia.” Her fear threatened to surface and she eased her wrist from his hold, clearing her throat. He was right. If she was going to help him without causing him pain, she needed to rest, let her magic replenish. His too.

“Your magic is growing,” he said, as if he’d known which direction her thoughts had taken.

“You’re deflecting.” She smiled up at him, but she couldn’t hide the sadness in it. Not from him. And she needed to know more before she tried anything further with his mind.

A throat cleared, and Holt’s and Zylah’s gazes snapped to the opening of the tent where her brother stood.

“You should be resting,” she told him, already on her feet to guide him to the empty cot.

“That’s what I usually do in my tent.”

Zylah bit back her smile, glancing between Zack and Holt. “You’re sharing a tent?”

Her brother shrugged. “We’re short on space. Kej offered but Holt declined.”

“I’ll bet he did.” Zylah beamed at Holt and he shook his head, trying to hide his smile and failing.

“You can see?” Zack asked, eyes roving over her face.

Zylah made sure he was settled before turning to the bowl and pitcher over by the mirror, cleaning up the space out of habit after years in her father’s apothecary. “Not quite. I’m trying to get used to what I have left of my eyesight and my other vision working together. If Okwata’s anti-venom doesn’t work, I’ll need to be prepared.”

Quietness fell over the tent at her words, and she spared a glance in the mirror to see Holt’s attention fixed on her, his mouth a tight line, all earlier traces of lightness entirely gone.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said as brightly as she could manage. “I’ve accepted it.” That part wasn’t a lie. But Zylah didn’t confess her concerns over how the venom was being kept at bay, how her magic was constantly working at keeping it from the rest of her body, or of what the implications were if she or Holt ever depleted themselves so much that the venom was released.

“I’m sure Okwata will have another anti-venom for you to try soon,” Zack offered, shoving an arm under his pillow like he used to do when they were children as he settled into his cot. “Haven’t slept in four days,” he mumbled. “Forgive me for taking a little nap.”

Zylah felt Holt’s heavy gaze on her as she watched her brother, a thousand nights in their father’s cottage flitting through her mind. He wasn’t a boy anymore. Not since he’d been Arnir’s Blade. He led the Black Veil, worked alongside the Fae without a second thought to their differences. Could fight Nye’s soldiers and hold his own. But she couldn’t bear the look he would give her if he knew the truth. Couldn’t live with the way it would distract him. Because she needed him focused. Needed him safe, and though she wouldn’t be able to protect him, she could do this.

“Thank you for bringing him back to me,” she told Holt quietly. “You should get some rest, too. We’ll work on the command in the morning?”

He studied her face, some war going on in his thoughts Zylah didn’t dare let herself reach for. He dipped his chin in acknowledgement, fingers rolling the little bell at his wrist absentmindedly.

Zylah wanted to go to him, to lay beside him like they had in the cave but knew he needed rest. He hadn’t asked her to fill in any more of the gaps in his memory, and she told herself he just needed time. That no matter how much every second of this was eating away at her, she would give him all the time he needed.

With a small smile, Zylah forced herself to turn away and leave the tent.