40. Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty

T he court was just as Zylah remembered it, with one notable difference. Its High Lady wasn’t there.

Sparkling blue pools sat between waterfalls, more rock passageways cutting away from them like the one they’d just walked through. Her threads reached across all of it, the court far, far bigger than she’d realised during their last visit. The wards had been bolstered since then, the pressure of them making her jaw clench as the court’s strange air rippled over her skin.

“Lady Maelissa still hasn’t returned,” Finn told them as his companions settled him beside one of the rock pools at the base of a cascade, springy moss supporting his weight.

A male rushed over, cursing when he took in Finn’s leg. A healer, judging by the way he pulled a fresh roll of cloth from a shoulder bag. The wound wasn’t deep; Zylah’s threads had glossed over the injury already, probing, testing. Had she and Holt not just expended so much of their reserves, she’d have offered to heal the wounded, but the telltale signs of magic depletion had already begun, her threads already pulled in tight before her sight could dwindle.

“She’s sent word?” Holt asked, his eyes flicking to Zylah’s face for a moment. There was no concern in his tone, no affection at all, she noted, and perhaps it was petty for her to feel satisfaction at that, but she felt it all the same.

She couldn’t heal with magic, and though she wanted nothing more than to wash off the aftermath of fighting from her skin, Zylah knelt beside the female, taking some of the healer’s tincture and a fresh cloth from his bag of supplies to clean her hands and tend to the Fae’s face.

“Lady Maelissa is safe. Resting amongst humans after a difficult journey, two days’ ride from here,” the female said, adding her thanks to Zylah for her assistance.

Holt and Zylah shared a look. Finn had acted as Mae’s adviser during their last visit, and though he seemed trustworthy, Zylah doubted Holt knew the others well enough to share all they’d learnt. Mae’s absence from the court was too conveniently timed not to be tied to the arrenium, and the thought had apprehension twining with Zylah’s exhaustion.

There was still every possibility the High Lady had been working with Aurelia all along, that she had merely sent Thallan and her archers knowingly, and Zylah only trusted Holt’s answer to that question, so she kept it to herself.

It was an effort to rise from her position beside the female, Holt’s hand a steady weight on the small of her back and another burst of his healing magic pouring into her. Just like before, when the vanquicite had been lodged in her spine. They’d begun to draw attention, the court much busier than it had been during their previous visit. Almost twice the number of Fae filled the space, many watching their exchange closely.

Zylah didn’t need her threads to tell her the meaning behind their inquisitive eyes. It was fear. “Your numbers have doubled,” she noted, wishing they’d be granted some privacy so she might ask Holt all the questions that couldn’t be discussed in front of an audience.

Finn’s gaze roamed over the Fae staring and whispering, including those on the walkways above. “Refugees. Our High Lady offers a safe haven to any Fae.”

That… that was a surprise. Maelissa hadn’t seemed like the charitable type. Or generous. Or kind. Or any pleasant quality at all, now Zylah thought of it. “But no humans,” she observed, her attention flitting between High and Lesser Fae alike.

“No court welcomes humans,” Finn retorted.

“Yet your High Lady is resting with humans as we speak.” Holt’s expression remained unreadable, but there was no misinterpreting the authority in his tone.

Finn and the others fell silent at that; only the female had the sense to look embarrassed by their outdated traditions. But nothing about the court was normal; Zylah had known it the moment they’d first met Finn and he’d handed over two robes in the middle of the forest.

Even now, with Fae filling the space and seeking refuge, it still felt to Zylah like they were trapped. Like the strange air of the space that was outside but somehow not was stifling to breathe. Waterfalls flowed into each other almost artificially, limpid pools glittering at their base, the roar of the falls somehow muted. It was beautiful to behold, but it had been made that way, Zylah suspected.

“Holt. Zylah. What an unexpected blessing,” a familiar voice called out from among the gathering groups. A Fae approached them, the fine tattoo curling around his eye his most notable feature had it not been for the warmth of his smile. Ellisar. Zylah loosed a breath at the sight of him, at the prospect of getting away from the growing crowd. He and his mate were good friends with Holt, had offered them both nothing but kindness on their last visit.

The Fae’s gaze swept over them, over Kopi on Zylah’s shoulder, and his hands fell over hers. “Look at you,” Ellisar said softly, his tone gentle as he took in the cloth over her eyes, her pointed ears. He’d done well to recognise her, but then Kopi would have given her away. “Please,” he said, to them both this time with a discreet bow in Holt’s direction. “You must be exhausted. Dalana will never let me hear the end of it if I don’t insist you stay with us.”

Ellisar’s comforting presence cut through the fear that radiated from the others, and Zylah was nothing but grateful for the excuse to leave the attention behind. The Fae artfully steered them away from the crowd, chatting away about the status of his home since the court had taken in more refugees, laughing at how different everything looked since their last visit.

Zylah didn’t fill in any blanks for Holt, uncertain how much he wanted to reveal to his friend. But if he had no recollection of meeting Okwata and Ahrek, he might not remember much of their last visit to the court or to Dalana and Ellisar’s home.

Three trees stood in the centre of everything, Fae passing along the rope walkways connecting them, orblights glittering between the boughs. Holt’s hand remained at the small of her back as they walked, the gesture melting away more of the unease. His recovery seemed to have accelerated; his strength, not just physical, but the mental prowess he’d shown to wield his power so adeptly. It felt like the first sign of hope after so many failed attempts at trying to break Ranon’s command.

Ellisar led them through a passage behind one of the cascades, the smell of wet rock taking Zylah back to Ranon’s maze for a moment, but Holt’s touch grounded her, reassured her she’d made it out. A wooden door opened before they reached it, Dalana rushing out to take Holt’s and Zylah’s hands and squeezing them gently. Then her hands were moving so quickly Zylah couldn’t keep up, the golden bangles at her wrists tinkling against each other. The smile Holt offered Dalana eased more of Zylah’s earlier apprehension, his hands moving just as quickly as his friend’s as he signed back.

“Lana asked me to thank you for protecting her home,” Holt said. “I told her you did most of the work.”

Zylah rolled her eyes under the cloth. “He’s a liar,” she told Lana.

The Fae huffed a silent laugh, her hands reaching up to her eyes and then pointing to Zylah in an unmistakable what happened gesture.

“I can see you,” Zylah told her, then tugged at the cloth over her eyes for Lana to get a good look. “It’s a long story.” She waved a hand at one of her pointed ears. “All of it is.”

Lana nodded, unfazed by Zylah’s statement, her smile warm, and then her hands were moving again.

“Yes, still friends,” Holt told the Fae. Then a frown, quickly smoothed over as Dalana toyed with some of the gold rings in her braids. “Lana asked if we’re happy to share a room again, since they’ve only one left with the other families staying.” He studied Zylah’s face as he posed the question, patient, ever patient, never pushing her into anything she wasn’t comfortable with.

“We’re grateful for anything you can offer us, thank you,” Zylah told Lana, too aware of Holt’s attention, to the proximity of his body next to hers like he was trying to protect her even now in the safety of the court.

Lana signed something else, then took Zylah’s hand to offer one final squeeze. The warmth in her deep brown eyes matched her mate’s, concern etching her brow. Ellisar pulled her away to press a kiss to her forehead, murmuring something about starting to prepare dinner.

Zylah had to look away from it, her heart twisting at the sight. If things had been different, this would have been a celebration. Dalana and Ellisar would have been congratulating them on their mating bond, recognisable the moment they approached.

“The children have gone with their aunt to the Aquaris Court,” Ellisar told them. “The creatures have been searching for the court relentlessly; we couldn’t risk them staying here.” A wise decision.

Lana all but shooed him into the kitchen with a playful smile, leading Holt and Zylah to their room, hands moving again as she spoke with Holt.

“Thank you,” Holt told her, touching his fingers to his chin and pulling his hand away.

And then as quickly as Ellisar had steered them away from the crowd, Lana slipped out of the door, leaving them alone. The room was just as beautiful as the last one they’d stayed in. Cutouts in the stone walls exposed the space to the falls; the floor was covered in soft rugs that might well have been moss. A multitude of plants and mirrors lined the walls, making the space feel like they were outside, orblights carefully positioned like twinkling stars. The bed in the centre could sleep an entire family, a large expanse of space around it on three sides. Despite the openings in the walls, the space felt private, spacious, much larger than the previous room they’d stayed in.

“This room was converted for Okwata and Ahrek to use,” Holt explained. “There’s a private outdoor cascade or a large bath. Take your pick.”

If they weren’t covered in vampire guts, if Zylah hadn’t just had a very visceral reminder of what they should be to each other, she’d have asked him to join her, but a moment alone would help clear her head, help her form the questions she wanted to ask. But more than that, she didn’t want any reminder of all the things they were up against, of everything that haunted them coming between them. If he chose that. Chose her .

Zylah cleared her throat. “I’ll take the bath.” A heaviness had settled over her limbs, but she willed herself to the bathroom, to click the door shut behind her and take in a steadying breath. She’d considered telling Lana, but that would require Ellisar’s help to interpret a response, and though it didn’t sit right with her to detail such a private matter to both of them, Zylah was running out of options. The strength it took to conceal herself from Holt day in and day out, to hide her emotions from him and to pull back from his, were all taking their toll. She felt wrung out. Depleted, beyond bone deep exhaustion; tired in her heart. Her soul.

She went through the motions of filling her bath, noting how one end rested against the outer wall nearest the cascade, the large size of the tub, the two taps at the side, one drawing cold water and the other from a kettle suspended above. Another lever beside the taps she hadn’t worked out yet.

Holt had combined his magic. The thought occupied her thoughts as she removed the cloth from her eyes, peeled off her clothes, and sank into the hot water, scrubbing at her skin with the fresh bar of soap sitting at the edge of the tub. In the mirror on the far wall, she caught Holt’s reflection under the cascade outside, his head dipped under the spray, water pouring down his muscled back. No matter how much she wanted to drag her gaze all over his body, it felt wrong when he didn’t know… when he hadn’t consented to anything in the way he had before, the way he’d welcomed that kind of attention.

“It stopped being mine a while ago.” The sadness that had poured from him made her shiver, had her unwinding her braid just for something to do, fingers combing through tangles before she thought better of soaking it in the filthy water. A stool sat beside the bath, but she opted to stay in the tub as she drained the water.

But then, he’d had an incentive, he’d said. Zylah washed her hair under the taps, rinsing it as best she could before refilling the tub to soak. When the bath had filled again, the water just reaching her collarbone, curiosity had her reaching out for the third lever. And squealing at her discovery.

“Zylah?” Holt’s voice called out from the other side of the door, his voice laced with concern.

She blinked away the water pouring down from above. Ran her hands through her hair to smooth it back. “I’m alright,” she said, laughing at her discovery. “See for yourself. One of Okwata’s inventions, I think.”

Eyes closed, she tilted her face to the spray of water that rained down from above, unable to hide her smile at the invention. Holt said nothing, but she could feel his presence just a few feet away. Zylah reached for the lever, swiping the water from her face and smoothing back her hair to look over at him.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded across his bare chest, the stays of his trousers unfastened like he’d thrown them on in a hurry, water dripping from his hair and down his neck, over the scar at his heart, and the one on his arm that reached to his neck. She felt his eyes over every bit of her skin that wasn’t concealed beneath the water, sweeping over her arms, her collarbones and up to her face.

When she met his gaze, a shiver danced over her skin, only this time it had nothing to do with the temperature of the water.

Zylah rested her hands on the edge of the bath. “I want this to be real,” he’d said. It was real. The way he was looking at her. The love she felt for him. The desire. So she took her fear, every shred of apprehension, every one of her doubts, and snuffed them out, gesturing to the stool beside her. “Sit with me?”