49. Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Forty-Nine

W hen the meeting had concluded in the early hours of the morning, both of them bleary eyed and exhausted, they’d made their way back to Zylah’s tent after Rin had slipped away with Arlan. Holt had summoned a larger bed for the two of them to collapse into, but their exhaustion hadn’t been enough for them to keep their hands off each other, hadn’t been enough to quell their ravenous hunger.

He’d swallowed her moans as his body had curled around hers, her back to his chest, his arms wrapped tight around her like he had no intention of ever letting go.

Zylah had awoken that way too, Holt’s fingers stroking her stomach, the hard length of him pressed against her backside, adoration and desire dancing over her skin, pulsing and twining between them. She reached up to kiss him as he pressed into her, her back arching into him, hips rolling to take him deeper. One of Holt’s hands rested over her heart, the other roaming her curves as they moved together, slower than they had the night before. He murmured against her skin as he traced kisses against her shoulder, her neck, the edge of her mouth before his lips came over hers again, the words like a prayer, a promise, a vow.

Zylah willed away her fear as they dressed, the thoughts that told her this was all just borrowed time, that going anywhere near Virian was a mistake. But the arrenium was a glimmer of hope for everyone in Astaria, for both humans and Fae to stand some chance of fighting the vampires, and it would be foolish to turn down an opportunity to test her theory about the vanquicite.

They made their way in comfortable silence to the healers’ tent, where Zylah had insisted Deyna check Holt over before they left for Virian.

“And what about your eyes?” the witch asked when she’d finished her assessment of Holt, declining Zylah’s request to check him over a fourth time.

Zylah shrugged. “Mostly the same. I lost everything for a while back at the Aquaris Court. Overuse of my magic means I lose my other sight first, and then gradually my eyes worsen until,” she waved her hands at her face, “nothing.”

Deyna pressed her fingers to Zylah’s temples, tilting her head. “You can’t suspend the venom when you’re depleted.”

Zylah nodded as Holt tensed beside her. “It wasn’t for long, but enough to cause some more damage, I think.”

Why didn’t you tell me? Holt asked her.

Because it didn’t matter. Doesn’t. She knew he’d have done the same.

Holt’s heavy gaze didn’t shift from her face as Deyna finished her examination. There were next steps to discuss, but Zylah’s threads alerted her to a certain Fae’s presence. She excused herself, offering Holt a silent explanation as she left him to no doubt interrogate the witch with his own questions about her eyes.

Zylah made her way past the cots to the Fae who had come to greet her, rage simmering under her skin. “You chose the healers’ tent for this discussion?” she asked coolly, her voice clipped as she tried to suppress her anger.

Rose stood before her, face paling and blue eyes wide. Zylah had seen the Fae fight. Rose was skilled, there was no doubting it, but Zylah couldn’t deny to herself that she wanted to drag Rose out to one of the sparring rings and see which one of them walked away. Holt’s steady presence shimmered in the back of her mind, but he didn’t try to talk her out of it; only his support and belief in her rippled down their bond.

The Fae swallowed. “I had a vision of you breaking my nose, so I thought I may as well fall where someone can set it quickly.”

Zylah barked a laugh. She wasn’t certain if it was a joke, but the anger within her veins didn’t diminish.

“I’m sorry, Zylah. For everything.” Rose hugged her arms around herself and lowered her gaze. “I asked Raif to tell you. I thought it would be better coming from him. I had no idea he planned to keep it from you, or that you wouldn’t realise it sooner for yourself. I’m—” Her lower lip trembled and she raised her chin, her eyes meeting Zylah’s again. “I’m sorry.”

“How long?” Raif had said he’d known for months, known Holt was her mate, but Zylah needed to hear the truth.

“The morning of the festival of Imala.” Less than a week before the attack on Arnir, before everything had fallen apart. Raif had given a lie for a lie to twist the knife deeper. But whether it was months or a week or a day, that Zylah had been with him at all when he’d known the truth, known it and slept with her anyway… She swallowed down the acid taste creeping up her throat.

“It isn’t right,” Rose had said to her that night in the botanical gardens, “ to be with one of them when you want the other.” Zylah almost laughed at the irony of those words. “ I know what it’s like to have someone love you so much and to not return it. To hate yourself for not returning it.” It was a piss-poor attempt at trying to give her the truth, regardless of whether Rose was trying to protect her feelings. Everything Holt had done for Raif and Rose, everything he had endured on their behalf… Zylah clenched her fists so tightly at her sides, her nails bit into her palms.

“And Saphi?” she forced herself to ask.

Rose shook her head. “She didn’t know. Not until Holt told her. After you’d… you’d left.”

Relief flooded through her. Somehow, if Saphi had been in on the deception, it would have made it all the more difficult to bear. Zylah hadn’t been naive enough to believe she and Rose were truly friends, but Saphi, Saphi had only ever been kind to her. Rose’s icy blue eyes had turned glassy, so similar to Raif’s it turned Zylah’s stomach, but she forced herself to hold the Fae’s gaze.

“That you lied to me…” Zylah began, her chest burning. “I get it, Rose. Really, I do. I was a distraction, a target, a liability to everything you were all planning. I fucked up again and again. I get it. But that you kept it from Holt when he gave up everything to protect both of you.” She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to be sick or to see whether she truly could break the Fae’s nose. “It’s him you need to apologise to, not me. It’s him who gets to decide if he forgives you for this.” Her chest heaved, her breaths painful and sharp, each word an effort in restraint.

Rose had always been lean, but now Zylah noticed how thin she’d become, the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the way the blue was far more lacklustre than it had once been. Her remorse was written all over her, and a tired, angry part of Zylah took some satisfaction in that. The Fae looked as though she might crumple at any moment, like the guilt was eating away at her, but Zylah wouldn’t offer up her forgiveness so easily.

“There are too many in need of real attention to waste a cot on you.” Zylah made to leave, but Rose reached out a hand, snatching it away before she could graze Zylah’s sleeve.

“Wait,” Rose pleaded. “My leg. I think it’s made of arrenium. Marcus had it made for me, or maybe it was Aurelia. I can’t be certain.”

Zylah studied Rose’s tired face once more, considering the prosthetic concealed under her trousers. It had reminded Zylah of a curved blade when she’d first seen it, and the Fae certainly put it to good use when she fought. That her parents had gifted it to her came as no surprise to Zylah. “To protect you from what was to come,” she mused. “From your own brother.”

A single tear rolled down Rose’s cheek and she batted it away. “So it’s true. He’s one of them?”

Zylah didn’t want to waste another second of her time having Raif or any member of his family tarnish her thoughts. “I’m sure the others have told you. You can discuss all of this with General Niossa. We’re done here.” She made her way out of the tent, breathing in the frigid air to control her roiling emotions.

Another flare of comfort from Holt warmed her chest as she made her way to Okwata’s tent. Two signatures accompanied the scientist’s as Zylah approached, Nye’s and her brother’s. Zylah still hadn’t quite gotten used to entering without something to knock on first, so she cleared her throat as she waited at the threshold, the three of them looking up to meet her gaze.

Okwata sat between Zack and the general, all of them poring over a number of books and pieces of parchment on a large table before them. On another, pieces of hammered metal sat layered over each other, some of them hinged in peculiar ways Zylah had never seen before.

“What are you searching for?” she asked as she moved farther into the tent, shifting her gaze to the pile of books.

“Heirs,” Nye explained.

Zylah stood on the opposite side of the table to the three of them, her eyes shifting over pages, ledgers, and the notes no doubt collected by scouts and spies. They wanted to put another human on the throne. To maintain some sort of semblance of power for the humans. To start the cycle all over again.

Tell them, Holt said in her thoughts, his tone leaving no room for dispute.

She loosed a breath, pulling her words together carefully. “I think another crown is a mistake.” Three pairs of eyes stared back at her, waiting. “I’ve lived both sides of this… this life …” Though she’d never known true freedom, not yet. “And I can’t see how another line of humans will ensure the Fae can live freely.”

“Because it’s a show of good faith, Zylah,” Nye said, as if it were obvious. Most humans were still afraid of the Fae, of the ones that looked so different from them, those that possessed magic, their ability to create deceits and wards, to conjure and summon and to inflict pain. But that fear would only continue to grow, to fester, if another line of humans were newly crowned.

“I’ve lived both sides of this and I was just as trapped as a human as I am now as a Fae. I was…”—her gaze flicked to her brother—“sheltered then just as I am now.”

“We were trying to protect you,” Zack shot back, guilt lining his features.

“We can discuss that later, Zack, it’s alright.” There were questions she wanted to ask him, but now was not the time. Zylah waved a hand at the ledgers. “Another crown would be a death sentence for Astaria. What we need is an elected council. Voices voted in by both humans and Fae. A true show of good faith, from both sides. And I think you and Nye should campaign to be our representatives for it.”

Nye and Zack frowned, but Okwata was grinning between the two of them, snapping one of the ledgers shut and wheeling his chair around the side of the table. “This… continent hasn’t been offered a choice in a very long time, from what I’ve learnt of your history.”

Zylah assessed him, wondering whether he’d been about to say something other than continent entirely.

“I can provide assistance with setting up a council. Ahrek has some experience in this field, too.” He pulled a vial from his pocket and placed it on the table beside Zylah, sliding out a stool for her to take a seat.

“A politician and a scientist?” she asked, returning the grin he’d given her earlier.

“Call it atonement. Before Ahrek and I continue our travels.”

To find whatever it was they were looking for. Zylah believed him. She hadn’t told the others her suspicions about Okwata and Ahrek, hadn’t disclosed any of the details of the deceits they both used to hide their identities. There hadn’t even been time to discuss it with Holt. But Zylah had always felt at ease in their presence, had always seen nothing but sincerity in their actions, even now.

“You might want Holt here for this one,” Okwata said, lifting the vial to examine the contents.

“He’s on his way,” she told him.

The scientist smiled at her again, softer this time. “Such a gift.”

Zylah could only nod. Her throat suddenly felt too tight to answer, and she willed herself to focus on Holt’s approaching presence, her threads reaching for him of their own accord. He pushed open the tent flap a heartbeat later, his hand a steady weight against her lower back.

“Some time elapsed without magic suspending the venom,” Holt told Okwata, forgoing a greeting for all of them.

“What does that mean?” Zack asked.

“It means I made a choice that I have zero regrets over.” Zylah held Holt’s gaze, fingers twitching to reach for him. Inside, she was fighting a maelstrom of emotions, outside, she kept her features in a perfect mask of indifference, just as practised and polished as Holt’s. His thumb stroked her back, but the air still crackled for a heartbeat with his power.

“We should go,” Nye said quietly. “We’ll discuss your council idea, Zylah. I think it has some merits worth considering.”

When Zack didn’t move, Nye cleared her throat, and her brother made for the exit, following the general’s lead. “Can I do anything, Zylah?”

“None of us can,” Okwata told him. “Perhaps you’ll escort me back to Ahrek. He gets rather upset when I skip my meals.” Another warm smile bloomed across his face before he glanced up at Zylah and Holt, flicking his chin at the vial where he’d left it on the table. “I haven’t accounted for any advancements in the deterioration, but this is the last of what I could extract. You’ll tell me if it works?”

“Whether it does or it doesn’t, I want you to know how much I appreciate all the time you’ve put into this, Okwata. Thank you.” Zylah squeezed the scientist’s hand once before he left the tent with the others.

Holt pulled up a stool facing her, picking up the vial to inspect the contents. “The damage could be reversible,” he said quietly.

Zylah’s fingers closed over his. “It could be. But I’m prepared for it not to be. If I no longer have to sequester part of my magic to constantly suspend the venom, I’ll consider that a win.”

He accepted her answer, though he couldn’t hide his feelings from her. But Zylah knew he’d have done the same. She’d lost something to bring him back, and she would do it over and over again until she had nothing left to give.

Holt stood behind her, fingers curling under her chin to tilt her head back against him. His thumb stroked the column of her throat as he looked down at her, hope shining in his eyes. “Ready?”

Zylah nodded. Okwata had gone to the effort of adding a dropper to the vial, and she watched as Holt filled it carefully, hesitating only once before he administered it to each eye. Zylah resisted the urge to blink away the liquid, the dropper replaced by a fresh cloth in Holt’s hand as he carefully wiped away the excess. His healing magic poured and poured and poured into her, bolstering her own, attempting to mend the damage caused by the venom.

They remained that way until Zylah felt lightheaded from the angle, the tent a bleary, shadowy mess as Holt gently brought her upright. She heard the scrape of the stool as he took a seat in front of her again, and swiped the cloth lightly over her cheeks, his hands rising to her temples to keep healing her.

Eventually, the bleariness dissipated; most of the shadows receded. Zylah brought her hands over Holt’s to ease them away, to let him grasp what she already knew. The venom was gone. The stinging sensation along with it. Her magic was now fully hers, no part of it tied up in suspending the venom. But she saw the flicker of disappointment in Holt’s eyes as understanding settled over him, the hazy grain over everything, the shadow spots where there should have been none.

The damage was irreversible.