56. Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Six

F our groups had made it into the palace grounds, or what remained of them. Zack’s, Nye’s, Holt’s, and Kej’s. Zylah couldn’t help but feel a sense of injustice that Raif and Rose had made it when there had been no update on Rin and Arlan’s whereabouts, or if they were even still alive.

Soldiers slumped against the wall, hidden by the thick tangle of overgrown bushes lining the perimeter, though it wouldn’t be long before they were detected. Many were wounded, companions applying bandages, faces battered and bloody, a mix of black blood and their own.

There’s too many of them , she told Holt. Zylah would bet money on it that Ranon had amassed his most skilled vampires in anticipation of an attack, which meant they likely possessed magic, too. And too many of their soldiers were injured.

She resisted the urge to heal the soldiers nearest to her; though none were fatally wounded, the need to be strategic about the use of her abilities matched her desire to help. But it didn’t stop her from assessing her brother for injuries.

“I’m fine, Zy,” he muttered as he caught her gaze, handing her a water canister. She wanted nothing more than to take him far away from the city, to take everyone she cared about somewhere safe. But none of them would stand for running. Neither would she.

It was the desire to put an end to everything Aurelia had started that quelled her fears, to seek retribution for all that Holt had endured. For the tyranny Aurelia and her father had unleashed onto Astaria.

No sign of the priestesses, Holt told her, his urgency to find Aurelia and Ranon matching her own.

From what little they knew of Ranon’s rituals, he always required priestesses, and if there were none in the palace grounds… Raif lied. Of course he had. He’s with you?

I don’t think it was an outright lie; rather that Aurelia and Ranon have kept him in the dark. But I’m not letting him out of my sight from here.

Zylah trusted Nye, had witnessed firsthand the Fae’s battle skills, but her faith in Holt was unparalleled. She relayed every bit of information to her brother, taking in the way he silently issued instructions to the soldiers, humans and Fae, his hands forming gestures to direct them.

“I’m not glad for the circumstances, but I’m glad I got to see you like this. Leading them. It suits you,” she whispered to Zack as she continued to let her threads assess the movements across the palace gardens, searching, counting. Just because Raif feigned disbelief at Aurelia and Ranon’s whereabouts, didn’t mean they had to believe him. Deceiving others was something Zylah felt certain the vampire could achieve in his sleep.

Zack’s eyes shot over her ears, her weapons, and he grinned down at her. “I’m glad I got to see you like this, too. Watching you back there, you were incredible.”

“You shouldn’t be watching me. I have magic; you don’t.”

The grin faded. “I’ll always be looking out for you, Zylah. You might have magic, but you’re still my little sister.”

Zylah’s heart swelled at his words, but there wasn’t time to reply. He gave the signal and soldiers began advancing, moving out in groups of three and four to make their way across the gardens.

Another shiver of trepidation rolled over Zylah’s shoulders as she followed, always walking the line between expending too much magic and keeping her threads spread wide. Not until she located Ranon and Aurelia.

Favouring her dagger, she advanced, fighting beside a Fae male as two vampires stalked towards them. One held a vanquicite blade, the other possessed magic, embers sparking at its fingertips. She focused on the female with the vanquicite as she attacked, her threads reaching out for the weapon to mute the magic within it.

The vampire bared her fangs. “We were warned about you. The pet Ranon covets most. Every one of my kin will try to bring you to him.” Roots erupted from the soil beneath her feet, wrapping around her legs at Zylah’s silent command.

“Good luck with that.” One swift slash of her dagger, and the vampire slumped against the roots, Zylah’s magic peeling away as it fell, lifeless. There was something else about the vampire’s signatures. Not just the cloaking spell, some other magic settling over them all. Something that turned Zylah’s trepidation to dread. But a lick of flames snapped her from her thoughts, the Fae that had been at her side screaming in pain, his sword arm smoking and charred.

Another burst of flames shot towards her and she evanesced away, reappearing to slam a blade beneath the vampire’s ribs, the male roaring in agony and smashing its elbow against the side of her head as it reared back in pain.

“Fuck Ranon’s orders,” it seethed. “He said nothing about bringing you to him unharmed.” Flames erupted from his fingertips, and Zylah had no time for anything other than for her threads to heave at the fire, one hand grasping the side of her head where he’d struck her.

At the sight of his magic disappearing, the vampire lunged for her with a vicious snarl, the pair of them colliding in a tangle of limbs, rolling and tumbling through the dirt, hands at each other’s throats. Zylah released the fire her threads had stolen, let it flow through her fingertips where they pressed against the vampire’s flesh as she fought for breath. The male’s pained scream was almost enough to make her recoil, but she didn’t. Not until its grip on her neck slackened, until its body went limp beneath her, its head collapsing to one side.

With gasping breaths, Zylah shoved the corpse away, crawling towards the Fae whose arm the vampire had burnt. “Let me see,” she told him, ignoring the look of terror in the male’s eyes that was no doubt for her just as much as the vampire whose life she’d just ended.

He held out his arm slowly, his throat working as he swallowed down his fear. The skin was a blistering mess, but it was his sword arm, and he possessed no magic. Without it, he was as good as dead.

“Hold still,” she told him, hands hovering as close to his arm as she dared to heal the wound. There wasn’t time to heal him properly, only enough to have him holding his sword again, enough to be satisfied with the way he curled his fingers around the hilt just as another Fae fell beside them. Dead.

Zylah didn’t spare another look at her patient, only evanesced them both a few feet away before releasing him, drawing her sword to rejoin the attack. The closer they moved towards the palace, the stronger the strange magic became. Holt’s presence in her mind was a constant as she fought, her awareness of his movements as acute as she knew hers would be for him. They were making their way towards each other, but just as Zylah had her brother to keep an eye on, Holt watched Raif closely.

An ear-splitting blast rang out, and then another and another, the explosives Nye and Okwata had worked on being put to good use. The gardens were chaos. Too many soldiers had fallen or pulled back, so many dead at their feet it was almost impossible to decipher friend from foe. But Zylah kept moving, her body fuelled by adrenaline, her movements repetitive, rhythmic, sweat slicking her skin. Holt had been preserving his magic, and though she’d tried to do the same, she relied on it too much to help her fight. Her evanescing, her sight, the roots and vines to slow her opponents. A constant drain she knew she wouldn’t be able to maintain for much longer without consequences.

Three vampires surrounded her and the two Fae soldiers she fought beside, each of the vampires possessing magic. Each of them holding vanquicite blades. Leave the vanquicite, and she’d be faced with taking the three of them alone. Nullify it, weaken herself further, and she’d be fighting beside two Fae soldiers, unhindered. It wasn’t a difficult decision.

Zylah’s threads reached for the vanquicite as the vampires attacked, the Fae soldiers brave enough to charge their opponents regardless of the weapons the monsters possessed. As she swung her sword at the male that targeted her, her threads fumbling for purchase against the magic within the vanquicite, pain lanced through her temples. But she ignored it.

Her blade met with the vampire’s, threads pulling and pulling and pulling as the male bared his fangs, every clash of their swords rattling Zylah’s bones. With a ragged gasp, she found the snag in the magic, heaved until she was certain the material was inert.

Magic flared around her. Blasts of light, some white, some undoubtedly flame, but she didn’t dare pull her attention from the male before her, the way he adeptly evaded her attempts to bind him. His speed reminded her of Jesper’s, his skill with a sword far superior to her own. Zylah needed stronger magic, and with a single thought, shadows licked at the vampire’s body, darkness spiralling around his face and obscuring his eyes.

He opened his mouth to sneer, but Zylah cut him off, dragging her sword across his torso and kicking him back, swapping sword for dagger as she slammed her blade into the soft flesh of his neck. Another sharp stab of pain, and Zylah had to close her eyes to steady herself against the vampire’s corpse, her threads pulled in tight. Her other sight had begun to falter, and she was far too exposed to be without it.

Holt’s concern sang in her bones as he fought, and she offered him her silent reassurance in response as the pain receded.

“Zylah!” Her eyes flicked open at her brother’s voice, her thoughts clearing enough for her to have the sense to evanesce a few feet from her current position. She reappeared awkwardly, rolling to her feet only to take in the burning body of the vampire she’d just been leaning over. At the corner of her faltering vision, Kej and Daizin fought amongst soldiers, shadows flaring from her friend.

But then a flash of white covered everything. Zylah moved, pulling roots from the earth to shield herself. The strange feeling, the signature of magic, familiar yet foreign, called to her, her threads unravelling to seek it out as she spun to face the attacking vampire, summoning her sword just in time to parry a blow. Not the one with magic. Another. At her side, two humans worked together to drive the vampire back, allowing her to withdraw and turn her attention to the other as another flash of white shot past her head.

One of the humans fell, and Holt’s apprehension soared in her mind. He and Nye fought beside Raif and Rose, the four of them surrounded from what Zylah could ascertain, but her attention remained on fighting beside the second human, just as white flashed once more, someone barrelling into her side and knocking her sideways.

Her brother’s arms wrapped tight around her, both of them tumbling across the dirt as another blast of magic narrowly missed Zylah’s head. She untangled herself from Zack just enough to tear a dagger from her boot, her threads snagging the vampire’s magic as it shot another burst of white light at them both. She heaved at the threads, pulling the power into her weapon, and in the same breath she aimed for the vampire’s head and let the blade fly. The dagger hit its mark, the vampire twitching before collapsing into the dirt. It was only then that Zylah registered her brother’s weight.

“Zack?” She was already sliding out from under him, hands shaking, her stomach twisting as she realised the dampness covering her chest wasn’t sweat but blood. His. “Zack?”

He was barely breathing. Zylah rolled him over, healing magic pouring from her hands of its own accord. He tried to speak, the words broken by a cough, blood trickling from his mouth.

“Save it for when we get out of this. Okay?” she managed, her voice shaking as glassy eyes met hers.

A gaping wound marred one side of his body, his uniform completely destroyed, the burns reaching to his neck. Zylah stifled a sob as he tried to breathe her name, the word nothing but a wet, broken rattle.

“I told you not to watch me,” she rasped as a tear rolled down her cheek, realisation washing over her at what he’d done. How he’d shoved her away from the vampire’s attack only to take the hit in her place. His hand came over hers as she tried to heal him, his skin ashen beneath the dirt and blood.

Vaguely, she registered Holt’s presence and the fighting around her, but all she could focus on was her brother, on keeping his heart beating, his lungs breathing, even as she felt them growing weaker beneath her magic. Felt him growing too weak to hold on. She pushed harder, pain throbbing at her temples as she tried to heal him, the wounds so deep and so many.

Holt came to her side, his scent washing over her and soothing her as Zack’s heartbeat began to slow.

“Help me,” she begged through her tears. There was so much blood. Too much blood for a human, but she shoved the thought away. Her mate’s hands came around hers, magic and sorrow spilling from him. Zylah’s eyes darted up to his face, scanning for injuries, her vision blurring from her tears and from using too much magic.

Zack’s blood pooled everywhere. So much blood, but she wouldn’t stop. Even when her body trembled from the effort, even when the black spots in her vision blotted everything out around her. She couldn’t stop. Not yet, not if her brother could hold on just a little longer.

“Just stay,” she pleaded. He had to. He had to hold on. If not for her, for Nye, for everything that was waiting for him at the end of all of this. Zylah clenched her teeth, groaning and sobbing at the strain of it all as Holt reached a hand to her face, his thumb stroking her cheek.

You can let go now, sweetheart.

A low, keening sound escaped her as Zylah’s gaze shifted back to her brother’s, fear curling around her heart at what she might see there. What she already knew.

His eyes were still fixed on her face, his hand still rested over hers. But he was gone, and another ragged sob tore from her chest at what he’d done. For her , to save her.

Holt’s arms came around Zylah’s waist as she sagged against him. So fast. It had all happened so fast. Barely even seconds for Zack’s life to slip away beneath her palms.

“No!” she choked out, taking her brother’s lifeless hand in hers.

It wasn’t meant to be this way. They were meant to have time together. To find a way for Zack to become immortal. For him to live, to fall in love, to discover who he was outside of fighting.

I’m so sorry, Zylah. Holt’s love wrapped around her, as strong as his embrace. She slipped loose of his hold to close Zack’s eyes, a hand resting on her brother’s face. Like this, he could be sleeping, his expression peaceful despite the commotion around them. Like this, he looked almost like the boy from her memories. Far too young.

We have to go, Holt told her gently. The others are waiting.