Page 94 of A Legacy of Storms and Starlight

Oz seemed moderately pleased as she shuffled back up to the cave, forcing herself to keep moving. Her brother. She was doing this for her brother. As she approached the opening of the cave, she saw the spot where Oz had been having his fires. The ground was free of snow, but there was no sign of any firewood.

“Sit,” Oz instructed.

Zylah lowered herself to her haunches as gracefully as she could. She needed her boots, but she was too cold to do anything but watch as he retrieved a bundle of firewood from inside the cave and lit the fire.

He wasn’t about to let her rest; instead he dropped a pan at her knees. “Fill it with snow.”

She held out her cuffed hands. “You’ll get your tea a lot quicker if I don’t have these on.”

He’d disappeared behind her again, back into the opening of the cave, and the moment Zylah registered the cracking sound, the whip bit into her back. She cried out as the metal studs sliced through her tunic and into her skin, biting down on her lip not to cry out a second time. She pressed her hands into the dirt to steady herself, staring at the way the flames reflected in the pan.Just breathe, she told herself as pain rolled through her.

Oz knelt in front of her, inserting a key into the cuffs as stars danced before her eyes. “Exposure to vanquicite for as long as you’ve had these on for means you won’t be able to evanesce for days. Try anything stupid, and I’ll whip you again. Cry too loud and I’ll whip you again. Fuck up my tea and I’ll whip you again. Understood?”

Zylah nodded as he pulled the cuffs away and she rubbed her aching wrists. She winced as the movement pulled at the fresh wounds across her back, but she didn’t falter. She pushed against her magic, and just as he’d said, she felt nothing. She picked up the pan and made herself walk over to the snow, scooping in a few handfuls to boil. She didn’t dare slip a hand into her apron. Not yet.

She knelt in front of the fire, hooking the pan on the stick hanging above it. Her back was to Oz. A risky choice, but she needed access to her apron without him seeing. She warmed her hands in front of the fire, balled them up and pulled them close. This time she knew to brace herself, and as the whip came down, she bit on her lip so hard she drew blood.

But it had been all she needed. She pressed her fists to the ground as the pain racked through her, clinging tightly to the jupe leaves and praying she’d tucked them well enough out of sight.

“Take too long, and I’ll whip you again,” Oz spat behind her.

Zylah nodded, reaching for the bundle of tea leaves, the jupe tucked under her thumb. She hoped it was enough as she let it all fall into the pan. She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the water boil and focusing on her breathing. He’d hit the lump on her back with that last lash, and Zylah was certain, from the warm press of blood, that a section of skin had come away entirely. She let out a shaky breath through pursed lips and turned to Oz. “Cup?”

He threw it at her, and she barely caught it. She dipped it into the pan, the water burning her fingers, but she didn’t care. She willed her hands not to shake as she rose to her feet and took it over to Oz.

“Set the tea down slowly, then turn around.”

Zylah’s insides twisted. She knew what was coming, and she didn’t know how much more she could endure. She did as he asked, setting the tea down and turning around. She wasn’t close enough to lunge for him, and even if she had been, she didn’t have it in her. She didn’t know how much longer she could stay standing.

“Take three steps,” Oz instructed. She heard his quiet groan as he bent over for his tea, heard his deep inhale. She winced as she licked her bleeding lip. The bastard was making her wait on purpose.

Her heartbeat pounded in her chest as she waited for the whip. Oz took a sip of his tea, and Zylah held her breath. The whip cracked, and Delilah sliced through her skin again and again, and she fell to her knees as a third lash came down, a quiet whimper escaping through her gritted teeth.

But Oz didn’t stop there.

Three more lashes and Zylah couldn’t see her hands anymore, could see nothing but stars and blotches of light dancing in front of her eyes. She sucked in a shaky breath as the lashing stopped, willing herself not to be sick. Oz’s breathing was heavy, but he said nothing. Zylah blinked until her vision cleared, waiting.

Another sip. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she blinked them away. It hadn’t been enough. The jupe. It hadn’t been enough, and she was going to die up here alone in the mountains, and gods knew what was going to happen to her brother. She was shaking, her fingers curling with pain.

“Good te—” Oz began, but the word ended in a strangled cough.

Zylah couldn’t turn to watch, not yet; she didn’t even know if she could get up. But it didn’t take long. Oz struggled for a few more moments before he fell to the ground with a thud. Zylah held her breath, straining to listen for his as she lay still. Nothing. No heartbeat. A sob escaped her, and she staggered to her feet and turned around.

Oz lay on his front, his purple face in the snow, froth staining the white a sickly yellow. Zylah wanted to kick him, but she didn’t think her toes could take it. “Bastard,” she spat, wiping at her tears.

She grabbed his whip and threw it into the fire, and then she searched him for weapons, the pain in her back so acute it felt like a dozen white-hot blades were still slicing through it. She pulled on her boots with shaking hands, her wounds splitting further with each movement, but she pushed through the pain. She had to. She was so close. She couldn’t stop moving, not even for a moment.

Zylah tipped open the sack and found her bracers and weapons, a roll of bread and a tattered blanket. She fastened the bracers, tears rolling down her cheeks as she gathered her weapons. Oz had enough equipment to remain in the mountains for weeks.Bastard.She tucked the bread into the front of her apron, wiggling her toes to try and bring some life back into them as she threw the blanket around her shoulders. She wanted to lie down. Wanted to curl into a ball and close her eyes against the pain. But she had to find Zack.

The mountain was silent. Only the sound of her heavy breathing and the wind, no matter how much she strained to hear anything else. But Zack was out there somewhere, and she was going to find him.

Zylah took one last look back at Oz and ran out into the snow.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The patch of forest never seemed to get any closer, but Zylah kept running. She kept running until every few steps were a stumble, her lungs burning. She couldn’t feel the pain in her back anymore, at least, that’s what she told herself.

Everything ached. She was cold, the only warmth from the blood seeping through what was left of her tunic under the blanket. A strangled sob escaped her whenever the rough fabric scraped against her broken skin. She fell again, her stomach twisting in knots. She would die if she didn’t make it to shelter, and the thought made her push on harder, as if a single word was carried to her on the wind.Live.

---