Page 97 of A Legacy of Storms and Starlight

Her eyes half opened. “I thought Fae bargains were unpleasant?” She knew what he was doing, trying to keep her awake, conscious.

“Not as unpleasant as you dying on me.”

Zylah laughed against his neck. “Good point. And we did make it a rule already.”

“Live, and I’ll help you find your real family.”

That truly was something to live for. She fought to keep her eyes open, willed her mouth to form the word. “Agreed.”

Something pulsed between them, Holt’s grip on her tightening as a wave of pain rolled through her. Magic. Too late, she thought, her eyes already closing. Thoughts of her brother and father muddied into one. A creaking, cracking sound had her flicking her eyes open, and Holt slowed to a walk. He’d brought her to his cabin.

“Oh good, I can have a bath,” she murmured, the thought of the warm spring water melting her frozen bones pulling a soft sigh from her lips.

The door shut behind Holt, and he strode over to the table. He pulled back to look at her, his eyes full of concern, his hair ruffled from running and falling across his forehead. “I need you on the table so I can inspect your wounds. It’s going to hurt. A lot. Ready?”

Zylah nodded. She wasn’t ready. She didn’t want to move. She just wanted to sleep. Holt lowered her to her feet, and a searing pain broke out across her back. Zylah made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a cry, wishing she could bite down on her lip.

“Do you want me to lift you onto the table?”

She let the blanket fall off her shoulders, not wanting to see how much of her blood had soaked through to it. “I can do it.”

She didn’t think she could, but she still had a shred of dignity left, despite the noises she made as Holt helped her onto the table. Every movement felt like her back was splitting open, every touch of the fabric against the wounds like hot needles. But somehow she made it onto her front, her cheek resting on one arm, the other lying beside her. When she tried to move, it pulled at the broken skin and sent an involuntary whimper from her lips.

Zylah closed her eyes, listening to Holt pulling open cupboards and gathering materials.

He placed something down on the table beside her, glass clinking together. Zylah was afraid to die, but maybe the world would be better off without her in it. For Raif. Her brother. Her father would have still been alive if she’d just stayed on the gallows that day.

“Zylah.” Holt squeezed the hand that lay at her side. “I can’t heal you until the effects of the vanquicite wear off, so I have to do things… by hand.”

Zylah nodded once. He meant he was going to have to peel out every scrap of her clothing, try to separate cloth from flesh. She was certain he’d be able to see right through to the muscle, and gods knew what that looked like.

Holt shuffled beside her. “This is—”

“Going to hurt? I’ve got this, Holt. Just do it. Please.” She wasn’t ready to die. Not yet.

Holt uncorked something beside her. Celandia. She focused on her breathing as he poured it onto a cloth and paused. His fingers brushed the first piece of fabric, and Zylah jolted from the pain as he pulled it away. He didn’t press the celandia to her back, not yet.

He sucked in a breath as he eased away another shred of fabric, and Zylah winced again, a hot tear rolling down her nose.

“What is it?” she asked, quietly sniffing back her tears.

Holt moved another piece of fabric, tearing at a piece that wasn’t in contact with her wound. “It’s your…”

“My lump? What about it?” Zylah waited as Holt tore away more of her tunic.

He let out a quiet breath, and Zylah wondered how he sounded so composed. “It’s split open.”

“And?” She tried to look over her shoulder, but pain coursed through her.

“There’s something inside it. It looks like vanquicite.”

“Vanquicite? How? That doesn’t make any sense.” She’d always had the lump in her back, for as long as she could remember.

He peeled away another piece of fabric and Zylah bit down on her lip, splitting it further. “I’ve never seen anything like this, it looks like it’s—” He paused, and Zylah strained to listen to whatever he might have heard out in the forest.

“Holt,” a voice called out from outside. Raif. Against Zylah’s will, more tears fell.

Holt disappeared for a moment, returning by the time Zylah had breathed in and out. He’d evanesced, which meant that he could call on his powers if he wasn’t touching her, that the vanquicite must have some effect only on the blood of the person that had touched it. But that didn’t make any sense, if there was a piece of vanquicite in her back, Holt must have been mistaken—

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