Page 10 of A Legacy of Wrath and Reckoning

She froze, a piece of stale bread halfway to her mouth.

“Zylah?” Raif asked, already on his feet, but he paused before he came any closer. “Are you in pain?”

Small, irrelevant things. She shook her head, forced herself to take another mouthful as Raif watched her. The Seraphim’s fate had sparked an idea. Zylah had been trying to use her magic to evanesce, to call objects to her, but it was too large a feat. She needed to think smaller. Smaller than a weapon, even.

Plants had served her as a weapon many times before. They could serve her again. Baylock made the vampires recoil… but she had no way of administering it to the vampire sat before her.

She slowed her eating. Thumped at her chest as if the bread were difficult to swallow. Placed what remained on the edge of her bed.

“If I am to remain here,” she began, raising her eyes to meet Raif’s. “At least let me cook. Let me have something to keep myself occupied.”

He’d retreated to his chair, empty black eyes watching her, his expression giving nothing away as his chest rose and fell steadily. She was certain he was going to refuse. Going to spout some bullshit about her being his prey, about feeding her whatever he wanted. But then he surprised her by nodding his head.

“I’ll see to it,” he said, with an air of finality. And then, “The maze is dangerous, Zylah. There are far too many dangers out there for you to try to leave.”

He was right to suspect her. But Zylah wasn’t about to concede. “You and Rose used to come here as children.”

“Because we… We came with someone who could evanesce us in and out every time. We bypassed all the danger—”

“And your grandfather has my magic now.” Not a question, because she didn’t need to ask.

Raif barely agreed. He wasn’t going to give her answers. Why would he? This was all a game to him. And she would play it, if it got her what she wanted. The vampire ran a hand through his short hair; gripped the back of his neck. “I’ll bring what I can. But it’s going to be a limited spread, Zylah.”

“I lived in Kerthen after…” After she thought he’d died. “After I left Virian. Everything feels like a luxury to me after that.”

“Youlivedthere?”

Zylah wasn’t interested in indulging him. But she needed him to bring her what she’d asked for, so she told him about Kerthen. About the nights she’d spent alone. About the way she’d ground down plant roots for stews, then moved on to swamp crabs when she’d taken a bow and quiver full of arrows from a corpse. She left out the part about her bargain with a stranger.

Raif listened to all of it, watching her intently, and Zylah followed the shaft of sunlight as it moved across her room, knowing another day had been lost, another day where her mate suffered. She’d long since finished the story of her time in Kerthen when Raif stood.

“I’ll do my best with the supplies,” was all he said before he turned and left.

For the first time, Zylah wondered how he’d been coming and going, whether someone had been evanescing him each time the same way they had when he was a child. Were they out there now, somewhere in the maze, waiting? She watched the vampire disappear around the corner, listened until his footsteps had long since quietened.

A plan had already formed, and she would need to be ready. Zylah bathed quickly and changed her clothes, washing the old ones and hanging them around the bathtub. They were a tattered mess, but fabric was useful: to strain poultices, to filter water, to wrap bandages. She wouldn’t waste a scrap. Between every movement, she pictured the baylock leaves in the Aquaris Court, tried and tried to command her magic, to coax the leaves to her, but nothing happened. She was working through the physical exercises Holt had taught her back in Virian when Raif returned.

“Feeling stronger?” he asked when she continued without acknowledging his arrival, a hint of suspicion in his tone that might have been concern for her magic returning.

Let him worry, Zylah thought. “Sitting all day in this room and withering away is doing me no favours. I need this.” A reasonable excuse. Anyone would lose their mind if trapped for long enough; it was no wonder Arioch had tried to take his own life.

Hands behind her head, her feet facing Raif, Zylah continued her exercises, silently calling on her magic with each rise and fall of her body, hoping to feel even a single leaf in her hand where it pressed against the back of her head, but nothing came. She finished her workout slowly, feigning disinterest in whatever Raif had brought until she was finished.

The room would need ventilation, and there was very little of that. But the roots… Zylah moved the chairs, inspected the wall behind them. “Can you break the chairs up? And break this apart a little for better air flow?” Her hands trailed up the wall of roots before her, inspecting the places they weaved in and out of each other.

A snap of wood told her he’d started on the chairs without protest. One, at first, but it would be enough. She didn’t let herself dwell on his strength, how easily he might crush her bones. Instead, she directed him to pull apart the roots where the sunlight filtered through, hoping it would be enough to not have the whole room fill with smoke.

Raif sat back after that, a chair placed on the opposite side of the room to watch, silently. Zylah ignored him. He’d brought her a small, lidded pot, a little knife, a spoon. Potatoes and carrots, a small tin of dried herbs that had gone stale some time ago. But it was enough. She set to work building a small fire, preparing her meal with the painfully small blade. When it was all ready, she sat back on her heels and looked at him expectantly.

“Did you remember matches?” A small scrap of dry fabric for tinder lay in her palm, ready and waiting.

Raif rose slowly, his attention fixed on her face as he knelt before her. Zylah forced herself not to baulk, not to blink at his proximity, not to gag at the mint and lemongrass scent that had once been a comfort to her.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of matches, striking one and bringing it to the fabric in her waiting palms. Zylah blew gently on the embers, keeping her eyes on Raif until a small flame appeared, then turned away to place it into her fire. With a breath of relief, she watched as the smoke streamed towards the break in the wall Raif had created.

Neither of them spoke as the water boiled, as the room filled with the aroma of spices and the food cooked, as Zylah removed it from the heat to let it cool. She ate the meagre stew, thinking of ways she could harm him with the tiny knife. The blade was barely longer than the tip of her thumb. Enough to cut an artery, but she’d need to be fast, and Zylah knew she wasn’t. Not against his preternatural ability.

When she’d had her fill, she offered him what was left—a full portion, still, because she’d planned it that way. He raised an eyebrow, but said only a quiet “thank you” before taking the pot and sitting in his spot again on the far side of the room.

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