Page 86 of A Legacy of Wrath and Reckoning

The salty ocean spray and the roar of the waves far below carried to them on the breeze, the sight of it taking Zylah’s breath away. With her new magic, the ocean seemed illuminated with energy, a wild force humming through it that she could reach out and touch with her threads if she released them.

She thought of the way Ranon had been amassing power, the way he held it in his orb, and of Aurelia’s weakened state. “We need to destroy the orb,” she murmured as Holt stepped up beside her. “Whatever happens,” she said, looking up at him. “We need to break it before he can use it.”

Only resolve cut through Holt’s polished mask of calm. Resolve and the determination to see this through, and Zylah let that soothe her as she unspooled her threads to the library behind them.

“The librarian is asleep,” she told him, the threads rolling over Serrula’s pillow. “You’re sure about this?” What they were about to do would compromise Holt’s relationship with the court, with its High Lord and Lady, and though she knew his answer, she needed to hear it.

“And have Malok waste our time on meaningless tasks and bargains whilst we beg for his permission?”

“Point taken.” She wondered if Holt remembered how it was Malok’s last meaningless task that had led to her almost dying in his arms, but kept that question to herself for the moment as they slipped into the library undetected.

A tome rested on a plinth near Serrula’s desk, the one Nye had used to search for which section of the library they’d needed to visit. Zylah would bet money that it was the same section that would contain information about the blood moon and what Ranon might need it for. She led Holt through the shelves in silence, threads pulling at shadows as her gaze darted across plaques, remembering the way Nye had concealed herself when they last visited the library together. Now and then, she summoned a book from a shelf, her threads lowering them carefully to the floor.

“Zylah?” Holt murmured at her side.

“Serrula will wake up soon. This will keep her occupied for hours.”

“And the shadows?”

Wisps of black tucked in tight against them both, dancing over Holt’s forearm as he turned it to inspect the inky shadows.

“I-I,” Zylah stuttered, taking his arm, shadows pulsing at her touch. “I didn’t realise I was,” she said quietly. Or rather, it was her magic, more specifically. One thought of Nye’s shadows and her threads had woven them for her, surrounding them both like a blanket to conceal their progress through the library.

“You’re getting stronger, too,” Holt said softly as he studied her face, but Zylah didn’t press him. There was too much packed into that statement for them to discuss in the middle of their little library heist.

“This row,” she whispered, tugging him along with her. He was fitting everything together, remembering things, but that didn’t mean Zylah was blind to how much it cost him. What price he paid every time a new piece fell into place. He could still choose to let the pain go. To lethergo. Zylah shoved the thought aside, another stab of fear twisting her heart.

The rows opened out to a section of shelving around a table, the exact spot she’d visited with Nye. “Here. I’ll take this shelf.” She found the book Nye had shown her, searching through that first, her attention snagging on the page with the strange mirror in the sky above the nine original Fae, Arioch beside them.

Zylah leafed through the pages depicting their story, the seven she’d grown up believing to be gods. Pallia. Imala. Altais. Gentris. Diotin. Acrona. Farian. Ranon and Sira, a child in Sira’s arms.

The pages that followed depicted the monsters the pair had created, the suffering they’d unleashed on Astaria. Nothing about a blood moon, or any moon at all for that matter. But then she thought of the Seraphim, the child in Sira’s arms, wondering what Arioch had learnt of his mate’s fate since his departure from Ranon’s maze.

There was the other reason she so desperately wanted to search the library, though Zylah doubted the likelihood of any such thing being documented. Still, that would have to wait until later. Her threads spread beyond the library, the first few Fae rising and going about their morning duties. Had she and Holt not just spent so long travelling without a break to get there, Zylah might have spread her magic farther, beyond the court and into the forest beyond, but she knew better than to burn herself out. Mae had been given seventy-two hours, and though Zylah’s threat wasn’t an empty one, she still intended to return as agreed to give the Fae one final chance at redeeming herself.

Stacks of books soon filled the table, both of them stealing glances at each other as they leafed through pages, Zylah’s thoughts flitting back to everything they’d done together at Mae’s court. Holt’s lips twitched more than once, as if he knew precisely what had been occupying her thoughts. But he quietly continued his search, flicking through pages and replacing the books carefully when he was done. Now and then he pulled down a book out of her reach, the hard planes of his body pressing against hers and his quiet chuckle rumbling through her every time her breath faltered at his proximity.

One question burned through Zylah’s thoughts, outweighing her desire until she heard his answer. “Does it bother you, the ultimatum I gave Mae?”

“I trust you,” Holt said at her side, books strewn across the table before him.

“Even if I told you I wasn’t bluffing?”

Holt snapped his book shut. “Would it bother you if I told you I liked knowing you did it for me?”

He held her gaze, no hint of disgust or disapproval in his features. Only openness, vulnerability. It felt like a test. Their darkest parts laid bare for each other, a challenge from which one of them might back down first. But Zylah would never run from him. She had no regrets about poisoning Mae, and his response only strengthened her belief that the Fae more than deserved it.

She cleared her throat, flicking through the book in her hands, one she hadn’t been able to make any sense of other than a few inked sketches, pausing when one caught her attention. “Can you read this dialect? There’s a page here with moon phases, and the full moon is inked red.”

Holt leaned over her shoulder. “That isn’t ink. And no, I can’t.”

Another page, another moon inked in blood, if Holt’s suggestion was correct. And on this one, another of those strange mirrors beside it.

“The memory you showed me,” Holt said, resting his palm on a textured leather cover, fingers splayed wide. “Here at the court.” Zylah lowered her book as his gaze shifted to her face, bracing herself for the pain that was coming; bolstering her hold on their bond to make sure she was in full control of everything she couldn’t let slip through. “The vanquicite hid who you were.”

A disruption in her threads had her hesitating for a moment, some argument between a few members of the court Zylah had no interest in dividing her attention with. She turned to the shelf to replace her book, Holt plucking it from her fingers when she reached up onto her toes.

Zylah turned to face him, her back pressing against the spines, her fingers spreading over his chest and covering the scar over his heart. Holt’s hands rested on the shelf either side of her head, enveloping her in his warmth and his scent, and again Zylah wished she could stop time, that she could stretch out this moment between them for as long as possible.

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