Chapter 29 #2
I turned my head to get a look at the man who I’d apparently spent some portion of my childhood with. Only he was not what I saw first—I didn’t see him at all, because there was no one standing waiting for us. His voice came from nowhere.
Instead, I took in the view. The island was not what I expected.
Whatever glamor had been cast, it had fully ensconced us now—the bridge opened right into the front doors of what could only be called a castle, with stone walls and turrets high above.
I looked over Veyyr’s shoulder and could clearly see the other island.
Magic or real, that was the question.
“Zane,” Veyyr said, “enough games. Will you give us a few hours or not?”
“Always so impatient,” Zane’s voice echoed down the corridor, but I could not see where it had come from.
I stared hard, wondering if I would recognize him.
He finally stepped out of the shadows between the sconces, as if the darkness set him free. “What no gasp? I am losing my touch it seems,” He spread his hands wide. “I’ve been bored, Veyyr. You should have come to visit.”
Black robes wrapped his body in layers, fitted close through the torso and arms before breaking into a heavy cloak that seemed to move with a will of its own.
Unlike the dark blue with stars that Lianne and Thorn wore, this cloak was…darker. Literally.
The material drank in the light, as he walked toward us swallowing the glow of the sconces to either side of the path so that everywhere he stepped became truly darker.
Details, take in the details, does it help you remember? Anything?
Intricate stitching traced his chest and belt in patterns that looked ritualistic, not decorative. Power made practical—perhaps spells that had been woven literally into the fabric?
That’s what my gut said.
His face was partially concealed, a dark mask covering his mouth and nose, leaving only his eyes visible beneath the deep hood. And those eyes even at this distance…they were sharp. Aware.
Calculating odds.
A flash of color that could have been blue, could have been green.
His gaze flicked over us, as if measuring us.
There was no anger, no cruelty. Just assessment, as if he were deciding how dangerous we might be and if he needed to kill us or not.
But he knew Veyyr, and so I felt the weight of his eyes more on me, weighing me more.
I knew he was wondering why I was here with Veyyr—what could I possibly bring to the table when Veyyr held so much of his own power?
Zane’s footsteps despite being on stone, were silent and I did not see any weapons on him. Was he another one who thought magic always ruled? It would make it easier to deal with him if it came to that—just like Ammi.
Or did he have a blade tucked away? Watching him move, the grace in his stride, I thought it likely he did. He moved like a fighter as if he’d been trained in combat, and not just magic.
Smarter to have a backup.
Was all of that a new thought, or something else like a memory?
There was a flash of the past, a quiet, unsettling tug low in my chest that begged me to recall this, Zane.
Not fear. Not attraction but something I could almost take a hold of and call a memory.
He moved like someone who had learned long ago how to survive, and it looked familiar for lack of a better word. Every step he took was deliberate. Balanced.
I loosened my hold on Veyyr, ready to drop to the ground in case Zane was not going to be friendly.
“Zane, I do not wish to play games.”
“Oh, brother in arms, I am not playing games. This is very serious indeed. To raise the dead is no small thing and you wish to do it on a soul that has been taken not once, but twice across the Veil? You have all the ladies here up in their cloaks and clutching their wands. Had they any.” There was a soft drawl to his voice, as slow and measured as his steps.
“So do not accuse me of games, brother. You are the one prepared to dance with the demons below, not I.”
Their words were sharp, sword tips poking at one another to see who would bleed first. They did not feel angry, or like enemies.
I wondered if they’d trained together. With Thorn.
The closer Zane got, the more I felt the shift in the air. His presence pressed against us, subtle but undeniable. I could almost smell it—the scent of magic clung to him, not sparking or flaring, but coiled tight and patient, as though it answered to discipline rather than emotion.
And that flare in my gut, deep under my chest told me everything I need to know.
He was from my past. I knew him. Veyyr had spoken truly of that much I was certain.
“And your petite friend here,” Zane was close enough now that his eyes were clearly visible. Blue-green, catching the light one way and then the other, shifting like mercury. A curl of hair slid across his forehead. “You have a name?”
“Mallory,” Veyyr said before I could speak and I felt the warning in the bond. Not to keep me from speaking, but to be careful. Would Zane recognize my voice maybe?
My mind reached for anything that could show me a scene of Zane in my life and found only static. No images. No shared moments. Just the echo of something that had once mattered. Once trusted. Once been close enough to hurt when it was torn away.
“Mallory… and you’re helping Veyyr?”
I nodded but kept my mouth shut.
“I am curious as to why…”
His gaze lingered on me for half a second longer than it should have. If he recognized me, he didn’t show it. Or maybe he did, and this was simply the version of him that survived whatever came after I was gone, after we were separated whenever that was.
A childhood I didn’t remember was more than a lifetime ago. It was a world that no longer existed.
With bone-deep clarity I knew only one thing. Zane was not here by accident.
And whatever history lay between us had teeth and I could feel it waiting to bite me right in the ass.
“Will you grant us respite, Zane?” Veyyr pressed again.
Zane made a sweeping motion with his arm, welcoming us in. “Welcome, and find the rest you need.”