Page 29 of A Legacy of Storms and Starlight

Zylah cleared her throat. “You’re part of the Fae uprising, aren’t you? I want to help.”

Raif took a step towards her; somehow he’d moved so fast he’d closed the distance between them entirely. “Are you out of your fucking mind? That kind of question can get you killed here. So much for being subtle,” he said quietly, those blue eyes bright as he stared down at her, a mint and lemongrass scent drifting from him.

“I don’t have time for subtle. I want to help.” If he was trying to intimidate her, to get a rise out of her, it wasn’t going to work. She’d faced Jesper. Raif was nothing in comparison to that monster, even with his matching height and his muscles.

Raif arched a brow. “To help? What can a little thing like you do to help?”

“Thing?” It was Zylah’s turn to fold her arms across her chest.

“You know what I meant.”

“I can fight. I’m fast. And I can help with ailments. I worked in an apothecary before I came to Virian.” She held her ground as Raif began to circle her, his expression gloriously bored. More intimidation. She wouldn’t baulk.

“And what brought you to Virian exactly?” Another lock of hair fell into his eyes and he swiped it away. Zylah resisted the urge to offer him a hair tie.

“I wanted to start over,” she said, averting her gaze from his, thankful for the eyeglasses that hid most of her face.

“And you think joining an uprising is the best way to do that?”

“I’ve nothing to lose,” Zylah said, holding her head high as she met his gaze again.

“Only your life.”

What was it with Fae males thinking they had a say in her life? “I could be useful to you.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Raif dragged his gaze up her body, a dimple appearing on one side of his mouth as if he were fighting back a smile. “Same time tomorrow,Liss?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. And she didn’t give him the satisfaction of watching him go—she wouldn’t be caught out gawking after him if he turned back to look at her. He hadn’t exactly agreed to training her either. Or answered her question about the Fae uprising. He hadn’t given anything away at all.

But Jilah trusted him, and that was enough, for now.

Chapter Twelve

Plants had always fascinated Zylah. Even before she’d learnt to speak, her father told her, she would help with the plants he’d hang drying in his apothecary, holding them carefully and passing them to him one by one. He said they seemed to calm her. She’d tried to cling to that calm the moment she arrived at work.

She occupied herself with the insect ferns throughout the day; they’d settled in the pond at the bottom of the waterfall in the first dome and had taken over in the last few weeks. It was good work to keep her hands busy and her thoughts at bay, but she kept playing over her argument with Holt whenever she stopped for a moment. First, she was going to apologise for her comment about his heart, she’d decided.

By the time she made it back to the tavern in the evening, she was exhausted, but she preferred it that way. The less time she had to think about Arnir and Jesper, the better.

She’d gotten used to ignoring the patrons and the tang of ale as she let her feet carry her up the narrow staircase, unlocking the door to the room and pushing open the window for Kopi to fly back through when he was ready.

The Black Veil.Something had been nagging her about it since she’d overheard those two men in the street. A Fae uprisingandthe Black Veil. What was the Black Veil’s purpose?

She made her way into the bathroom and started preparing for a bath. She was too tired for the old kettles to boil, but she carried on, nonetheless.Gods.Zylah caught sight of herself in the mirror. She’d forgotten the erti root. Her blonde roots were going to be obvious soon.

A key turned in the lock to the bedroom door, and she took a deep breath. She was too tired for this conversation, too, but they needed to clear things up.

“Look, Holt, I just wanted to say—” Zylah began, but the moment she turned to face the bathroom doorway she knew something wasn’t right. The way a floorboard creaked ever so slightly, the spicy fragrance that hit her faintly.

She reached down for her dagger, and in the split second it took for her to get back to her feet, a cloaked figure stood in the doorway, looking over her. Zylah didn’t give them the upper hand—she slashed out, but the intruder leapt back and shook their head.

Zylah slashed again, but the hooded figure was too fast, disarming her and spinning her around, her back to their chest and a hand clamped around her mouth. Their breath was hot in her hair, and she froze, her mind taken back to that night in Jesper’s room.

Then she heard Kopi’s cry.

Her assailant shoved her away, and she fell, head smacking against the corner of the table and her vision spotting. Kopi’s cries mingled with the man’sas Zylah realised the little owl was attacking. Blood sprayed across the room when Kopi’s claws found flesh, the intruder swatting at Kopi and shoving him back against the wall, feathers fluttering down around him.

No!Zylah’s senses returned to her, and she grabbed for her dagger and launched herself at the hooded figure. He threw her over the top of his shoulder—an evasive move, part of her mind registered—and she rolled out of the way just as the hilt of a weapon came towards her.

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