Page 69 of A Legacy of Storms and Starlight

Zylah thought of her room at the tavern, of Holt’s training room beneath it. “The safe house is warded. I’ve been healing minor wounds here; you’ve had no problems with that.” She paused to catch her breath, a streak of anger thrumming through her.

“The house is warded, yes, but not well enough, if you can pass through.”

Zylah put her sword back on the rack, her adrenaline dulled by frustration. She couldn’t practise with anger clouding her judgement. “What’s that supposed to mean? Marcus got through them.”

Raif tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes darting lower for a moment. “Royal lines have the strongest magic. It’s no surprise he got through. But that you could, that presents a problem. We need to tighten things up.”

Zylah couldn’t be certain, but it was almost as if he didn’t want to train her. Or maybe he knew she had no real magic besides the evanescing and the healing and was trying to save her the disappointment of discovering that. He took a step back, and she fought the urge to follow him, to continue what he’d started.

Raif’s magic, what she’d seen of it, was powerful. Dark. She thought of the way it changed his eyes, how she’d asked him if it hurt. “Can you tell me more aboutyourmagic?”

She felt Raif tracking her movements as she stretched, his gaze heated, and she was glad for once to be hot and sweaty enough to hide her blush. For all his insufferable ways, he knew when to give her space. Since she’d fallen asleep beside him, in his bed, she’d returned home to her room at the tavern every night, and he’d never once questioned it.

“Magic is about balance,” he said, placing his sword back on the rack. He let out a breath as if the subject made him uncomfortable, then picked up her cloak and ran a hand over the buttons. But whatever expression had settled on his face was gone as he held the door open for her with a grin. “We have an assignment this evening, if you’re up for it.”

Zylah finished her stretches and scooped up her glasses, still thinking about magic.Hismagic. It had a physical effect on him; she’d seen the change in his eyes. Was that the balance he spoke of? Did it take something from him to turn another to ash—his vision, maybe? She thought of the scales the goddess Gentris always held in the drawings that had filled her school books and whether temporary vision loss balanced out turning a person to ash.

“Liss?” Raif asked, his arms folded across his chest as he leaned back against the door.

Zylah cleared her throat as she grabbed her apron. “An assignment. Right. What do you need?”

“We need as much access to Arnir at the festival as we can get. You might not like accepting help, but I’m counting on your willingness to offer it.”

Gods, he missed nothing. “Ican help?” She followed him to the front of the building, fastening her apron behind her back as she walked.

He handed over her cloak with a raised eyebrow. “Florist contracts are released tonight.”

“I’m no florist.”

“No. But Arnir expects only the best from the citizens of Virian. You have fresh sun lilies growing at the gardens. The terraces are full of them, you told me so yourself. They’ll be in full bloom in what… two months from now?”

She threw on her cloak, fastening it as she followed Raif out of the door. She’d told him about the sun lilies at their dinner date. He’d remembered, and a pang of guilt twisted over inside her that he’d done that when she was still lying to him.

She could tell him now. Tell him who she was and that Arnir was looking for her. She glanced up at him from beneath her hood, and he winked at her. “I didn’t realise you were paying attention.”

Kopi flew down to Zylah’s shoulder for a moment before flying off again. He was never far away, and his loyalty always surprised Zylah. Every morning she woke up wondering if he’d return, and every morning he did.

“When it comes to you, Liss, I’m always paying attention.” Raif wove his fingers through hers, content with the small amount of contact. Before she could reply, he said, “I think this could get us what we need. Scouts have told me it’s the flowers Arnir cares about most. He takes great pleasure in inspecting them every year. This contract gets us one step closer to him.”

One step closer to killing him. And one step closer to her freedom. Zylah thought of Kihlan and Niara, of what their future could be like if the Fae were free. A future where they could walk the streets without disguising themselves, where they could play freely with human children, their ears on display. She knew she’d do whatever it took to make that happen.

The weight of what they were about to do hit her, and the cost if they failed. The city passed by in a blur as dread coiled tight within her. She wouldn’t let the children down.

“Don’t break our cover tonight, no matter what happens,” Raif said as they turned down a narrow side street, and he paused, pulling her to him. He rested a hand against her cheek, his gaze on something just down the road.

“Your favourite trick,” Zylah murmured. He was watching someone, and she resisted the urge to follow his gaze for fear of drawing attention to them.

His hands dropped to hers and he squeezed. “It’s no trick,” he said quietly before kissing her. Despite what they were there for, Zylah leaned into his touch. He pulled back, flashing her a smile before leading the way. With his hand still wrapped around hers, her dread eased a little.

They walked past a florist, hanging baskets of lilac cloud violas on either side of the door.Bloom.Zylah had walked past many times. On her first day in Virian she’d walked by this florist with Holt, only she’d been too afraid to look up and see the sign and the beautiful hanging baskets. At the end of the street, the owner of the florist turned the corner.

“I’m your assistant, if anyone asks,” Raif said quietly as they followed their mark.

Zylah doubted anyone would believe that for a second. “Why don’t we go withbodyguard? That might seem more convincing.”

“Do florists walk around with a bodyguard in Dalstead?”

“No, they don’t. Fine. You’re my assistant.” The stone façade of the Pig’s Tail hid the florist in its shadows for a moment before the door opened and the noise and light from within burst out into the street. Zylah had walked past this particular tavern enough times to know it was not the kind of place you went for a quiet drink. As they opened the door after the florist, a bartender shoved a disorderly patron out into the street.

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