Page 9 of A Legacy of Storms and Starlight

His fingers wrapped around hers. “Holt.”

He’d barely finished the word before he evanesced them again, the warmth of his calloused hand spreading through hers, the only part of her body that didn’t feel frozen.

When they stopped, Holt released her. “Put these on,” he said.

Zylah spun to face him, just as a pair of bootsappearedin his hand.

“How did you…?” She reached for the boots, kicking off her wet shoes without further argument. “These seem a little small to be yours,” she muttered as she laced them up.

“They’re not mine,” Holt said, his back to her as he turned slowly to the forest. His shirt was still wet in patches, his trousers tight against the muscles of his legs and—

Pervert, she heard Kara’s voice whisper in her head. Zylah felt her cheeks warm and turned her attention back to her laces. Theo had been a welcome distraction from the bleakness of Dalstead, cold nights and warm bodies had staved off the reality that she would never leave, never know anything else. But where Theo was lanky, Holt was twice his size, thick with muscle. What in Pallia’s name was he?

When she stood, he was waiting, arms folded across his chest. She wanted to give him a second elbow to the face for how much the gesture irritated her but resisted.

He reached his hand out again, and she took it, the forest falling away from them.

They evanesced time and time again until Zylah thought she might hurl up whatever was left of the brin fruit. She was sick of the sight of the forest, of the trees that pressed in around them. And she was so godsdamned thirsty.

She fell to her knees in the snow, cupping some into her hands to get whatever liquid she could from it.

“What are you doing?” Holt asked. He sounded out of breath.Not a god, after all. Hours had passed and Zylah had lost all track of time, of how far they’d travelled. The forest seemed to stretch on for an eternity.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m thirsty.” She didn’t bother to look up at him as she pressed the ice-cold snow to her lips.

“Here,” he said, handing her a water canister.

Zylah had no idea where it had come from. Probably the same place as the boots, which she was most definitely going to ask him about if they ever stopped running. But now was not a time for questions. She threw her head back as she gulped down the water, forcing herself to stop when she was about halfway.

“Thank you,” she said, handing it back to him.

Holt held her gaze for a moment, and finally said, “Have I earned your trust enough for you to tell meyourname now?” He took a swig and waited for her response.

Zylah studied the forest as she considered her options.One: lie. She watched the way the snow was beginning to melt from the trees, how more vegetation coloured the forest floor in a velvety green. Lying could backfire. He wasn’t a god, but he was something. He seemed like the type to see a lie from a long way away. The trees had thinned out, but very little light broke through the canopy. An eerie silence still hung over everything.Two: tell the truth. And then what? What could he do with just her name? She didn’t have to tell him the rest of it.Gods. There was no option three, she realised, as at last, she came full circle to face him.

“Zylah,” she finally said.

Holt pressed his lips together. Was he hiding a smirk? Zylah didn’t know, but she wondered if she’d be quick enough to elbow him again. Best not to test her luck, she decided.

He held out his hand. “Nice to meet you,Zylah.”

He said it as if it wasn’t her name, as if she’d just made up a word and given him that. But she didn’t have the chance to argue, because he was already evanescing them to the next location.

When they stopped, Holt dropped her hand and staggered forwards a step. His shirt was damp with sweat, his shoulders heaving with laboured breaths.

“It’s okay, we can stop for a bit,” Zylah said, unsure how to comfort a stranger she didn’t even know if she could trust yet.

Holt’s breath clouded in front of him and he swallowed. “It’s fine. We’re here,” he huffed, pointing to something behind her.

Zylah spun around to face a small cabin with a rickety old door and windows that looked as if a light breeze might blow the glass out.

“Go inside and get warm. I’ll check the perimeter.” Holt didn’t wait for a response, just jogged away from her into the forest.

She stared after him for a moment, and then back at the cabin. For a second, the thought of the prince throwing her against the wall in his chambers flashed before her eyes, his hand making contact with her face. If that was Holt’s intention, he’d have tried that already, wouldn’t he? She pushed out a breath and made her way to the porch.

The door creaked on old hinges as she opened it, her eyes adjusting to the dim space. It was sparsely furnished: a small wooden table with benches, an old, beige, upholstered lounger like the ones she’d seen in the palace, only this one had seen far better days, a bookcase with a handful of tattered books, a fireplace.

She knelt before the hearth, searching for a tinderbox. Fresh logs were already stacked and waiting in the fire. Zylah found the box tucked behind the fire tools, pieces of tinder folded neatly beside the flint. She shoved some into the grate and struck the flint against the side of the box, watching as the sparks caught alight.

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