Page 10 of A Legacy of Storms and Starlight

Her hand closed around the fire iron, and in the flames, she saw the prince, surrounded by his own blood.

The door creaked open, and she swung around, her weapon raised and ready.

Holt turned his back to her as he closed the door, bolting each of the three locks shut. Zylah tightened her grip.

“You’re fast,” he said, turning to face her. “But we both know I’m faster. And I have no intention of harming you. Or touching you in any way.”

His eyes fell to the marks at her neck, and Zylah wondered if he could hear her heart as loudly as she could. If he somehow knew what had happened to her.

“There’s a bath through there.” Holt pointed to a door. “It will be warm.”

Zylah rested the fire iron back beside the fire. “I’ve already bathed today.”

Holt raised an eyebrow. “You have, but you didn’t wash your clothes.”

Heat rushed to Zylah’s cheeks. The prison stench was rather offensive, but she’d gotten so used to it now. And gods, did she ache still. She shot him a death stare and walked through the door without saying another word, letting it swing shut behind her.

It was a small bathroom, barely any bigger than the bath, full of steaming water, the vapour clouding the air.How?Zylah paused to listen for whatever Holt might be doing in the cabin, questioning whether it was wise to jump into a bath with him in the next room. She bit down on her lip and instantly regretted it.There is still kindness left in this world, Zylah, her father would say to her, when he’d give free poultices to those who couldn’t afford to pay.We just have to be willing to offer it. Maybe Holt felt the same way. But it had never sat well with her to accept help, no matter what her father had taught her.

She rubbed at her wrists. There were a hundred different alternative situations Zylah knew she could have been in at that moment, but instead, Holt had spent all day bringing her here. She glanced at the wooden panels of the bathroom. Somewhere safe. She kicked off her boots, untied her apron, pulled off the rest of her clothes and let them all fall to the floor. She didn’t need to sniff them to know how fetid the stench was, it was ingrained into her nose.

She stepped into the bath, facing the door so she could keep an eye on it, the water so warm she stifled a moan. A bar of soap sat on the metal rim, and she sniffed at it. Acani berries. She listened for any sound of footsteps outside the door, but Holt was on the other side of the cabin, busying himself with something.

She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around her knees. She’d survived another day. Zylah breathed in the soothing steam as the adrenaline started to leave her body and saw her father calling out to her from the crowd again, his eyes wet with tears. Her brother’s position would protect them both from Arnir, wouldn’t it? The door clicked shut, and Zylah’s eyes shot open, but the bathroom was empty, the disturbed steam the only sign of any movement.

“I just took your clothes to burn them. There’s some clean clothes in the drawer beside the bath,” Holt called out from the next room.

Zylah almost leapt out of the bath, water sloshing around her.

“Relax. I’m not really burning your clothes,” he said from beyond the door, laughter lining his voice.

Asshole.Zylah sank back down, scrubbing herself with the earthy soap, careful not to disturb the scabs at her wrists before moving onto her hair as she worked her way through all the questions she had for him. Now she was free of the cuffs, she had a lot more options, but she had no idea how widespread Arnir’s men would be stationed, how far the king’s control reached.

Her aches had eased, the pain in her back almost gone entirely. Even her throat felt a little better. She submerged her head and shoulders beneath the water, holding her breath for a moment in the stillness.

I didn’t mean for him to die.

Zylah thought of the way Jesper’s blood had pooled on the golden rug, the way his body had stilled. She thought of the blows he’d landed to her face: a backhand to her mouth, a fist to her eye. The way his smooth hands had fumbled to slide up her tunic, his breath hot against her skin. She pushed herself out of the water, gasping for air.

He deserved it, for what he tried to do to you, Kara had told her. And Zylah would do it again if she had to. She ran a shaky hand through her hair to check the soap had rinsed away and stepped out of the bath. Kara was right, but that didn’t change anything.

Zylah wrapped herself in the only towel and wiped a hand across the steamed-over mirror. She took in her black eye, her busted lip and the marks at her throat and shook her head.He deserved it.

She dried herself quickly and pulled open the drawer to search for clothes. Folded shirts and trousers—all for men. All with a musky smell, and a hint of the acani berries. She opted for a white shirt and a pair of grey trousers with cuffs at the hem, a pair she was certain would be cropped on Holt but came down to her ankles when she slipped them on. The shirt swamped her, but she tucked it in and rolled up the sleeves before towel drying her hair. There was no hope of re-braiding it without a brush. Instead, she combed her fingers through it as best she could before opening the door to the rest of the cabin, steam and the scent of acani berries billowing out around her.

Holt sat cross-legged on the lounger, eating something that looked a lot like a canna cake. Zylah sniffed at the air. Itwasa canna cake.

“There’s one for you on the side. Be careful, it’s hot,” Holt said, waving his cake towards the small area that passed for the kitchen.

“Did you make this appear out of thin air, too?” Zylah asked, testing the heat of the cake before picking it up and blowing on it. She leaned back against the counter, casting her gaze around the cabin as she took a bite. Gods above, it was just as good as Mrs Andell’s.

Holt laughed softly. “No,” he said, brushing crumbs off his shirt. “I baked it.”

Zylah arched a brow. “He looks and moves like a god. He trav… evanesces. Makes things appear from thin air, including, of all things, hot water. He bakes.” She listed each item off with a finger as she spoke. “What are you?”

“The same as you, it would seem.”

Zylah said nothing as she let his words sink in. There was no way they were alike, and besides, the cake was too good to keep talking through, so she waited for an answer.

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