Page 14 of A Legacy of Poison and Lies

“I neverwantedto believe it. That they were the reason for so much suffering.” He toyed with the bracelet. “But that is the narrative my parents wanted to be a part of.”

Zylah tried to recall what he’d told her back in Virian; that he’d refused to believe the original Fae watched their people suffer.

That they’d never come to his aid or to any who needed them.

“My mother could evanesce,” he went on. “She taught me everything I know about Fae magic and like most High Fae, she favoured abilities rooted in nature, but only those that gave something back.”

“The roots and vines,” Zylah murmured.

Holt dipped his chin. “They were her favourite. Raif’s magic was a combination of Marcus’s and Aurelia’s abilities—it’s common amongst the royal lines, that one child inherits the parents’ gifts. Marcus uses his lightning; Aurelia merely has to channel a drop of her power into the palm of her hand and her touch is paralysing.”

Zylah’s breaths came heavy. “Your scar. It was because of both of them. Marcus and Aurelia.”

Holt’s silence was answer enough. “Raif was young when he realised what he could do. It was a sprite, of all things, when we were together in the forest one day.”

“Because they follow you,” she said absent-mindedly, as she thought of Raif’s magic, of how he could turn someone to ash with his touch.

“I was trying to teach him to harness the power of nature the way my mother taught me, and a group of sprites kept swarming us. Raif kept losing his focus. His temper flared. After he killed the sprite, he dug his fingers into the ash, and I could see the war going on behind his eyes. Half of him couldn’t believe what he’d done, the other half was excited by it. And those two thoughts chipped away at him. No matter what we practised, he couldn’t channel his abilities into anything else. Couldn’t manipulate what was around him the way my mother had taught me.” He frowned at the table, like he was seeing the memory play out before him. “I failed him that day.”

“You didn’t, Holt. His parents failed him. It wasn’t on you to teach him.”

Holt’s shoulders rose as he took in a deep breath. “My mother’s magic was so wholly rooted in nature, but my father’s abilities were forged in combat. He was fifteen when he first went to war. He shielded himself first, an impenetrable layer he soon learnt to expand to protect his allies, too. He taught himself to wield that shield in reverse; a blast of power that he could use one-on-one as he fought. He didn’t seem to realise it was aether he was drawing on, energy itself, the very heart of everything in this world, in nature. But it caused so much destruction. He was haunted by how many lives he’d taken.”

Aether. Drawing on energy. The ripple of power she’d so often felt from him. Zylah finally understood the weight of the power he held.

He turned his hand, inspecting it as if he might see some traces of the magic there. “Whilst my father could only wield a single blast of power in one-on-one combat, I can release it like a wave, but it takes out everything in its path.”

“That’s…”

“Terrifying?” Holt swallowed. “That’s not even the worst part.” A pinch of his brow, and his eyes met hers. “The worst part is that in the moment I… I understand how Raif felt all those years ago.”

How Raif had continued to feel, every time he’d used his magic.I feel it take something from me every time I use it. Like a little piece of me is chipped away,he’d said. She remembered the way the shadows had danced across his face. The way she’d told him he was good inside. But she hadn’t told him she loved him. Why hadn’t she told him?

Murderer. Monster.

The words tumbled over themselves.

She drank the last of her tea and padded to the bathroom, tipping what remained of the previous day’s water pitcher into the sink. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, violet eyes staring back at her. Zylah couldn’t stand to look at herself. She didn’t know how Holt could either, knowing that Raif was dead because of her. She splashed water at her reflection, and then over her face, shoving all the feelings down until there was nothing but a muffled silence, an empty hollow inside her yawning open.

“I have a favour to ask,” she said when she came out of the bathroom. Holt had already tidied up their mugs, straightened the lounger and folded the blankets. She didn’t want to ask him—hated asking for help, but she’d made promises in Varda to the few she was helping. “There are a handful of people back in town…” she began.

“I left ample coin for each of them last night.”

“So youwerefollowing me?” she asked, fighting back a smirk.

He folded his arms across his broad chest, the movement so familiar to her she hadn’t realised how much she’d missed it. Missed him.

“I had to make sure there was no chance I was pursued before I made contact with you. Marcus will be waiting for the slightest hint of a slip-up.”

The words were there unspoken. What he was risking by being there, for her. “Thank you,” Zylah said quietly. “For the coin.”

“Don’t say what I think you’re going to say, Zylah.”

“I’ll pay you back. For all of it.”

“I told you before how to repay me.”

Live your life, he’d told her.That’s repayment enough.But it wasn’t. It would never be, for all that he’d done for her. Zylah cleared her throat and began gathering her things. She retrieved her dagger from the poster, tucking the necklace Raif had given her into the front of her apron, the blade into one of her boots. She wasn’t going with Holt so she could get the vanquicite removed. But he didn’t need to know that. She was going with him for a chance at Marcus and Jesper, no matter what it took. They’d both played their part in Raif’s death, and she had every intention of making them pay for it.

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