Page 71 of A Legacy of Poison and Lies

They were using magic. She focused on her stretches, trying not to openly stare at their display of power. Zylah had been careful not to use any of her own magic over the last two weeks—it was the sole reason her tonics and baylock tea had almost been enough to keep the pain at bay.

A cool breeze carried the scents of the ocean with it, and again Zylah marvelled at how the magic around the court kept the worst of the frigid air away. The sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs below pulled her into a steady rhythm, each movement easing a little more tension from another night of broken sleep.

“Care to spar?” A male voice asked her.

Zylah looked up to find Slick striding over. The soldier who had almost knocked her off her feet, and who Zylah was certain had just been waiting for an opportunity to find her alone.

She didn’t have the energy to deal with him. Barely had the energy to get out of bed. The training grounded her, helped her feel alive even when she knew the vanquicite was slowly chipping away at her, and though most days she had the pain locked down, the feeling buried somewhere deep inside her, today she felt like it leaked from her every pore.

“Not today,” she said, dismissing him and returning to her stretches.

“Afraid?” he asked, taking a step closer.

More like bored. Zylah moved just as he did, ducking away from his grapple and swinging behind him to land a blow to his ribs. She swiped him off his feet with a single kick, one foot pressing into his chest as he looked up at her. “I said. Not. Today.”

“Zylah,” a voice said behind her.

She released Slick, waiting for him to try again, but he didn’t move, and Zylah knew why.

Holt had moved in beside her so quietly that she had no idea where he came from. He wasn’t dressed for training, she noticed, the cut of his shirt revealing a glimpse of the scar on his neck. His gaze slid to the soldier on the ground, and back to Zylah. “I’m starting to think you like picking fights.” The corner of his mouth quirked, but then it was gone. Power flared from him for a moment, and the soldier stumbled as he tried to push himself to his feet.

Coward.

Zylah smirked, eyes darting to Slick. “Only when I’m bored and I know I can take them out with a single kick.” One of his friends was already pulling him away, his face paling as he took in Holt beside her.

“Malok asked to see you,” Holt said, pulling her attention back to him.

“Now?”

“Nye came to your room, but she’d just missed you.” He held out his hand for hers.

Zylah hesitated for a moment before taking it, willing herself to get a hold on the agony burning beneath her skin. And as if the pain in her veins responded to her even acknowledging it, the familiar sharp sting rolled its way down her spine.

She snatched her hand away the moment their journey was over. But they weren’t inside Malok’s rooms. They were in the corridor, outside.

“I thought you might like a moment,” Holt said, his voice sounding clipped and distant.

He knew. The asshole knew she was in pain, just like he had at the meal with Arlan and Daven. Zylah raised an eyebrow and flicked her chin at Malok’s door. “Why aren’t his rooms warded?”

“Just tell me what to do, Zylah.”

“About what?”

“Don’t.” He closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing a finger and thumb across his brow as if he were trying to will away his anger. “I won’t stop wanting to help you, and I can’t stand back and watch you punish yourself over something that wasn’t your fault. So can we just call a truce?” Zylah’s mouth opened to protest, but he cut her off, taking a step closer. “It doesn’t drain me in the slightest to heal you.”

She looked up at him, remembering how he’d been at the meal with Arlan, of how his restraint had seemed to slip then, too. Something between fury and longing danced in his eyes, his words from that night echoing on repeat.I won’t let anything happen to you, Zylah.

It cracked something inside her to see that look on his face. A fissure in the wall she’d so carefully constructed around her emotions. She took half a step towards him.Just let me help you. Please,his expression seemed to say. Or maybe he’d said it out loud, and she was too busy trying to come up with a reason to object that wasn’t completely pathetic to notice. She wanted to tell him. Wanted to tell him it wouldn’t matter if he tried to heal her. Wanted to tell him she was afraid.

The door to Malok’s rooms opened, Nye appearing in the doorway. “He’s ready for you.”

Kej and Rin sat around the table with their father, their faces grim. More black pebbles were piled up on the table. Marcus’s army had grown, and they were simply letting it continue to do so. The humans might have wanted her dead that day she was marched to the gallows, but they were just as much at risk against Marcus as the Fae were. And from the large mass of pebbles covering Virian, Zylah knew they would be the first to suffer, along with the Fae that secretly resided there, her friends included.

Holt had been filling her in on the reports of attacks and had explained how the attempts to make more vampires had been failing, producing more thralls instead. An army took time to grow, but one made of dark creatures? Zylah wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

The air was thick with whatever discussion Rin and Kej had been having with their father before her and Holt’s arrival, the emotion so palpable Zylah could almost taste it. She didn’t address Malok. He had asked to see her, so she wasn’t about to make this easy for him, and as if the High Lord sensed this, he said, “You have another skillset which I find myself in need of.”

“I don’t think you’re in much of a position to barter with me, Malok,” Zylah murmured, eyes still fixed on the table, taking in all the changes and updates scattered across it. Rin and Kej shifted uncomfortably in their seats, and it was their unease that made her at last meet Malok’s stare.

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