Page 91 of A Legacy of Poison and Lies

“Laydan stole the key,” Zylah said to herself, pushing up onto the bed to rest against the pillows. He’d been attacked in the tomb and almost bled out in Daizin’s arms. “Why?”

Holt placed the teacup on the bedside table, the bed dipping beneath him as he sat beside her, hands on his knees. “He was here when you brought us back from the tomb. Daizin asked him if he had the key. He said it was safe. And the next morning he was gone, the book too. He was a thief through and through.”

Zylah shook her head in disbelief. He’d fooled them all. “And Daizin?”

Holt blew out an exasperated breath. “Daizin looks like a man who just had his heart broken.”

Zylah thought of how they’d been together. Of Laydan taking Daizin’s face in his hands and teasing him lovingly. She barely knew Daizin, but enough to know the look in his eyes as he’d wrapped his arms around the witch and pulled him close. It was love.

Deyna said she’d managed to secure them a few more days at Malok’s court. Of course, he wouldn’t hand his army over without the key; the court would not be protected as he’d wished, and he wouldn’t part with the only thing he had left to defend it. Even if it meant sacrificing countless other Fae across Astaria.

It didn’t matter that Zylah had sent every item Cirelle needed for her ailment, of course, it wouldn’t matter to a male like Malok.

There was also the matter of Zylah’s evanescing.

That there were multiple witnesses, and if none of them could trace her magic, they’d have sent for someone who could. Malok would know it, too.

She thought of the thrall attack at Jora’s funeral, and the severity of her mistake hit her. But their spell could have covered it, couldn’t it? She desperately hoped it was the case—the Fae that resided within the court stood a better chance of defending themselves than the humans Rin and Kej had been hiding there.

“What did you mean, about the baylock tea?” Holt asked, watching her closely.

“I think it hurt them. The vampire and the thrall. Laydan had been drinking it too, and when the thrall attacked him, it recoiled. The same thing happened when the vampire bit me. But not to you.” Her attention fell to his neck, looking for any sign of the vampire’s teeth. It had mentioned Jesper to her with those same dead eyes the prince had looked at her with, as if being turned into a vampire had devoured whatever had been left of the soul beneath.

She repressed a shudder. “If we could get enough of it, administer it to the soldiers, it might not be much of an advantage, but it’s something.”

Holt arched an eyebrow. “More surprises.” His tone was teasing, but he didn’t smile.

Perhaps it was his exhaustion, but there was something else, something he was holding back.

Something had changed between them. Like he was being careful not to touch her too much, and a small, vicious voice inside her tried to whisper reasons why, but she snuffed it out.

“The tomb. It was for Ranon. One of the decoys, wasn’t it?”

There were fragments of thoughts, puzzle pieces Zylah knew fit together but hadn’t quite figured out how.

Holt dipped his chin in acknowledgement.

“The sigil the humans were wearing. I’ve seen it before, in a book Nye showed me. It was on the page with a drawing of Ranon’s tomb. Do you think… do you think Marcus’s source of old magic, Aurelia and the vampires, that it’s connected to Ranon, somehow?”

“I hope for all our sakes that isn’t true. But you were right about one thing: the priestesses. They must have been working with Marcus this entire time.”

Perhaps Marcus had promised them something; a place in his new version of Astaria, some position of power. Zylah shook her head. “And now Malok won’t hand over his army, doesn’t need to fulfil his end of the bargain, because we didn’t get the key. So, was Laydan working for Marcus, too?” She ran a hand through her hair, her fingers catching against the point of an ear, unfamiliar with the shape of it. “I’m sorry, Holt. I really wanted to do this for you.”

“For me?”

“Get you the key, before—”

“Before the vanquicite took your life?”

She searched his eyes, but there was no judgement there. “You knew?”

“I knew I was willing to do anything to not let it take you.”

She pushed up onto her knees and pulled his hands from his lap. “Thank you,” she said softly, willing her voice not to break. She thought of his admission back in the caves. Of how the words had spilt from him and felt her own admission bubbling up in her chest. Felt the air crackle between them as she remembered again what he’d done for her, her chest tightening at the thought. “I felt you. Even when I couldn’t speak. You brought me back.”

“Zylah.” He breathed her name like it was a prayer. Spoke it with such reverence, just as he always had as he looked at their intertwined hands, his thumb running over hers as if he’d allow himself just that one slip in his restraint.

But she could still sense resistance from him, as if he were trying to close up the layers he’d peeled back for her.

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