Page 13 of A Legacy of Poison and Lies

Holt still wasn’t wearing a shirt, his dark brown hair tousled and messy from sleep.

He angled his head to listen. “Stay down and out of sight. If she sees you without your injuries, it’s going to raise some questions.”

He had a point. Zylah sank into the lounger, listening as Holt opened the door.

Sasha clapped her hands together. “Seven gods, look at you. I told her you were coming for her, but she didn’t believe me. How is she?”

Gods. Zylah pressed a hand to her face, her cheeks heating.

“Sleeping soundly.” She could hear the amusement in Holt’s voice, could picture the dazzling smile he was giving Sasha, arms folded across his chest. That was shirtless.Oh, gods.

Something rustled. Paper. The scent of pastry wafted into the cabin. “Give this to her. She’ll need to keep her strength up.”

Zylah felt her skin would set on fire with embarrassment as Holt huffed a quiet laugh. “I will, thank you. We’re leaving soon to visit her brother. Liss wondered if you’d like to use her cabin while she’s gone. You’d be doing her a favour, really.”

It was exactly what she’d intended to do, and a smile tugged at her mouth that he’d thought of the same thing.

“In Pallia’s name! Old Sasha would be honoured. Take care of her, won’t you, my dear?”

Gods.She was never going to hear the end of this.

But Holt’s voice had no trace of humour as he said, “Always. The key will be above the door waiting for you.”

“Gods bless you.”

The door clicked shut, and Zylah threw her arms over the top of the lounger. “I feel like I should explain.”

Holt handed her the knishi and pulled his shirt from the fireplace, tugging it over his head. “It’s fine, Zylah. She meant well.”

But he didn’t look at her as he said it, and Zylah could have sworn there was a hint of sadness in his tone. She bit into the knishi as he filled the kettle. “Would you like some?” She could barely stomach a few mouthfuls.

He held out his hand, a brin fruit appearing in it and he took a bite. She waited for him to say something but when he didn’t, she asked, “We’re leaving today?”

“Unless you have another fight booked in?” He looked at her through long lashes as he took another bite of his brin fruit.

Point taken. Zylah held his stare as she forced down another mouthful of the knishi, legs folded on the lounger. For a moment he seemed lighter, as if whatever weight had settled over him had lifted. But then the kettle whistled, and Holt pushed to his feet in one smooth movement, silently moving around the kitchen. She grabbed her clothes from around the fire, glancing around the cabin and making a mental note of what to take. Not that she had much. The sword he’d given her, a few other weapons. Her pestle and mortar were too useful to leave behind, even with magic on their side. She’d have to leave her books, but most of them were Sasha’s anyway.

Zylah flexed her fingers, anticipation turning the pastry over and over in her stomach at the thought of being able to use her magic again. To practice, at last. She’d never truly had the opportunity back in Virian, and yet… A thought tried to push its way to the surface, but she shoved it down and snuffed it out before it could fully form.

Holt handed her a steaming mug, the smell of alea blossom and honey drifting around the cabin, his gaze roving over her stacks of books. “We’ll need to travel light, but if there’s anything that’s too much to carry, I can send it back to Virian when I send a note for your brother.”

“I still need to learn that trick.”

“I can teach you, if you’d like.”

“I’d love it if you taught me everything about magic. My knowledge is… limited.” Raif had always hesitated when the topic of magic came up, as if he were keeping her at arm’s length. She traced her thumb around the rim of her mug, unwelcomed memories rushing in.

“Raif’s magic always haunted him,” Holt said, as if he’d read her thoughts. “He could take the very essence of a person and turn them to ash.”

It was the first time she’d heard Raif’s name in so long, and she willed herself to keep breathing at the sound of it. “Can you do that?”

Holt drained the last of his tea. “I’ve never tried. That kind of magic takes its toll over time, but it’s like a drug… You want to feel the rush the more you use it.”

Zylah was quiet at that. Raif had explained to her once, at the festival of Imala, that his magic cost him.

“I was taught that all Fae magic comes from the original nine,” Holt told her, as if he knew her thoughts had carried her somewhere else. “Much of it was raw, savage. Dark. But it’s been diluted over the centuries. Some of it is still good.”

“I thought you didn’t believe they were Fae?”

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