Page 17 of A Legacy of Poison and Lies

She reached into the cloth and discreetly slipped a few into her apron. “Who’s manning the safe house?”

“Zack. He’s our liaison between the Fae in Virian and the Black Veil.”

Zylah nodded, scooped up the canna cake and picked at a crumb. It made sense. Zack had been the King’s Blade before all of this started. He was well suited to leading troops, to training soldiers. The thought almost made her smile, her brother amongst that great hall filled with Fae.

“We’ll leave as soon as you’re finished eating,” Holt said. Zylah tilted her head to study him. Back in Virian she’d hated how she could never read him—never knew what he was thinking, and yet it struck her now that she’d missed the moment when she realised she could, the clipped edge to his voice now as he spoke: concern.

She rose from the table, pocketing the canna cake in her apron and wiping away the crumbs. “I’ll just gather up my things.”

“I could have wrapped that for you.”

“It’s fine, Holt. I’ve eaten far worse than a crumbling cake in the last six months.”

She could have sworn the air crackled for a moment, but he was quiet as she collected her things, and it suited Zylah. There had been a moment when he’d arrived outside her cabin that she’d allowed herself to be happy. But it felt impossible to hold on to that feeling. Like it was a betrayal to Raif when they lived and smiled and he didn’t.

Zylah fastened her cloak, Raif’s necklace safe in the pocket inside it. She couldn’t bear the weight of it around her neck anymore, or the feeling of her fingers brushing against it in her apron. She hadn’t told him how she felt. What he meant.

“Zylah?” Holt called to her from the open doorway.

“Mmm?”

“Ready?”

She glanced at Kopi, waited for the little owl to fly up to her shoulder, and silently followed Holt out of the tavern.

Even with two vials of tonic, the ride had been excruciating. But on her own horse, it was easier for Zylah to hide her discomfort. The new cloak was thicker, and though she preferred her old one, wrapped up in one of their saddlebags, she knew she was going to need the warmth in the days ahead.

“What do you know of Marcus’s source?” she asked Holt as they rode side by side through the dense forest that covered most of the fells, the horses unperturbed by the constant change in incline. Zylah was certain sprites watched them as they passed, but her father had always taught her that they were guardians of a sort, protecting the land, the waters, the little pockets of nature they resided in.

Marcus was old, ancient. Could his source be another Fae? If he and Aurelia were using Jesper to make an army, if they truly wanted to wipe out the humans living across Astaria, surely they’d be recruiting allies of their own, just as Holt was now.

Holt followed Kopi’s path through the trees, his eyes searching the shadows. “Very little,” he said at last. “I’m hoping an old acquaintance might be able to tell me more. Saphi suspects witches.”

“Witches?” Zylah straightened.There’s whispers of a witch in Varda, the priestess had said to her. Had it been true?

“Not just a thing of stories.” He knew her knowledge of the world was different to his. Not just because of the years he had on her, but because she’d been raised in Dalstead, where King Arnir had ruled with a heavy hand. Where even her father and brother had seen fit to keep her sheltered from the true nature of the world.

Her back throbbed as the horse missed a step, and she tightened the grip on her reins. “You truly believe they’ll be able to remove the vanquicite?”

“Saphi seemed hopeful if no one else has a healer skilled enough.”

Zylah was quiet, wondering just what Saphi had witnessed to make her believe that. It didn’t matter whether she had the stone removed or not. If she had a run-in with either Jesper or Marcus, Zylah doubted she’d survive the encounter. But she vowed to make the meeting worth it, no matter the cost.

“Travelling apothecary by day. Brawler by night. Are you going to tell me how you ended up in Varda?” Holt asked when she didn’t reply. There was a teasing edge to his voice, and she knew he was trying to pull her from her thoughts. Knew he knew her better now than probably anyone else.

“You mean you hadn’t heard of the Little Bird in Virian?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

The breeze picked up, twigs snapping under the horse’s hooves as they walked. Zylah could hear every insect and bird, but a shiver ran down her spine despite her reassurance.

Holt eased his horse to a stop. “We’re being watched.”

“Seems I lost the bet,” a voice called out from somewhere above them.

Three males swung down from the trees, all pointed ears and sharp eyes, bow strings pulled back and arrows pointed at each of them. Zylah reached for one of the pencil-thin daggers at her wrists, but Holt held out a hand.

“We’re here to see your High Lady.” Holt had lifted his deceits, his pointed ears poking through his unruly hair. Raw power seemed to pour from him as the veil lifted, two of the males baulking under the force of it.

High Lady.Zylah knew they were searching for allies but hadn’t known what to expect. “What bet?”

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