Page 37 of A Legacy of Poison and Lies

He could have met someone in the six months she’d been away, deserved to be happy with someone.

But she said nothing, just shoved aside the feeling that crawled along her skin, made her feel as if her bones were hollow and empty.

Holt held her sword, a bag slung over his shoulder, following her gaze, his brow pinched. “I’d prefer to dismantle it, but more magic is a risk.”

“Leave it. Let the sprites decide.”Get the stone removed.It was a dream, surely. But she’d heard Holt. Heard his voice so clearly, calling to her. The wildness in his tone.

She focused on keeping her breaths steady; closed her eyes and searched for the tiny ember she’d seen inside herself when Pallia had come to her, the spark of the person she’d been before her life had turned to shit. She didn’t want to die, but she didn’t know how to exist like this, either, and she’d fought not to let that feeling consume her in Kerthen.

Zylah was certain, if she truly could look inside herself, that there would be nothing left now but ash. Kopi landed on her shoulder, and with a heaviness she hadn’t realised had settled over her before, followed Holt across the snow.

Chapter Twelve

Snowblanketedtheforestas their remaining horse cut through the trees. One of their mares had been taken down by an Aster, and Zylah had kept her distance as Holt had gathered their things.

Pallia was a dream. She had to have been. Zylah shivered at the memory of it, of how real Pallia’s hand had felt against her cheek.

“We’ll be there soon,” Holt said quietly, easing her back to him, just a fraction, in the saddle to keep warm. He’d been quiet since they’d left the shelter. Distant. He’d lost a lot of friends, Zylah knew that. Her thoughts drifted to the way he’d carried her back to his cabin after she’d escaped from Arnir’s bounty hunter, of how he’d found her, stumbling through the snow.

“You broke rule number two,” he said over her shoulder.

This close, she could feel his deep voice rumble through her.

No hurting each other.

He’d said it the first day they’d met. And she’d known he’d meant it, could sense that he would never do anything to hurt her. It was those words that had helped to chip away a little of the lingering hold the prince still had on her, had made her feel safe in Virian. She’d never once doubted him.

“I didn’t know bargains could hurt if one party died.” Zylah still knew so little about her heritage, and the first opportunity she got she intended to rectify that.

Holt was quiet for a moment, the mare’s steady breaths clouding against the flutter of snow. “I’ll honour our bargain as soon as I can.”

“I know.” Zylah hadn’t put much thought into meeting her real family. Part of her didn’t want to know the truth. If they were gone, like her father, it would just be another loss she didn’t know how to find her way through. And if they weren’t, would they tell her the truth? Or would they hide it—lie to her as everyone else had?Hypocrite.She’d done nothing but lie since fleeing Arnir’s gallows.

The forest thinned out and they joined a dirt road, with only a few tracks visible through the fresh snow. The road was empty at this hour. No guard torches lined the way, but whether that was unusual for this part of Astaria, Zylah couldn’t say. A sharp wind blew from the Depths to the north, that much she knew from what she’d taught herself over the past few months, the frigid air biting at her cheeks.

“I’ve been trying to find a pattern in your abilities,” Holt said as Kopi landed on the mare’s head.

“Oh?”

“You’ve passed through wards; you can see through deceits. You blocked Thallan out.”

Zylah was grateful Holt couldn’t see her face twist in frustration. “None of those were very successful. The wards at the safe house… fine. But the deceits? I couldn’t see through them entirely, only a peek. As if someone had pulled back a layer for a moment, but only a small corner.” Kopi preened his feathers in front of her as she thought about it. “And Thallan… I didn’t keep him out at all. The second I let my attention slip from the vanquicite, he was in.”

She’d felt his presence in her mind as if he’d dragged his fingers across it. To some, Zylah supposed, it might have felt like a caress. But to her, it just felt like a violation. She shifted in the saddle at the memory of it, wanting nothing more than to shake off the feeling of him brushing against her thoughts. He’d been like a loose thread at the hem of a tunic; one tug and the whole thing would come undone. Zylah gritted her teeth at the thought, at the stark similarity between them.

“Did you notice anything in Kerthen?” Holt asked, as if he knew she wanted to change the subject.

It was inevitable, Zylah supposed, that she would become what she loathed the most. But she had no choice. “No. I only used magic once.” Through the light snow, Zylah surveyed the cluster of buildings up ahead, so few it could barely be called a village. The day had slipped away from them, and though she was hungry, the bitterness of her lie coated her tongue. She was just as bad as the rest of them.

Holt stabled their horse and led the way to the brightest of the buildings, a small tavern, the air thick and stuffy after they’d been so long out in the cold. Zylah took a seat in a dark corner, angling herself so she could keep an eye on the occupants as Holt spoke to the bartender about a room. She could imagine the discussion she’d have with him; she’d protest about taking the bed, and he’d tell her there was no way he’d let her sleep on the floor after she almost died.

For a moment she considered telling him how close she’d been. So close she’d hallucinated talking to agod—no, not a god, an original Fae.Blood of my blood, Pallia had called her, as all Fae were. Descendants of the original nine.

A lute player strummed his instrument beside the bar, one elbow dangerously close to a tankard of ale that would no doubt be topped up by another patron in thanks for a fine tune. Given the size of the village, Zylah wondered if every single one of its occupants was inside the tavern, laughter and chatter filling the air.

The lump in her back ached again, but rummaging through her bags for a vial might draw attention from those around her. Her eyeglasses had been lost during the Aster attack, so she kept her head down, her face angled away from the light as she watched the lute player, wondering if Kopi would be comfortable out in the snow and if Pallia had sent him, whether he even felt the cold at all. She shook her head at such a ridiculous thought just as a drunk patron knocked over a stool at the bar.

Normally a drunk would have been berated for such behaviour, but the barman didn’t pay him any heed. Zylah frowned, her gaze roving over everyone in the tavern.

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