Page 41 of A Legacy of Poison and Lies

“That bastard held on for as long he could. Kept saying he wanted to live to seeit, whatever the fuckitwas.” Rin watched as Kopi flew down to Zylah’s shoulder. “He never made much sense a hundred years ago when you were around this way more, so you can imagine what we all made of him lately. Everyone thought he was a mad old goat. But seeing you turn up, today of all days, maybe he wasn’t as mad as we all thought.” Rin nudged Holt’s elbow with her own.

“Or he just let you think he was mad,” Zylah said quietly, following Rin and Kej beyond the thickness of the trees to the snow-covered rocks beyond them.

She’d taken the horses from Holt to let him walk ahead with his friends.

“Fuck me, she’s sharp, this one. I like you.” Rin glanced over her shoulder and flashed a grin.

“Thanks. I’m sorry about your friend.” Zylah didn’t meet Rin’s eyes as she said it, coward that she was. But a funeral… she tried to keep her breaths even and steady, to focus on putting one foot ahead of the other.

“Grandfather.” Rin sighed. “He was a good man. Holt can attest to that.”

Holt nodded. A moment of silence settled over them, and Zylah wasn’t about to try and fill it. She knew where their thoughts would have taken them all. Where hers had taken her. She pressed her fingernails into her palms, letting the pain ground her.

“Is it true what they’re saying about the vanquicite, Holt?” Kej asked after their path cut deeper into the rocks and angled up a slope.

In the snow, it had been difficult to see much ahead of them, but now Zylah could make out the rock face looming above, the way the path inclined alongside it. They were heading up, and she hoped her huff of breath would pass for physical exertion rather than surprise at Kej’s words. Any talk of vanquicite could only mean trouble.

Holt said nothing at Kej’s question, pausing only to help Zylah ease the horses up the rocky slope. Zylah held her breath, wondering if she should press him.

“We heard they’re mining it,” the male added. “But for what?”

“An army.” Holt rubbed a hand against the end of the scar on his neck. He hadn’t told her about the vanquicite mining.He still doesn’t trust you. An army of vampires was terrifying enough. But armed with vanquicite? No wonder he’d wanted to find Marcus’s source of old magic. The scales were severely off balance.

They stopped ascending, the path levelling out to a platform, rock curving around it until they reached a heavy wooden door, so discreet Zylah would have missed it had she not stopped before it.

Rin swiped a hand across the dusting of snow and tapped her knuckles on the old wood. “Open the door, Nye. You know it’s us.”

“You have visitors,” a female voice called out.

Kej rolled his eyes. “You know who he is, too.”

“And the girl?” Nye asked.

“My name is Zylah, and this is Kopi. The horses don’t have names, but you can name them, if you’d like.”

Rin and Kej flashed their identical grins.

“Did my cousins tell you to say that?” Nye’s voice was flat, stern.

“No.” Zylah stroked the horses’ noses one by one, waiting for a response.

A sigh. “Fine. Come in, we’re going to be late if we don’t hurry.”

The door creaked open, snow blowing into the darkness beyond. Nye had been standing in the dark, Nye who… stepped out of the shadows as if she hadn’t been whole moments before. As if she’d been part of the shadows beyond her. Zylah thought of the cheating Fae she’d fought back in Varda as wisps of shadow recededintoNye’s body.

She had the same rich brown skin as her cousins, but where their eyes were silver-grey, hers were a deep amber, almost golden. Her black hair reached to her shoulders in tight spirals, sectioned with gold rings, and like her cousins, she wore fine clothes; funeral attire, Zylah now realised, but hers were a deep red. A sheath sat snug across her chest, laden with knives, completely at odds with the rest of her outfit. She looked Zylah up and down as if she were sizing her up. She likely was, given her position at the door and the blades on display.

Nye reached up to the wall beside her and pulled an unlit torch from its sconce. “I always said you were useful for something,” she muttered, handing the torch to Holt with a half grin.

“Good to see you again too, Nye.” There was no embrace this time as Holt took the torch, the tip sparking to life almost immediately.

Nye stepped to one side to let them in, shadows flickering against the walls in the torchlight. “Jora will be grateful you’re here to see him into the afterlife.”

“I’d have preferred to have seen him before,” Holt said flatly, leading the way into the darkness.

Afterlife. Zylah had never believed in it. Had never let herself hope it might be real. As a child, she’d been taught the gods welcomed those who were good into the afterlife with open arms, but even then, she’d seen it for the lie it was. No one was good in Dalstead. Only her family, all of whom had turned out to be liars.

And Kara.

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