Page 67 of A Legacy of Poison and Lies

Zylah stepped into place beside Holt, following him through a doorway into another room, furnished with a few chairs arranged around a low table and a bench beside the arched window.

Holt said nothing, and neither did she. He led her out onto the balcony, and she knew as the silence stretched, he was pissed.

“Are you this fucking stubborn you’d rather sit through an entire meal suffering in silence than ask me for help?” he said at last when they were far enough away from the others. He kept his voice lowered, but there was no doubting how angry he was, the restraint he always held in place slipping away. “Turn around,” he added roughly.

“No.” The word came out small, breathy from the pain. It was too risky. If he knew the truth, there would be no going with him. No getting close to Marcus or Jesper.

“Don’t argue with me, Zylah, turn around.” His eyes flashed, challenging her, but Zylah didn’t fight him. He knew she didn’t have it in her.

She rested her hands on the balcony wall, looking out towards the ocean, and he stepped into place beside her, one hand on her lower back. Zylah felt herself sag with relief as magic poured from him, and Holt shifted closer, his arm wrapping around her waist, taking her weight as she leaned into his side.

Slowly, the fire in her veins receded, a quiet sigh escaping her. She felt Holt relax too, taking more of her weight like it was nothing, tucking her into him a little tighter.

His familiar scent wrapped around her, soothing her, and she could feel his heartbeat gradually slowing where her head rested against his chest.

“This place is stifling,” he said at last, his voice quiet and rough.

“You feel it too?” Zylah asked without looking up at him, not yet ready to move away even though the pain had dimmed to a hum. The best she knew it was going to get.

“I was sent here every winter as a boy to train with Jora. I couldn’t wait to leave. But now…”

She looked up at him then, at the way his gaze fixed on the dark horizon. “I wish I’d appreciated those moments a little more.”

Zylah knew all too well what that felt like. “I always wanted to see the world. But I never stopped to think that one day my father wouldn’t be in it. For all his talk of legacy, I don’t think I ever really thought about death. And now…” It felt as if her days were made up of the what-ifs and the whys. What if she’d never stayed in Virian? Why did her father have to suffer for her actions? What if she hadn’t poisoned her captor’s tea, and instead succumbed to the lashing he’d given her?

Holt’s fingers flexed across the fabric of her dress, his touch like a brand where his power still flowed from him. “What else did Pallia tell you?”

“What?” Zylah asked, twisting away to look up at him better. He pulled his arm away slowly, as if he knew she didn’t need any more magic from him, but he was worried about doing it too quickly.

His attention fell to her shoulder, to the loose strands of hair that had fallen across it before his eyes met hers. The gold from earlier had dimmed, but the green was as bright as the forest leaves in spring. “You said she came to you when the Asters attacked, but you didn’t say what happened.”

“You believe me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“She told me to get the vanquicite removed.” Zylah chewed her lip. “I told Cirelle. Not about Pallia, I mean. Just about the vanquicite. She’s sent word for a healer from her court to help me.” She didn’t tell him that it was too late. That it didn’t matter who Cirelle had sent for.

“You healed her daughter. She owes you a debt.”

Zylah said nothing. No Fae healer would be able to use their healing abilities and touch the vanquicite without it nullifying their powers, she felt certain of it. The thought urged her to look away, to not let her eyes reveal the truth to him.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Zylah. We’ll get the vanquicite removed.” Holt gently eased the hair off her shoulder, his skin warm and rough where his fingers swept across hers. His brow pinched together for a moment as he pulled his hand away, as if a little more of the restraint he always showed had slipped unintentionally.

She hated that she would be another friend he had to lose. Another person in his life he’d feel responsible for. Her attention fell to his wrist, her fingers brushing against the leather bracelet she’d given him before she even realised she was doing it. The silver bell sat nestled between the leather strands, still shiny, as if he touched it often. “Do you always wear this?”

“I never take it off.” His eyes searched hers, and Zylah felt herself lean into him. Felt the pull that always drew her to him, wherever he was in a room. She hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on it, had always made herself stay away, afraid of that same pull she’d felt the first day they’d met when she was running from Arnir’s men. Holt had made it clear that day too; he wouldn’t touch her. But she knew, now. He’d said it for her.

It isn’t right to want them both, Rose had told her once. And even then, the guilt of being with Raif and feeling this… whatever this was between her and Holt, had kept her awake on countless nights back in Virian.Monster, a small voice whispered to her.

Holt’s gaze dipped, but he remained so still she wasn’t sure he was breathing, as if he was waiting for her to decide what she wanted, as if he knew the war raging in her thoughts.

“Imala’s tits, this evening is dragging!” Rin’s voice carried from the door, and Zylah took a step back, her eyes darting to the Fae and her brother. “At least dessert is worth waiting for.”

Kej’s attention flitted between Holt and Zylah, a wide grin across his face. “I think these two might be skipping dessert.”

Holt’s hands slid into his pockets, his impassive expression back in place as he acknowledged their arrival, but he didn’t take a step away, as if he couldn’t bring himself to do it just yet.

Zylah broke away first, cold air rushing into the small space between them. She took the glass Rin handed her, eyeing the fizzing liquid inside. “So how do you pass the time here in winter? Is it just endless days of training and evenings of food and wine?”

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