Page 6 of A Legacy of Poison and Lies

Zylah didn’t care.

She’d been hit in the face enough times. She didn’t expect to come out of this unscathed and this was her only hope of making enough coin to survive the winter.

Outside in the makeshift arena, the crowd clapped their hands, shouts filling the air as they began stomping on the ground, faster and faster.

Just like her racing heart.

In the dim light, Zylah saw Raif’s death play over in front of her eyes. The way Jesper’s fangs sank into his neck. The way he slumped to the floor. She met the stares of the three fighters, eyes fixed on her, trying to intimidate her.

The truth was, she gave away whatever coin she made and food she found because she felt it was her tithe to pay. Truth was, she didn’t think she’d walk away from this at all.

Chapter Three

Thefirstfighthadbeen over almost as soon as it started. He’d been nothing more than a trader, and it had taken Zylah only a few well-timed moves to get him on his back, begging for her to release the arm she’d twisted back.

The crowd had roared at her success, the sulking trader pulling out of the remaining fights, muttering that he wasn’t made for violence.

The two remaining fighters had eyed her warily after that.

She circled the ring, doing her best to ignore the cheering crowd. Some whistled and shouted Little Bird, but Zylah blocked it all out.

Rain had begun to fall in fat droplets, splattering into the dirt. But Zylah wasn’t worried. She was short and light on her feet, and it would only work to her advantage.

Her opponent was the mouthy one who’d taunted her earlier, the wannabe bruiser with muscles she’d suspected were only for show. She missed the name the ringmaster had called out for him, the sound of the crowd drowning out everything but her heartbeat and her ragged breathing.

Wannabe grinned as he wiped rainwater out of his eyes, slicking his hair back to his head. “I said I’d try not to touch your face. But I make no promises.”

He lunged for Zylah, and she ducked, swinging away from his outstretched arms. She swiped a leg at his feet, but he’d been ready for it, rooting himself to the spot. Mud coated her hands, and she wiped them against her sides.

“Come now, Little Bird,” Wannabe taunted. “You’ll need to try harder than that.”

She ran for him, all the breath rushing out of her as he slammed her into the ground. Eyes closed, she could smell his rank breath on her face and rolled out of his grip, pushing herself to her feet.

The rain came down harder, and Zylah welcomed it. She landed a blow behind his knee, one beneath his ribs.

He caught her cheek with an elbow as she spun away from him. But she was biding her time.

She spun again, waiting for his anger to spike.

Wannabe spat a wad of phlegm to the ground, smearing mud across his face with the back of a filthy hand.

“I thought you’d be more of a challenge,” she said with a smirk.

That was enough to rattle his ego. Wannabe ran for her, but his steps were less sure in the mud. As he reached for her, she ducked, but instead of pivoting away, she slid through his legs, springing to her feet to land a kick on his back before he turned around. He fell to his knees, fighting for purchase in the slick mud. The brute fell on his face and Zylah circled, waiting for him to haul himself out of the mud as she stood before him. It was too pathetic to watch. He managed to push himself back up to his knees, just as Zylah landed a kick right between his legs. The crowd cheered as he fell, chanting Little Bird over and over.

Zylah barely had the chance to catch her breath before Wannabe was dragged out of the ring, replaced by the last fighter, announced only as the Wolf. Gods above, the ringmaster must have been from out of town with his taste for theatrics. If Zylah had known she was walking into such a spectacle she might have reconsidered.

Of the three fighters, the Wolf was the only one she’d been concerned about, and he eyed her now as if he knew it. She imagined how she must look to him, gasping for breath and covered in mud, a wild look in her eyes that he might have mistaken for fear.

He’d have had no way of knowing she’d taken more than one life. No way of knowing what she was responsible for… that it wasn’t a young woman standing before him, but a monster. They circled each other, and she observed the way he held himself, the way he turned to his right, his strongest side, the way his eyes roved over her, conducting his own investigation.

More than half of his head was shaved, fine tattoos running in lines from his hairline, down the sides of his face, over his ears and onto his neck. His hair was like knotted rope, fastened high at the back of his head, thick strands spiralling over each other and down to his back. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he continued his assessment.

The crowd seemed to hold their breath, their cheers easing. Or maybe it was just the rain quelling their enthusiasm. Her opponent moved at the same time she did, and Zylah sucked in a breath, stomping down on the shred of apprehension that had begun to push its way to the surface.After, she told herself. After, she could worry all she wanted.

The Wolf swung a punch at her, but she dodged it easily.Did he just wink at me? Gods. He was leaner than Wannabe, a little shorter too, but he was light on his feet. He seemed less like a starving trader and more like a skilled fighter who moved from town to town to fill his pockets. As he swung for her a second time, Zylah had a feeling that was precisely what he was.

Her foot collided with the back of his knee and his fist drove hard into her ribs. She staggered back but he yanked at her sleeve, landing another blow to the side of her face.

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