Page 10 of A Legacy of Poison and Lies

“To reclaim what they believe to be theirs. To become High Queen and King. To obliterate the humans once and for all. To control the remaining Fae and bend them to their will.”

Zylah hugged her knees to her chest, her voice falling to a whisper. “Why?”

“They always craved power. Always.”

She saw Raif’s death, over and over, Prince Jesper ripping into his neck like it was nothing, Raif falling to the floor. Raif was strong, but Jesper, he had been unnaturally powerful. An army of them… of vampires… it filled her with dread.

“What does Marcus want with me?”

Holt blew out a breath, as if he were debating his answer. For a moment Zylah thought he’d make some excuse, try to reassure her, but instead, he said, “Marcus covets Fae with unique abilities.”

“Covets…” Zylah frowned. Marcus knew she could evanesce, and she’d been warned on multiple occasions not to do it in front of others, not to let any Fae see that she possessed the ability. Her eyes widened as realisation settled in. “He wants to turn Fae with powers that are of use to him into vampires. For his army.”

Holt nodded.

Raif’s sister, Rose, had warned her Marcus was coming for her. Had she known why, too? Zylah had been in no state to ask… her departure from Virian felt like a bad dream, and she’d been reeling from Raif’s death, too far gone to stop and question any of it.

“Part of me wondered if Rose made it up, just to be rid of me after… after what happened.” Zylah couldn’t finish the sentence, coward that she was.

Holt dragged a hand through his wet hair. “Rose keeps many things close to her chest. But this… this time she was telling the truth. You caught Marcus’s interest the moment you evanesced from the gallows.”

“Aren’t you worried he’s going to have Jesper try to turn you?” She didn’t know the precise details of Holt’s relationship with Marcus, only that he seemed to be working off a debt that Marcus had tricked him into. At least with the spell, Marcus wouldn’t be able to track Holt, but the thought did little to quell her worries.

“He’d have done it months ago if that’s what he had planned for me. I can’t be found here.” He cleared his throat. “The water must be cold.” It was. Holt uncoiled to his feet, making for the door, his wet shirt plastered to his broad shoulders.

Zylah watched him go, willing the last dregs of her energy into holding herself together, to not allow herself to unravel completely in front of him. “Thank you. For sitting with me.”

He tapped the door frame as he left, and Zylah stepped out of the bath carefully. Her back ached from sitting for too long, and a spike of pain shot through her as her foot landed on the floor.

“Everything okay?” he asked from outside the door.

“I’m fine,” she said through clenched teeth.

He still hadn’t explained what he was doing there, how he’d broken away from Marcus this time. She dried quickly, pulling undergarments and an oversized shirt from the drawer and slipping it over her head before stepping out into the cabin.

Holt was at the sink, his back to her as he wrung something out in the water.

“That better not be what I think it is.” She rushed over to the counter where he was washing her filthy clothes by hand. “What happened to rule number one?”No touching Zylah’s undergarments.

Holt arched a brow, a corner of his mouth lifting momentarily. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Zylah flicked water at him before reaching for her soggy canna cake and settling down on the lounger. She watched Holt wring out the clothes and hang them around the fireplace, the fire already blazing. She’d missed the way he moved, missed sharing a room with him at the tavern. She’d missed having a friend.

“That shirt looks familiar,” he said, taking a seat on the floor opposite her, his eyes dipping to the garment for a moment. It was his.

Zylah shrugged. “There haven’t been many opportunities to go shopping for clothes.” The truth was, wearing his shirts had been a comfort, and on some nights, she’d convinced herself his scent still clung to them.

He was toying with the bracelet again, waiting for her to finish the canna cake.

“Tell me everything I’ve missed,” she said through a mouthful of cake. Gods above, she’d missed cake. If she didn’t know any better, it tasted like one of his own making.

“I’m sure you’re well aware by now that Marcus took Arnir’s position.”

King Arnir. Jesper’s father, the man responsible for sending her to the gallows, the man she’d escaped from after she’d killed Jesper. Or rather,thoughtshe’d killed him. And Marcus was far worse than Arnir. “The coronation posters are unavoidable. We replaced one tyrant with another,” Zylah murmured.

“He’s posing as a human,” Holt said. “Told the masses he’s Arnir’s cousin on his mother’s side and rightful heir to the throne.”

The prince couldn’t claim it, not after the world had mourned his death. Alone in the Kerthen forest, she’d promised herself two things: she was going to kill Jesper. And then she was going to kill Marcus, no matter what it cost her.

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