Page 17 of A Legacy of Storms and Starlight

Holt moved out of the shadows first, ushering her to follow him. “Why is it so important that you know?” he asked, the moment she was beside him again.

“Because I like to figure things out for myself,” Zylah mused, her gaze fixed ahead on another caravan, an old man sitting at the back of the last wagon staring back at her.

“Asking me doesn’t really count then, does it?” Holt had moved his sword to a sheath at his waist, his fingertips dancing over the hilt as they walked, eyes darting about the crowd.

One of the carts must have been carrying livestock, and as the breeze picked up, it carried the stench of confined animals and dung towards them in a warm gust.

Zylah waved a hand across her face. “Fine, I’ll keep guessing.” She would figure him out, she was determined to.

“You only get three guesses. And you’ve used up one with baker. Two left,” Holt said with a smirk, watching her waft the stench away.

There was something so familiar about walking beside him. As if they’d done it before.Good gods, Zy, listen to yourself.Kara’s books had finally started to affect her. They fell into an easy silence as they joined the queue shuffling into the city across a great cobblestone bridge so wide Zylah couldn’t see off either side. All she could see was the perfect blue sky, not a cloud in sight.

Holt tensed beside her. “Keep your hood up and loop your arm through mine.”

There was still a bite in the air here, enough to warrant her keeping her hood up, anyway, not that she’d confess to him that she’d had any intention of taking it down. “Oh, good sir, you flatter me.”

“Just do it,” Holt muttered, but not unkindly, holding his arm out for her to take.

Zylah hummed in agreement as she looped her arm through his. It was difficult not to press against him with the height difference, but she managed to keep an inch of space between them. “I must look like your child beside you.”

“Papers, get your papers ready!” a guard called out at the gates.

Holt swallowed. Was he worried about getting her inside the city? “You… most certainly do not.”

“Most certainly? What’s that supposed to mean?” She chanced a look up at him, but if he felt her gaze, he didn’t glance down, just frowned and looked ahead to the gates.

Other people seemed to be paying for entrance to the city, but Holt merely nodded at the guards as they passed, dropping Zylah’s arm for a moment and pressing lightly at her back as they stepped through the gates. His warmth flowed through her clothes, but as soon as it was there, it was gone, and she felt the cold draw in immediately. When she didn’t move to reach for him, he looped her arm through his again to keep them moving. The guards hadn’t asked him for papers… which meant he could have been someone important, or perhaps he’d just bribed them… Zylah ran through options, but she wasn’t ready to waste another guess just yet.

Kopi stirred in her apron as if the sounds of the city had woken him, but he made no move to scramble for freedom. The main street from the gates was a wide expanse of cobblestones, paler than those on the bridge, some with dark patterns Zylah had never seen before. There were too many people to get a good look at them; there were people everywhere. The two caravans had come to a stop, and an argument had broken out up ahead.

Holt tugged her down a side street, too narrow for wagons but just as bustling. She wanted to look up, to take everything in, but didn’t dare. She kept her gaze to the cobblestones, to the feet of the people walking by, listening to the sounds of chattering and laughter, to pedlars pushing wares as they pressed on. Different aromas drifted to them as they walked, and Zylah struggled to keep up with Holt’s irritatingly long strides as she slowed to take in each new scent; this one, a florist, she smelt the venti lilies before she saw them, purple and in full bloom in wooden buckets along the pavement. She didn’t dare look any higher. “This is so different to Dalstead.”

“You walk like someone who’s had a lot of practice being invisible,” Holt said quietly at her side.

She glared up at him. If she stabbed him here in the street, no one would notice, would they? “You’re just full of compliments today, aren’t you?”

“Why?” Holt asked.

“Why what?”

“Why are you so good at hiding yourself?” He glanced down at her for a moment, before his attention went back to, well, everything else.

“I learnt not to draw attention to myself from a young age,” she admitted as the scent of freshly baked bread carried to her. The noise and the aromas were overwhelming, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Holt.

“And yet you only just discovered you’re half Fae?”

“So you tell me, oh wise one. Hunter?” It was a long shot, but he observed the world like a hunter might watch its prey.

“One guess remaining,” he mumbled. Was that a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth?

Zylah could play this game. “I’ll figure you out, Holt, you’ll see.”

Holt didn’t answer; he had stopped beside her and gone utterly still.

“What is it?” she asked, chancing another look up at him.

Even Kopi was stirring as if he wanted to peek out of her clothes. Holt was staring ahead, jaw clenched, and she followed his gaze to a patch of posters plastered against a wall. There were posters for shows, musical productions, even a botanical garden—that alone under any other circumstances would have had her jumping for joy—but right beside them, dotted in every space, were wanted posters, with a rather too close for comfort rendering of her face.

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