Page 18 of A Legacy of Storms and Starlight

Fear clutched at Zylah’s chest.Dye your hair. Find some eyeglasses.She repeated the instructions over and over to herself to remain calm.

She released Holt’s arm and walked right up to the posters, tugging at the one closest to her.Calling all Bounty Hunters. Fugitive Fae wanted for the murder of Prince Jesper. Highly dangerous. Use caution. Bonus rewarded if the subject is brought to the king alive.She didn’t dare look up. What if someone recognised her? She felt for any stray hairs poking out of her hood, readjusting them as subtly as she could.

“How… it’s only been a few days, how are these already here?” Zylah swallowed. She wanted to tear off her cloak, needed to feel the fresh air on her face, but she didn’t dare.

Holt took the poster from her hand and slapped it back on the wall. “Arnir has trained eagles. They’d have been here before nightfall the same day you escaped. Let’s go,” he said, with a gentle hand to her back again.

They were silent as they walked the next few streets. Zylah didn’t hold onto his arm as he’d asked, and he didn’t reach for her either. Just as well, because she didn’t feel like hanging onto him like some desperate lover. She repeated her plan over and over, her thoughts drifting to the botanical gardens—she could try for a job there, or at the apothecary—a city of this size might even have two. But the botanical gardens interested her most. That was an opportunity to learn something new.

Holt said nothing of the poster. She supposed he probably believed it after she’d killed the bounty hunter back in the forest, and neither of the two facts seemed to bother him. He stopped at a wooden door and pushed it aside. Laughter and the tang of ale hit Zylah, along with the same smell that seemed to cling to all taverns and drinking houses: spilt drinks and sweat.

Holt’s hand rested lightly against her back as he guided them to the bar, where an old man cleaning a tankard with a filthy rag beamed at them as they approached.

“Holter, my boy!” The old man slammed the tankard down and wiped his hands on his apron.

“Holter?” Zylah murmured.

“Just play along,” he mumbled back. “I’ll be needing my room for a few nights, possibly longer,” he said brightly to the barman, tilting his head in Zylah’s direction.

The barman gave her a wide smile. “Of course, dear boy. It’s ready and waiting for you.”

“Do you bring a lot of women here?” Zylah muttered, heat rising to her cheeks as the barman winked at her. She was barely tall enough to rest her arms on the bar, not that she’d have wanted to, it was filthy, and whilst she didn’t mind getting her hands dirty, she saw no use in ruining Holt’s sister’s fine cloak.

“Can I borrow your map, Arran? I’ve got some deliveries to plan.”

“Anything for you, dear boy.” Arran hobbled to the end of the bar and returned with a scroll of parchment and a rusty key. “Keep the map, I have another. Breakfast at the usual time?”

Holt nodded and gave his thanks, steering Zylah away from the bar.

“Deliveries? Hmm, nice try, but I’m not going to waste a guess for that,” Zylah teased, but Holt didn’t reply.

They zigzagged between the busy tables, up a narrow wooden staircase and to the end of a dark corridor, until they reached a door that had once been green but had now faded almost entirely. Holt turned the key in the lock, and Kopi stirred again in Zylah’s apron.

She cast aside thoughts of being alone in the prince’s chambers.I won’t touch you… you don’t have to be afraid of me.Holt’s words played on repeat. He’d had plenty of opportunities before now if that was his intention.

He ushered her into the room, closing the door behind them, and for the first time since entering the city, Zylah removed her hood and looked around.

A large, neatly made bed covered in a green blanket took up most of the room. A threadbare grey rug covered the floor, wooden side tables, a lounger like the one back at Holt’s cabin, a few pieces of furniture in the same style as the side tables, and in the corner by the window, a small table and chairs just big enough to seat two completed the interior. About as fine as Zylah would expect for a tavern… but he’d referred to it as his.

The light was fading fast, and outside, lamps had started to flicker on. Zylah resisted the urge to look out of the window just yet, in case someone recognised her still.

Holt had sat on the end of the bed, spreading out the map and Zylah’s hands shot to her mouth when she took in the distance they’d travelled.

“Oh, gods. How did we get so far from home? My family, I didn’t expect to be so far away from them.” Kopi stirred in Zylah’s apron at her outburst, and she gently reached for the owl to check on him.

Holt sighed. “Better for them that you are. They’ll be safer this way.”

She saw the prince’s blood pooling on the floor of his bed chamber and scrunched her eyes shut for a moment. When she opened them, Kopi blinked up at her from her palm and made a quiethoothat sounded more like a purr.

“You seem better,” she said softly and set him down on the chest of drawers before pulling her hood back up. “Thank you for helping us. You saved us.” She stroked his head, and the little owl made another quiethoo. “Are you well? Can you fly now?”

Holt cleared his throat behind her. “He can’t understand you; he’s an owl.”

Zylah waved a hand at him dismissively. “Can you fly, little one?” she asked, turning back to Kopi.

Kopi stretched his wings out, flapping them once, twice, three times.

“See,” Zylah said pointedly, glaring at Holt. “He gets it.”

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