Page 23 of A Legacy of Storms and Starlight

She marked the details of the street; the tailors opposite, the streets that ran off of this one.

“If you get lost, just look for the old bell tower.” Zylah looked up at the tavern as Holt pointed. “It’s lit up blue at night, you can’t miss it.” He held nothing to deliver, but she knew it was just as likely to be words or information as it was to be wares.

Not that it mattered. Holt had explained himself to her, and despite her reservations, she trusted him. Better that he looked at her like a little sister than the way Jesper had.

“Perfect.” She looped her arm through his. “Now to find myself a job because my husband doesn’t get paid well enough to afford my fine tastes.” She brushed a hand against an invisible crumb on her cloak as she looked ahead.

The banter came easy. It smoothed over the cracks, helped her shove down her feelings. Her fear. Everything with Holt had an ease to it she’d rarely experienced. And for a moment, she could almost pretend she hadn’t just left her life behind. For a moment, she could pretend she wasn’t wanted for the murder of the prince.

And for just one moment, she could pretend she’d made the right choice.

Chapter Ten

After Holt pointed out the direction of the two apothecaries in the city, Zylah wasted no time heading straight for the botanical gardens. The domes were impossible to miss.

Once she’d made it off the side streets, Virian’s main streets were wide and lined with leafy poplar trees. Regal buildings of grey stone housed shops and restaurants and theatres. Zylah took her time studying each one and committing landmarks and street names to memory, all the while trying to look as if she’d always belonged there. Nothing drew the attention of unwanted eyes faster than someone who looked lost. She’d learnt that the hard way on more than one occasion back in Dalstead.

She had her dagger tucked in her boot, but as soon as she could save up enough money, she intended to find some bracers. She’d customise her own if she had to, but she’d feel better when she could have a knife on each forearm. Zack had been promising to bring her some from Arnir’s armoury for months, but she’d always turned him down because she wanted to pay for her own.

Her dagger under her pillow back home was the only thing she’d managed to save up for herself, and she pushed aside thoughts of the home she’d never see again. She’d have to ask Holt where she could get some weapons.

Zylah puffed out a breath as she ducked past a woman carrying a bucket on her shoulder. She flexed her fingers in an attempt to shake off the unease that had settled in her, worrying her lip as she realised finding a job in a new city might not be as easy as she’d hoped. What if it put her more at risk of being discovered? What if her new boss gave her away? She swallowed back the lump in her throat, dismissing the thought.

“Papers! Get ya papers!” a pedlar cried out on the opposite pavement, individuals ignoring him as they stormed by on their way to work.

The first dome of the botanical gardens seemed to grow larger as she approached, and she realised just how much she’d misjudged the size of the gardens. The sound of marching feet cut through the familiar racket of the city, and Zylah willed herself not to look up, to keep her pace steady and not to change direction.

It’s just a patrol. Just a regular morning patrol.She’d seen them do it enough times in Dalstead to know it was commonplace. Still, it took a few moments for her heartbeat to return to normal.

Light bounced off the glass dome as she made her way to the entrance, not letting herself be put off by the fact that the ticket booth was closed and didn’t open for another hour. That wasn’t the way she’d intended on going in anyway. On this side the glass was tinted a dark blue, and although Zylah had never seen anything like it, she suspected that this close to the entrance it was just for the spectacle of it. As far as she knew, only clear glass would be beneficial for the plants, but she made a note to ask someone about it later if the opportunity arose.

She followed the glass wall around a curve until she found what she was looking for: a delivery entrance. A scruffy child carried a pile of boxes twice his height, and Zylah padded silently behind him.

“Can I help you with those?” she asked, stepping into place beside him as he made his way inside the dome.

Zylah didn’t wait for an answer, just took the top three boxes off the child’s pile, revealing a small face swamped almost entirely in a mop of dark hair.

“Um, thanks.” The boy blew a piece of hair out of his face as he looked up at her.

“Oh! Maranta cuttings!” Zylah examined the contents of the top box she held. “How wonderful, they’ll love the conditions here.” The heat was already sweltering under her cloak, but she’d expected as much from a glasshouse. She breathed in the familiar fragrance of the maranta cuttings, staring open-mouthed at the plants before her.

This might have been the delivery entrance, but it did not disappoint. Weeping eye trees lined the pathway, their broad, waxy leaves holding dew droplets and shading tillaries beneath them, the distinctive bell-shaped flowers easy to spot anywhere.

“Beautiful tillaries, they’re wonderful specimens.” Moss not unlike the variety she’d snacked on at the springs lined the beds beneath it all, the earthy scent filling her nostrils.

“So um, who are you?” the boy asked as he shuffled alongside her.

Zylah had almost forgotten he was there.

“Kihlan, who are you talking to over there?” an old man’s voice called out. A hand pushed aside some hanging bead vines and a wrinkled old face followed.

Zylah cleared her throat. “Good morning, sir. My name’s… Liss. Beautiful tillaries. And these marantas are truly wonderful.” She placed her boxes down beside Kihlan’s and brushed her hand against her cloak before offering it to the old man. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Jilah,” the old man said by way of introduction. “You’ve met my son. My daughter’s around here somewhere.” He shook her hand lightly, his skin rough, likely from years of tending to the garden. He wore a dirty black apron over a dark green tunic, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and beige trousers with dirty patches on each knee.

“Is this… are you the owner of the gardens, sir?” Zylah asked, noticing new plants every time she looked.

“I am.”

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