Page 33 of A Legacy of Storms and Starlight

Alone.The implication was there. Maybe he wasn’t part of the uprising, after all. She’d decided against telling him about Raif, for now. There was nothing to explain, yet. Raif hadn’t agreed to or acknowledged anything—for all she knew, he was just dragging her along to occupy more of her time.

Zylah’s thoughts were interrupted by the wall of weapons before her. It truly was a training room. Practice swords, swords of different lengths, knives, staffs, and weapons she didn’t even have words for each had their own section along the brick wall, a wooden rack holding each.

Orblights cast their soft glow across the bloodied mat that covered most of the floor. In the far corner, a wooden door led elsewhere.

“What if he comes back, Holt? What if he was one of Arnir’s men?” Zylah asked, resting her eyeglasses on a lip of brick and looking up at him once more. She could find somewhere else to stay, now that she had a job. But she didn’t want to.

“He won’t. He was dealt with. No one will disturb you here again.” He watched her the way he always did, as though a caged animal sat just beneath his skin.

Dealt with. He could have caught her assailant leaving the tavern. Zylah had seen Holt with a sword, the way he moved; it was enough to know precisely whatdealt withmeant. She couldn’t say she was sorry for the intruder. And she believed Holt when he said there would be no one else.

“We’ll start with training swords,” he said, throwing her a wooden sword. “Just to warm up.”

Zylah had only ever used a training sword, and she wondered if he’d remembered that she’d told him that. She felt the weight of the weapon in her arms, took a split second to work out if it was suitable to use one-handed, and spun around Holt to try and land the first blow.

He pivoted out of the way, bringing his sword down to meet hers with athwack. “Good, use your size,” he said, taking a step back, completely unfazed. “Again.”

She lunged again and again, and each time Holt commented on a way to improve her stance, to hold her sword, to observe his movements.

“Try not to give so much away,” he said after a while when she was already huffing and puffing.

Zylah wiped sweat from her brow. “So much of what?”

“Everything. Your face, your body. You give everything away when you attack. I know precisely where you’re going to lunge for me each time because you look right at the exact spot. Imagine yourself walking through the city unnoticed, like the day we arrived in Virian.”

Over and over he had her try to strike him until she was exhausted and bent over her knees to catch her breath. She hadn’t landed a single blow.

“We’ll stop there for today,” he said, tugging the practice sword away from her. He’d barely even broken a sweat.

Zylah watched him place their weapons back on the wall as she snatched up her glasses, twirling them with her fingers. She followed him back out to the tavern as her breathing steadied. “It wasn’t just fighting, if you recall. I want to know more about my Fae heritage. About what I can do.”

Holt unrolled the carpet over the trapdoor in silence. He led the way back up to their room, handing Zylah the bag of laundry that was waiting for them beside the door with one hand and picking up their tray of food with the other.

Coming back to the room, knowing she didn’t have to move out, was a bigger relief than she’d ever admit to Holt, and yet still, it irritated her that she couldn’t depend entirely on herself.

Kopi was still fast asleep as Holt set the tray down on their little table.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as Zylah pulled a face.

“There’s no canna—”

A brown paper bag appeared in Holt’s hand. Zylah sniffed at the air. “Did you just steal that?”

“Zylah, how little you think of me still. Ialwayspay. The baker will find the correct amount in his till.” He held a hand over his heart in mock offence and winked.

Ass.

Zylah bit into the warm cake, her eyes closing at how good it tasted. “I’m still waiting,” she said, through a mouthful of cake.

Holt looked at her over his cup of tea, and she wished she had the eyeglasses on to give herself an extra layer of protection from the intensity of his stare. “What do you want to know?”

Zylah wiped the crumbs away from her face, resting her cake on the table. “Are the gods truly Fae?”

“So they say, if you believe them.”

“Don’t you?” She watched the way he drained his cup, the way he piled his eggs on top of his toast.

“The gods never came tomyaid or to any who needed them. So no, I don’t believe they are Fae. I refuse to believe they watched their own people suffer.”

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