Page 40 of A Legacy of Storms and Starlight

But the sense of foreboding she’d felt earlier still lingered. How long could she go on hiding in Virian, how long could she push her luck? It felt unwise to dance with fate, to toy with the time she’d been given, time that stretched out before her in a way she still hadn’t truly grasped.

Raif’s words played on repeat as she fastened her hair in a messy bun above her head.The king is a fool and the sooner he’s disposed of, the better all of our lives will be.

Zylah couldn’t agree more.

Chapter Sixteen

After a second training session with Holt, every step on the way to work had sent searing pain through Zylah’s body. By the late afternoon, she hid by the waterfall in the first dome to stretch her aching muscles, working through what he’d taught her. It hadn’t even been a full one-hour session, but after the previous day, it was enough. The roar of the water drowned out everything else, the smell of wet rock and moss flooding her senses. Holt had been quieter than usual, but so had she, focused on absorbing as much of his teaching as she could. On improving.

The humidity of the dome helped her a little with the aches, but she still rested a hand on the wooden rail beneath the waterfall, her arm thrown over her head to stretch as gently as she could. Her pruning shears banged against her knees through her apron pocket, but she was busy sifting through all the information she’d learnt in the last few days.

“I know an excellent technique to ease muscle tightness,” a voice said from behind her.

Zylah spun around, the pruning shears already in her raised hand, ready to strike. Raif leant against a tree trunk—part of the support structure for the waterfall—his blue eyes lit up with amusement, one of those irritating dimples already visible as he bit back at a smile.

Even if it was all a front, as Saphi had suggested, Raif seemed to be enjoying himself. Techniques, indeed.

“I’ll bet you do.” Zylah didn’t put away the shears though, not yet. She’d wounded him once; she’d do it again if he overstepped.

Raif raised a brow at the shears. “Hoping to wound me two days in a row?” He pushed off the tree, closing the distance between them. Zylah had barely even blinked and he was in front of her, far too close for someone she’d only just met. She tilted her chin back to look up at him, at the amused expression that still danced across his face. His mint and lemongrass scent drifted from him, mingling with the wet rock and moss.

“No,” she murmured, following his gaze to her raised hand. She took a step back, returning the shears to her apron. She needed to phrase her request carefully about alternating her training. If she showed too little interest in combat training, he might deem her a waste of time for the uprising, too unreliable.

“Pity,” he said softly, his eyes flicking down for a moment before settling back on hers. “You said you wanted to learn more about your Fae heritage. I hear the grotto has perfect acoustics at this time of day.”

Gods above. He was relentless. But if he knew how ridiculous his lines were, he didn’t let it show. Zylah wondered if he even cared.They make you laugh, that’s enough for me.Maybe he did have a good heart.

The humid air suddenly became stifling, and she resisted the urge to tug off her apron. “You love to hear yourself talk, don’t you?” Zylah finally asked, pushing past him to walk down the ramp that led out of the dome. Kopi’s quiet hoot told her he was watching close by, but she still scanned the gardens for any signs of… well, anyone else.

She caught Raif watching her but refused to catch his gaze. She’d never stop looking over her shoulder, checking the shadows for any signs of Arnir’s men. She knew the moment she did would be the moment they’d take her. A quick glance at Kopi told her nothing was amiss. She could barely distinguish his head from his body; if he was perfectly at ease, she should be, too.

Raif fell into step with her as she made her way down the narrow path to the grotto. “How about an information exchange. You already know a little bit about me. If you want me to trust you, tell me about yourself.”

She paused to look up at him, one hand on her hip. “I know nothing about you, other than that you’re an arrogant bastard.”

That godsdamned dimple made an appearance as his gaze drifted from Zylah’s hand to her face and back up again, slowly. “You know I have a sister. Do you have any siblings?”

Did they count if she could never see her family again? “A brother.” Zylah pressed on to the entrance of the grotto, hidden amongst the bushes. “Well, he’s not my real brother. I was adopted.”

The cool air of the grotto enveloped Zylah as she made her way to the rocky window that overlooked the pond. Jilah called it a lake, but it was far too small for that.

“Interesting.” Raif rested against the opposite side of the window, nothing more than a cut-out in the rock, and Zylah tried to hide her surprise as she saw the tips of his pointed ears for the first time. Like Jilah and the children, the grotto revealed his true appearance. His eyes were brighter, his movements even more fluid, as if he kept the way he moved through the world a secret.

Zylah realised she’d been staring, grasping for the first thing that came to mind. “Rose and Saphi, they seem…”

Raif chuckled. “They are very into each other, yes. But it’s a good thing. Rose and I don’t always see eye to eye, and Saphi acts as a… buffer.”

“Why?”

Raif looked out to the water. “I was good friends with Rose’s mate. Before she rejected the bond. It drove him mad. Saphi found her after the first uprising, lying in the mud with one leg missing, and saved her life. The rest, as they say, is history.”

There was so much information packed into those few sentences. Kara had often spoken of Fae having mates, had made Zylah read enough of her books about them. Zylah had always laughed it off. Kara was the romantic one out of the two of them, that was certain. And as for the rest, about Rose and Saphi… it didn’t seem right to ask Raif about their story. “Do you have any other family?”

“Our mother is dead.” He turned his attention back to her, those cobalt eyes dimming a little.

“And your father?” She was pushing her luck. But she wanted to know more about him—she wanted to trust him.

Raif folded his arms across his chest, and the movement reminded her of Holt. “We try not to speak about our father. For fear that it summons him.” He laughed quietly. “And you? What of your adoptive parents?”

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