Page 5 of A Legacy of Storms and Starlight

This isn’t right.

She opened her eyes to a blizzard raging around her, felt the chill of snow rush through her clothes.

What happened?

She forced herself to her feet, trying to shield her face from the snow, but the cuffs weighed her arms down. Her heartbeat still thundered in her chest. She tasted blood. Her neck wasn’t broken, so at least there was that. But that didn’t answer her question, didn’t explain how she was standing in the middle of—

She spun around to get her bearings. White, as far as she could see in the dim grey. She could just about make out the snow-capped mountains beyond and… her breath snagged in her throat. It was a beacon. Not just any beacon, it was the exact scene from the picture in the Andells’ bakery, the flame bright orange against the stark white snow.Gods above.

She wiped an arm at the tears that had frozen to her face, trying to clear the snowflakes from her eyelashes to get a better look. It had to be the Rinian mountains, but how?

Snow soaked through her thin shoes and every part of her shook from the cold, her teeth chattering. She’d narrowly escaped death once; she wasn’t about to let herself die from frostbite.

Zylah urged herself up the snowy slope to the only landmark she could see—the beacon—as a fresh wave of panic hit her. She wouldn’t last long like this. She paused, frantically trying to squeeze her hands out of the cuffs, but it was no use, and she needed to keep moving.

Each step sank her into the powdery snow, piling in around her, the cold seeping into her bones. She stumbled, but forced herself back to her feet, narrowing her gaze on the beacon until it spiralled away from her, a rushing sensation tugging at her insides before she fell face first into the snow. Her apron and trousers were already soaked, all the way through to her tunic.

When she looked up again, she was only a short distance from the balefire, the pyre almost as tall as the king’s palace.

What is happening to me?

It wasn’t just the cold that had her trembling, the cuff chains rattling against each other. Her panic was all consuming, and she closed her eyes to try and steady herself. That strange sensation washed over her again, and when she opened her eyes, she was right next to the beacon, could feel the heat against her skin, the solid rock beneath her wet shoes where the flames had melted away the snow.

Okay. Okay. I can figure this out.

But she was too cold to think straight. She soaked up the heat from the fire, wishing she could bottle it somehow. Snow melted from her tunic and trousers; her cheeks began to flush from the warmth. Her teeth stopped chattering. But the blizzard still raged on around her. She couldn’t stay; it was unlikely the beacon was left unguarded. But she didn’t know where she could go, either. Or how long she’d last out in the snow.

As the chill began to ease from her bones, she forced herself to walk around the pyre, squinting out into the grey for any other landmarks. Her neck and throat burned from the noose Pockmark had slung around it. She tried to piece together the moments before she’d arrived out in the snow, but nothing made sense. A blast of heat gusted around her shoulders and Zylah shuddered. She’d survived.

Her braid had come loose, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Wisps of blonde hair brushed her cheeks as she surveyed the mountain range beyond. How big could a mountain range be? There was nothing but snow and rock as far as she could see, that, and the next beacon along the mountain range, a tiny fleck of orange against the white.

She thought of the way the trapdoor had opened beneath her feet. The way the rope had tightened around her neck. The way she hadfallen. A second longer and she’d have died. She pictured Kara’s face, tears streaming down her friend’s cheeks. She’d told her to look away, but she hadn’t. What did Kara think of her now? Or her father?

Zylah walked further around the beacon, sucking in deep breaths of icy air to calm herself. The blizzard was only getting worse, but there, in the distance, the expanse of snow gave way to trees. She tried to order her thoughts. She’d been the one to…travelthough she didn’t know how she’d done it. But it had been her, no one else. She could do it again. Get away from the mountains.

Zylah closed her eyes. Willed the world to fall away from her.

Nothing happened.

Shit.It would be dark soon. She couldn’t linger.

“Oi!” a voice called out from somewhere nearby.

Oh, gods.

She spun around in the direction of the voice. A young man, dressed in the uniform of the King’s Guard, and he was running right for her.

Zylah looked at the trees in the distance again and scrunched her eyes shut, focusing on the sound of her heartbeat drumming in her ears. “Comeon,” she whispered, her voice raspy. The feeling of the world spiralling had her coughing back bile until she stumbled, her feet landing in snow again.

She flicked her eyes open. Trees. Godsdamned trees. She’d done it. Zylah choked back a sob as she ran into the forest, tripping and stumbling in deep pockets of snow, the iron cuffs cutting deep into her wrists. She didn’t care. She was alive, and she wouldn’t stop running until she was dead.

She darted through the trees, jumping over branches andtravellingahead in spurts to whichever trees she could see in the near distance. Each time it was easier, the world didn’t spin; she didn’t stumble as much when she reappeared, but she didn’t know what happened in the space between two locations. One moment she was in one spot, the next she was in another. She didn’t allow herself to think about it either, because the light was fading, and soon she wouldn’t be able to see anything totravelto.

The scent of the fir trees and snow flooded her senses, along with the disturbed earth beneath her feet. The world was eerily still amongst the trees; every time shetravelledand paused, it was as if the world was holding its breath.

Zylah’s own breathing was ragged and broken, and she leaned forward to rest, drops of blood falling into the snow where the cuffs had sliced into her wrists.Find shelter. Warmth. Somewhere to rest.Her brother’s voice echoed in her head. It was one of the first things he’d taught her when he was training to be a guard.

A piercing howl cut through the still of the forest, and every hair on Zylah’s arms stood on end. Wolves. She was fast, but not so fast that she could outrun an entire pack. One lone wolf, maybe. But she doubted very much that the wolf was alone.

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