Page 63 of A Legacy of Storms and Starlight

Zylah had no plan. A handful of knives to defend herself, and only her evanescing to fall back on if things went wrong. Holt was ten times more capable than she was at both fighting and evanescing. She ran her hand along the edge of the door, feeling for the lock as she cast her gaze up and down the path. Her fingers grazed iron, and she pulled a pin from her hair and eased it into the lock, holding her breath. She rotated the pin slowly, getting a feel for the inside of the lock and the cylinders within it.

The hairpin snapped, and Zylah swore under her breath. She pulled another from her hair, this time getting down on one knee to press her ear to the lock, to listen to her hairpin tapping the tumblers, and turned, slowly.

The door clicked, and Zylah eased it open, praying it wouldn’t creak. She paused to listen to the darkness that stared back at her and held her breath. Only the steady drip of water echoed through the tunnels.

She took a deep breath, pulled herself to her feet, and stepped into the dark.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Kopi didn’t follow her into the tunnels. Not that she’d expected him to; they were no place for a wild animal. Stones lined the walls, and the air was filled with the stench of dirty river water. It was most likely sewage water, but Zylah cast that thought aside.

She could barely see anything in the dark and reluctantly brushed her fingers along the wall to guide her. The stone was damp and rough beneath her touch, but it gave her something to focus on. Something to distract her from considering what a stupid idea this was.

Going after Raif and Rose would have been the smarter option.Fight in numbers, her brother would have said. But they couldn’t evanesce like she could. She could get herself out of a tight situation if it came to it. Zylah took a deep breath. She really hoped it didn’t come to that.

The sound of a metal gate falling shut echoed through the tunnels. How far away, she couldn’t tell, but it had her pressing herself against the wall out of instinct. Not that it would do any good if there were other Fae down there with her. She listened in the darkness for a few moments before continuing until she turned a corner and the tunnel opened out into a chamber. It was divided in the centre by a channel that undoubtedly contained sewage and a questionable-looking plank of wood reaching across to the other side, where more tunnel entrances lined the opposite wall. A rat scurried across the stones on the far side, and Zylah was suddenly grateful for the dark, that despite her keen eyesight she couldn’t make out the details or see the water well enough other than to know it was there.

A groan echoed through one of the opposite tunnels, and Zylah reached for a dagger.

“Please. We’ve done everything you asked, please…” a man begged. A dull thud and the sound of a soft, heavy weight falling onto stone followed.

Zylah crouched down to inspect the plank crossing the filthy water, testing it with the toe of her boot and hoping it didn’t creak. It wasn’t rotten. Part of her wished it was; that would have been a reason for her to turn back. But she was past logical decisions now, down in the dark with nothing but the rats and whatever floated by in the sewer for company.

She crossed the plank and headed to the tunnel at the end of the chamber, praying to the gods that they would still welcome a stupid half Fae with open arms.Only they weren’t gods, she reminded herself. Her dinner with Raif felt like a lifetime ago.

A distant speck of light lit up the space ahead, and again Zylah crouched low to keep out of sight, dagger in hand as she rounded the corner. Stacks of wooden crates lined this tunnel, and for once, Zylah thanked Pallia for how short she was. Muffled noises sounded from up ahead, but it was still too dark and she was too far away. The tunnel opened up into another chamber, and she’d have to chance getting closer if she wanted a better look at what was ahead.

Zylah darted from stack to stack to get a closer look, the glow of an orblight illuminating the chamber as she approached. The damp air seemed to cling to her skin, the stench of the water settling into her clothes.

“I don’t appreciate doing grunt work, Holt. Next time get one of your scouts to do this.”

Zylah froze. It was Marcus.

“On your last visit you didn’t seem convinced by the numbers, so I thought you might like to take a more hands-on approach this time around,” Holt replied, his voice bored, disinterested.

Marcus laughed dryly. “You certainly have come through this evening. If this doesn’t send a message to the Black Veil, they’re bigger fools than I thought.”

The humans. Zylah chanced a look over the top of her crate, to see Holt haulingbodiesonto a table. Seven gods, what was going on here? Marcus stood watching, arms folded across his chest. As Holt turned back, he caught her gaze, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.Saynothing,donothing, his expression seemed to say.

A decoy for Arnir’s men; that’s how Raif had described the Black Veil. But both Saphi and Mala had voiced their reservations.The Black Veil work with us willingly, to bring down a corrupt king,Holt had said.

And Marcus was working with Arnir, that much Zylah had already worked out.The life debt.It’s how he got the scars.Zylah silently counted how many blades she had on her person to calm her quickening heart. Not enough. There was no doubting it, Marcus was powerful. Dangerous. She glanced up over the crate again, watching Holt pull another lifeless body onto a rickety wooden table. His look had been a warning. To leave. But she couldn’t.

She’d barely managed to glimpse the entire room before she had to duck out of sight again.

“Put these on,” Marcus said. His voice was commanding, it was the same tone Arnir used when he spoke to any of his servants.

Something heavy fell on wood.

“Vanquicite cuffs?” Holt asked.

Zylah had never heard of such a material.

“Just in case that self-preservation of yours kicks in and you try to evanesce yourself away before we’re done here.”

Unease settled like a stone in Zylah’s stomach. Marcus had made those scars down Holt’s neck and arm. Whatever power he possessed, something told her she was about to find out.

The cuffs clicked as if Holt were fastening them, and Zylah considered looking over the crate again, but a shadow against the wall told her Marcus had turned to face in her direction. She held her breath.

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