Page 66 of A Legacy of Storms and Starlight

“What happened to we always have a choice? He asked Raif and Rose to go with him. I can’t tell if it was out of concern or because he just likes to get his way.” It was because he wanted things on his terms; she already knew enough of Marcus to understand that.

“Marcus always gets what he wants, eventually.” Holt confirmed her suspicions.

She had no right to be angry. But Marcus had used Holt. To send a message to the Black Veil, he’d said. By having Holt kill them? People who were working for him. It was sick. Marcus was worse than Arnir. She stood beside the dresser, stroking Kopi’s head as he settled down to sleep. Holt had almost died. He couldn’t heal himself with the cuffs, couldn’t evanesce. Would Marcus have gone back to finish the job?

Holt cleared his throat. “I’ll be gone for most of the time between now and the festival. Raif will take over your training.”

“Why? Is it because of the life debt?”

“Yes.” He didn’t meet her gaze as he said it, and Zylah wondered whether there was more that he was hiding from her.

Maybe it was to keep up his façade with Arnir or to smooth things over with the Black Veil, or maybe it truly was whatever sick errands Marcus had him running. She waited for him to look at her, but he closed his eyes and squared his jaw. She’d struck a nerve, again.

It felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room, like they’d had a drawn-out argument over who went where.

“Very well,” she finally said. She flopped down on the lounger, pulling the blanket Holt usually used over herself, turned her back to the room, and willed herself not to cry. Not to think about what a mess this all was. She was angry, and he was the one who’d almost died. All because he’d been trying to protect his friends. Again.

“Zylah?”

“Yeah?”

“I like rule number seven.”

No dying on each other.

Zylah sighed. “Me too, Holt. Me too.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Holt was already gone when Zylah woke up. She walked to work, nibbling at the canna cake he’d left for her and working her way through the previous night’s events. She took a different route than usual, passing through the market to gaze absentmindedly at the stalls.

She’d decided the night before, lying on the lounger and listening to Holt’s quiet breathing in the dark, that after she’d worked with the uprising to take down Arnir, she wanted to hear their plans for Marcus. And not just for her future, but because she saw no point in replacing one tyrant with another. She may only have been half Fae, but her freedom was tied to theirs now, too.

And there was that other matter Zylah had been thinking about since she woke up—Marcus had asked about her eyes. Curiosity prickled Zylah’s skin as a woman selling scarves of every colour and pattern waved an emerald scarf at her, and she shook her head and smiled as she walked on. Tomorrow she’d go back to the forest for the jupe, she’d formulate a plan.

Jilah waved her over as she approached the goods entrance of the botanical gardens. He somehow looked older every time she saw him, and she frowned as she wondered if it was because of his bargain.

“Heard you saved Holt’s life last night,” the old man said, fastening his apron as she slipped off her cloak.

Zylah laughed flatly. “Word travels fast.” She wasn’t surprised. Holt more than likely would have sent a message in the night; Jilah was well connected. They hauled their boxes side by side, ducking under the wood strings and making their way to the second dome together.

“I suspect he didn’t like that much,” Jilah mused, handing her his top box of sun lilies that she’d almost finished planting in the terraced levels of the warmer dome.

She thought of how Holt had looked, lying too still on the floor of the chamber with his wounds still steaming, struggling to breathe. How the fabric of his shirt had fused with his wounds. It snatched at her breath to even think of it, and she hastily blinked the image away. “Not really.” She glanced around for something to focus on, noting the marantas needed their tops trimming back and added them to her list for after she’d finished planting the lilies.

Jilah sighed deeply. “Just like his father. His mother too.”

Zylah paused. “You knew his parents?”

“I served them for many years.” The old man stopped beside her, resting his pile of boxes on the pathway for a moment, rubbing at his back and lost in thought.

She thought back to when she’d told Holt she’d got the job at the botanical gardens. She’d asked him if he knew Jilah, and he’d said only in passing. But if he was trying to hide who he truly was, just as she had been, it made sense. “They were royalty. I only learnt that last night,” Zylah said softly.

“Not from Holt, I’m guessing?”

Zylah waited patiently for Jilah as he scooped up his boxes again. If she knew he’d agree, she’d tell him to leave them and she’d come back for them. Instead, she said, “No.”

Jilah waved a hand as if he’d read her thoughts, swatting her away. “Holt never thought much of the Fae monarchy.” He sighed again. “He was right in the end. Got them all killed.”

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