Page 68 of A Legacy of Storms and Starlight

Holt would be with Marcus by now. What if there were more punishments? The others didn’t seem worried, but they hadn’t seen what Marcus had done the night before. She took another sip of water, hoping to drown those thoughts out, too.

Zylah tried to stay present as she ate, to take part in the conversation. But her thoughts kept drifting, no matter how much she willed herself to focus. Rose and Saphi were already clearing their empty plates away, their food long since eaten when Raif flexed his fingers through hers.

“Where are you?” he asked softly.

Zylah blinked at his fingers through hers and met his gaze with a frown. “Here.”

The corner of Raif’s mouth twitched. “Fine. I’ll rephrase. Where did you go? Because it wasn’t here with us.”

Zylah shook her head. “I’m sorry, I… I was thinking of my family.” It was an easy lie, well, half-lie, really. Being there, hearing about how Holt was their family. It had made her miss her own. Her father, her brother. Kara. She had to believe they were safe, that nothing had happened to them after she’d left Dalstead, but some days that was easier than others. Missing them had become a permanent ache that she’d learnt to live with, a memory that she was trying to work out how to carry with her, even if she could never return.

Raif urged her to follow him as he pushed away from the table. “Come with me, I’d like to show you something.”

She was quiet as she followed him down the staircase, wondering how Kara had been doing in the time she’d been gone, what books she’d been reading. Raif pushed open the door to a room. A bedroom, with a large bed with dark red sheets, and beyond it, an entire wall of books.

Zylah sucked in a breath as she took in the sight. The door clicked shut, but Zylah’s focus was on the small library before her.

“You said you read a lot. That day we went to the forest. I thought you might like to borrow a book or two,” Raif said beside her.

Zylah ran her fingers across spines, noticing some titles she recognised, others she didn’t. Several were in different languages, and some were old, older than anything she’d ever seen. Her fingers paused as she read:Song and Shadow. She leafed through the pages, but they held an unfamiliar language, symbols and markings she couldn’t read, had never seen before. She turned to Raif and took his hand. “I would love that. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry our evening got cut short last night.” He wrapped his arms around her, his warm breath caressing the soft shell of her ear as he spoke.

Zylah tilted her head up, her lips close to his. “You were an excellent distraction, as promised.”

“I can distract you again, if you’d like.” Raif brushed his lips over hers. “I can be whatever you need.”

Gods above. She wanted to. But those memories of Jesper were lingering behind her eyes. “And if I just want to sleep?” she asked quietly, her gaze fixed on his mouth.

“I make an excellent pillow.” He stepped out of their embrace and sat back on the bed, patting the spot beside him.

Zylah laughed, reaching for the fastening to her braid and easing her hair down as she watched him puff up the pillows for her. She settled onto the bed to lay beside him, and for a moment unease washed over her, the sound of her heart loud in her ears.

“How do you like your pillow?” Raif asked, scooping an arm under her and pulling her close, wrapping his other arm over hers and resting a hand on her stomach. Zylah bit down on her smile.

“Insufferable,” she murmured as she closed her eyes.

“Liss?” Raif whispered a short while later when the haziness of sleep was already pulling her under.

“Mhmm?”

“Holt isn’t your only friend in Virian.”

He couldn’t have known what it meant, to let her know she wasn’t alone in the world. But Zylah couldn’t bring herself to admit that to him. Not yet. That ache, that longing for home, eased a little as she settled into Raif’s arms and let sleep take her.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Aweek later, Zylah had settled into her new routine. Work at the gardens kept her busy, and each day after work she’d train for a few hours with Raif before dinner. No matter how exhausted she was, training was the only thing keeping her nerves in check. She walked everywhere, always glancing over her shoulder like she had in those first few weeks in Virian, and was grateful for the weight of Saphi’s knives pressed against her wrists and tucked into her boots. The festival couldn’t come soon enough.

Zylah was lost in her thoughts as Raif’s practice sword came down hard against her own. “Your eyes are getting brighter,” he said as she dodged his strike.

“You’re just used to looking at me through the eyeglasses.” But it made her think of Marcus, questioning Holt in the tunnels about her eye colour. She’d seen nothing of it in the books she’d been reading from Raif’s library.

She’d been hoping to find some writings on Fae history, but all he had were novels—stories of adventure, of heroes exploring the world. Between pages, Zylah had begun to wonder if her real family were out there, if they still lived. Did she have the same eyes as her mother? Her father? Did she have siblings? Were they living somewhere, in safety? She could look for them. No matter how long it took, she would look for them.

With every blow, she saw her freedom, her new life stretching out before her. In just over two months, she’d have it. Raif’s sword clashed with hers, and she gritted her teeth against the force of it. He didn’t go easy on her, and that only encouraged her. But their training had been limited to the physical kind, much to Zylah’s disappointment. “When will we practise magic?”

“Magic should be practised somewhere it can’t be tracked,” Raif said, swinging around to dodge another of her attacks.

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