Page 71 of A Legacy of Storms and Starlight

Zylah staggered to her feet, Raif’s steadying hand at her elbow and finally cast her gaze around the room. Or rather, what was left of it. Sebastian was slumped over in the far corner, unseeing eyes gazing into nothing. Splintered wood and dust were scattered everywhere. The wall to the room had been blown open, and Zylah realised it must have been Raif that shoved her out of the way just as the explosion went off. Metal on metal clashed, bringing Zylah to her senses.

She reached for a dagger from her boot, just as two men charged at her and Raif, swords drawn. She tossed Raif her dagger, pivoting out of the way as one of the men aimed for her. Her hand was already around the hilt of a second dagger before she stood, her eyes tracking the poorly trained man swinging at her with his weapon.

Zylah’s head throbbed, but she schooled her focus on her attacker. He raised his sword again, and she thrust her dagger up and under his ribs, pushing him away and trying not to think about how many lives she’d taken since Jesper’s. This was not Arnir’s elite unit, Zylah was certain of that as her gaze settled on Raif. He swung at the first man, the hilt of the dagger meeting with his assailant’s jaw over and over until he went down. A shiver ran down Zylah’s spine at the sight.

Raif looked up and caught her gaze; his eyes had turned wholly black like they did when she’d seen him use his magic, and again Zylah thought of what it cost him. If he could channel his power into fighting. He swiftly looked away, assessing the tavern, or hiding his eyes from her, Zylah wasn’t sure which. As she caught her breath she took in the damage, scanning the debris for any sign of her eyeglasses; they’d come off in the explosion.

The tavern was in chaos; parts of the bar had been blown away entirely, tables were upturned, and bodies slumped awkwardly across the floor and the furniture as patrons struggled with swordsmen. Somewhere a woman was screaming, but Zylah couldn’t figure out where. Parts of the tavern smouldered, and a group of people were furiously trying to put out a fire on the far side of the bar.

She pulled up her hood, taking a step back as two men barrelled past her in a tangle of limbs, the king’s representative who’d just been about to introduce himself, grappling with a young man. A sinking feeling told her he was a member of the Black Veil, thatallthe assailants were, and Zylah couldn’t intervene. She took a step towards them, and Raif grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t,” he murmured, tugging her back. She wanted to leave, to take Raif and the young man away from there. But she couldn’t. And,gods above,the man she’d just killed had been innocent. Raif’s attacker, too.

“They’re Black Veil,” she said softly, turning to look at him, to brush him away.

His eyes had returned to their normal colour. “Liss, we can’t,” he urged, just as the king’s man’s sword pierced through flesh and the member of the Black Veil fell still. Zylah’s thoughts swirled into a muddy mess.

This was all wrong. Very wrong.

“Take this. My name is Ambrose; the guards will recognise my seal should the worst happen,” the king’s representative explained, shoving a piece of bloodied parchment into Zylah’s hands. The contract. “The tavern is surrounded, they’re trying to choke us out, but if we live, I’ll make sure the king hears of your actions here tonight.”

Zylah willed herself not to be sick as she shoved the contract into the front of her apron. He expected them to fight with him. He thought that’s what they’d been doing. Fightingwithhim, on behalf of the king. There was no time to argue; another stream of the Black Veil poured in from the street just as Eirik leapt over an upturned table and stood beside Ambrose, swords drawn.

It took every inch of Zylah’s resolve not to evanesce. She had to stay, but that didn’t mean she had to kill any of them. She tightened her grip on her dagger, dread coiling tight in her stomach. She held her position as more men than she could count burst through the door, and Eirik charged into the centre of them, sword slashing and swiping.

A young woman charged at Zylah, both hands gripped around a short sword as if she’d never held one before. The ceiling over the bar collapsed and the woman hesitated, giving Zylah enough time to knock her off her feet and grab the sword.

It was lighter than she expected. Just as Holt had said it would be. “Leave if you want to live.” She touched the tip of the sword to the young woman’s chest, flicking her chin towards the door. “Go.”

Zylah watched the woman scramble away, just as two men charged for her. She threw the sword aside to show she meant no harm, but it did nothing to deter them. She couldn’t defend herself without harming them, and even with her training, one dagger against two swords would not end well unless she made each strike count. She raised her dagger just as firelight glinted off the swords coming towards her and sucked in a breath.

It was Mala’s face she saw as those swords came closer, and Zylah froze, all the fight leaving her as the two young men charged. One swipe from either of them and she would be in ribbons on the floor, but she couldn’t attack them. Mala had tried to defend the humans, too, before she died.

Zylah closed her eyes, and when she opened them, Raif slammed into both men, knocking them sideways. He pulled his dagger from the neck of the first as he pushed himself to his feet, pivoting around to slice at the second. Neither man stood a chance. Three more attacked him, and he slashed and swung at them with preternatural grace. His eyes were black again, his shirt covered in blood, but he seemed oblivious to it, to anything other than cutting down their assailants one by one.

The young woman from before charged at Raif as he fought off the three men, and Zylah moved instinctively, bringing her dagger to the woman’s throat.

“Yield,” Zylah breathed, praying that she wouldn’t have to take another life.

The hostage made to move away, but Zylah pinned an arm to her back, the dagger still pressing against flesh. “Walk away.”

A man crashed into a table beside them as the woman reached for something, a weapon—Zylah couldn’t be sure, but she made her decision and plunged her blade into the young woman’s neck. The woman staggered back, clutching at her wound, surprise written all over her face. It wasn’t a weapon she’d been reaching for, but a piece of parchment that stained crimson as the blood seeped between her fingertips and she fell.

Zylah took a step forwards, but Raif tugged at her hand. “Liss, we need to leave now.” He pulled her away, but Zylah kept looking back at the young woman dying on the floor behind them, at the Black Veil missive clutched between her fingertips. She could have tried to heal her. The wound was far more severe than anything she’d healed before, but she could have tried. The thought settled, weighing her down.

“Liss, hurry,” Raif pleaded, all but dragging her through the tavern. The night air hit Zylah as he led them outside, through what must have been the goods entrance at the side of the building. “Now,” he whispered, and she knew he was waiting for her to evanesce them.

Zylah stopped, pulled her hand out of his and looked down at her bloodied dagger, swallowing down the acid that burned the back of her throat.

“Please. We need to leave.” Raif rested a hand on her arm, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. Didn’t want to see herself reflected in his eyes. A quiet groan pulled her attention down the alley to a man, slumped against the tavern wall, clutching something to his stomach. It was his intestines, Zylah realised with horror. And not just any man, it was Eirik. She couldn’t heal him, but maybe she could take away some of his pain.

“Liss,” Raif pleaded. “Nothing can save him. We have to get out of here.”

Eirik met her gaze just as she evanesced her and Raif to his room at the safe house.

Her dagger clattered to the floor as she stumbled, her back hitting the door. She registered the sound of running water as she stared at the dagger and pulled off her cloak and her apron. This wasn’t like Jesper. Or the men in the forest. Or the times Arnir’s unit had attacked. Those deaths were unavoidable. But tonight…

Her feet carried her to the bathroom, where Raif had peeled off his bloodied shirt and handed her a bar of soap. “Here,” he said quietly.

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