Page 83 of A Legacy of Storms and Starlight

“I can pin it up for you, if you’d like?” Holt asked.

Zylah snapped her fingers. “Hairdresser!”

“Is that your third guess, Zylah?” Amusement flickered across his face, and Zylah’s toes curled over the edge of her stool at the way he said her name.

“No, I was just saying thank you, hairdresser. No pins today, good sir.” Zylah stepped away from the dresser and gave him a mock bow before sitting at the table by the window.

Some of the tension seemed to ease out of him. “You’d need two jobs to afford a room near the gardens,” he said, taking his seat opposite her.

Zylah picked at the canna cake he’d left for her. “You only have one job and you can afford this place.”

She waved a hand at the room. It was far from palatial, but she had a feeling that was more to do with his taste than his money.

Holt leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. The honey-coloured flecks in his eyes were luminescent in the morning sun. “That’s because I own the tavern.”

Zylah almost choked on a crumb. “The Pedlar’s Charm.You’rethe pedlar?”

The corner of Holt’s mouth twitched. “Isthatyour third guess?”

“No. So Arran, is he…”

“He’s an old friend. Besides, you know what I do. You’ve seen it first-hand.” He held her stare as he said it, as if he were waiting for her judgement. He was talking about the bodies in the tunnels. The members of the Black Veil.

Zylah looked out of the window. It was a clear day, and from here, she could see the purple and gold banners across buildings, ribbons hanging across the streets. If it hadn’t been for Arnir’s arrival, she’d have thought it a wonder to behold. Instead, the decorations were a constant reminder of what was coming, of what needed to be done. She turned back to meet his eyes. “I know what you do, but I don’t know why.”

Holt shrugged. “Does a baker know why he bakes?”

“You tell me. You seem pretty good at making canna cakes.” She shoved another piece into her mouth, wiping the crumbs off her hands.

Holt looked across the rooftops, taking in the sights of the city, Zylah presumed. “My sister taught me.”

“What was she like?” It was the first time she’d acknowledged that she knew his sister was gone, that he hadn’t been the one to tell her. But she thought he might like to speak of Adina, for her to be more than just a memory for a moment.

A muscle feathered in his jaw, and Zylah wondered if he would reply. “She was kind. She would do anything for anyone. She hated violence.” He recited the words as if he’d repeated them to himself many times, and Zylah knew why. She could see it in the pinch of his brow, the slope of his mouth. He had to be violent, likely had had to be violent more times than she could imagine for Marcus, for the uprising. All with the knowledge that his sister would disapprove.

“Why did you kill those members of the Black Veil?” Maybe it wasn’t her place to ask. But they were friends. And if he was in trouble, she wanted to help.

His eyes met hers. “They weren’t Black Veil.”

Interesting. They’d been wearing the uniform of the Black Veil. “But you killed them?”

He wiped some crumbs off the table, depositing them on his empty plate. “I twilight as a bounty hunter, it isn’t difficult to come across an array of assholes who deserve a worse fate than I gave them for what they’d done to others.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before? And why didn’t you tell me you’re a prince?” For some reason, she felt a flash of anger, adrenaline spiking through her veins. She had no right to be angry, not with him.

Something flickered across his face, but he quickly shut it down. “Would it have changed anything?”

It was Zylah’s turn to look away. It wouldn’t have, but she pushed aside the weight of that question. The lump in her back ached again, and she made a mental note to ask Saphi about it the following week. Maybe she might know someone who could help remove it.

“You’re staying?” Holt asked when she didn’t reply.

Zylah turned her attention from the window, watching the way he ran a thumb over the bracelet she’d given him. “I am.”

He met her gaze and drew in a breath. “I didn’t want it to be Raif. To be the one to kill Arnir.”

“Because you wanted it to be you?” Her anger flared again, and this time Zylah felt the flush in her chest.

Holt said nothing.

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