Page 93 of A Legacy of Storms and Starlight

The archer was silent for a moment. “You knew my brother. Eirik. I’m Oz.”

Eirik. The king’s representative who’d died during the Black Veil’s attack in Virian. A blade glinted in the moonlight. One of the thin blades from Zylah’s bracers. Oz inspected it carefully. “I always told him he was a fool for serving in the King’s Guard. Told him he could still work for the king as a bounty hunter. But he said it wasn’t honest work. Wasn’t honourable.” He laughed dryly. “There was nothing honourable in the way I found him, half his guts hanging out on the streets of Virian. Will you deny that was your handiwork? Or one of your friends?”

He pointed the blade in Zylah’s direction, his eyes on hers, and even in the dark Zylah could see that they were a dull brown, just like the rest of him. Dull brown hair that looked as if it hadn’t been washed in weeks, filthy beard, and drab clothes in varying shades of brown and tan, all patched up in places by a skilled hand.

That didn’t bode well for a bounty hunter, and it was that small detail that set the hairs on the back of her neck to standing. Not that he’d removed her weapons and her boots whilst she’d been sleeping. Not that he’d threatened Zack. Bounty hunters were usually brutes: brash and clumsy. All muscle and nothing much else. And in Zylah’s experience, the only people who could stitch with such a steady hand were tailors or undertakers.

She cleared her throat, saying a silent prayer to Pallia that in a previous life, Oz had been the former. “Nice to meet you, Oz. And no. It was the Black Veil that killed your brother. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Oz’s shoulders moved as he chuckled and pressed her blade into the dirt at his feet. “The thing about Fae is, Liss…”—he reached into his coat pocket, rummaging—“…you’re all a bunch of fucking liars.” He ceased his search as if a better idea had struck him, and instead reached for something at his feet, resting it in his lap. It looked like a coiled piece of rope, but then Oz picked up the thick end and coiled the rest of the material between his hand and his elbow in a practised movement.

Seven gods. It wasn’t a rope. It was a whip, moonlight glinting on the spurs of metal studded through the end. Zylah sized him up. She might not be stronger than him, but she’d be faster than him. And even with her hands bound she knew she could get him off his feet, she was confident enough in her training that she could do that. But then what? If she made it to the blade he’d shoved into the dirt, she couldn’t wield it properly, not with her cuffed hands. She had no pins in her hair and nothing tucked in her apron, with the exception of a few dried leaves as always.

The faintest cry of an owl carried to her through the hole in the rock, so quiet Oz couldn’t have heard it. Kopi. He must have followed the cart. Oz cracked the whip on the ground beside her, and her attention snapped back to him.

“I hate liars,” Oz said calmly, winding up the whip again. “Cal will be here at sunrise. You’d better hope he’s got good news because Delilah here has been itching to taste flesh again.”

Shit.Zylah swallowed. “You named your whip?”

“She’s got a real thirst for Fae blood.” Oz lovingly ran a hand along the leather, like the whip was a pet, a terrifying grin stretching across his face.

Zylah didn’t dare move. Didn’t want to show any second of weakness to this asshole.

“Sit,” Oz commanded.

Zylah blinked and then did as he asked. She couldn’t do anything that might put Zack in more danger.

“Sunrise,” he said. Zylah didn’t want to know what would happen if Cal didn’t bring good news, or whatgood newsmeant for her. She couldn’t lean against the rock; it was too cold. And she certainly wasn’t going to lie down and go to sleep. So she sat there, eyes fixed on Oz, hoping she could stay awake until morning.

Cal didn’t bring good news at sunrise. Arnir hadn’t been interested in the new price Oz had offered him, and Cal suspected they’d only have a few days before Arnir’s elite unit were sent after them. All of this Zylah heard from within the cave, as Oz and Cal spoke in hushed voices. Her brother was still alive. She’d almost cried when Oz had asked about theLittle Blade. Cal left, and all Zylah could do was sit and wait.

A day passed, and another. There had been no news. No word from Cal. Oz’s spell was beginning to wear off because Zylah could hear the shuffle of his feet, could smell the stench of his clothes. The smoke from a fire. And something else. Tea. More than a week old, but it made her dry, cracked lips sting even more than they already did. Oz had given her a crust of bread on the second day, and half a cup of ice-cold water, but nothing else.

On the third day, Oz’s spell had worn off entirely, and she could hear his sigh of dissatisfaction when he took the last sip of his tea. She stared out of the gap in the rock from her place in the dirt as she listened to his footsteps coming closer.

“You know,” she said, every movement of her throat hurting. “I make excellent tea. I’ve been working in a tea shop since I arrived in Virian.” Oz was quiet, but he took up his position opposite her, his hands running along the length of Delilah.

Zylah didn’t let the movement distract her. “The best black tea in Astaria comes from the Rinian mountains.” She flicked her chin to the hole in the rock and waited.

Oz sighed. “I’ve looked nearby. Can’t find any.”

Zylah tilted her head back and sniffed. “I can smell some. Under snow, but it’s there.” She couldn’t. Not from this far away. But she knew she would be able to as soon as she was outside, and she just needed to figure out where she was.

Oz unfurled Delilah and then wound her up again between his hand and his elbow. “Walk. Any horseshit and I won’t bother to whip you, I’ll just wrap Dee right around your pretty little neck.”

“Understood.” Zylah made it to her feet without wavering; only the gods knew how. She hadn’t left the cave since they’d arrived, and she was frozen stiff from sitting in the dirt, even though this was the warmer season. She wished she’d had her cloak. Still, she was about to step barefoot into snow, so she supposed it had been good preparation.

Oz led her through the tunnel. It was further than she’d realised, but the light ahead of them was bright as soon as they turned the third corner. A sack leaned against the opening to the cave, beside which was a pan and a few rudimentary supplies. The bastard had been cooking. And right beside the pans were her boots.Asshole.

Zylah staggered forwards a few steps and fell into the snow, shoving handfuls against her mouth and letting it melt against her tongue.

“Up,” Oz grunted, yanking at her arm when she didn’t listen.

Somehow, Zylah made it to her feet. Gods, what she wouldn’t give for her cloak. Cold snow bit into her bare feet, and she was certain if she didn’t keep moving, she might lose a toe. She looked up, pretending to sniff for the tea leaves, but instead used the opportunity to take in as much of her surroundings as she could. Not that she could see far. They were up high, and everything was grey. An expanse of forest lay below them, but it was too far to make a run for it without her boots.

Not that it mattered. If her plan worked, Oz would be lying face down in the snow before long. She caught the smell of some tea shrubs. Faint, buried beneath snow, but nearby. “This way,” she said, pointing to a patch of snow beside a rock.

Oz flicked his chin, threading Delilah through his hands, but Zylah ignored the threat. Either he was going to whip her or he wasn’t. She didn’t have time to dwell on it. She fell to her knees where she hoped to find the shrub, scooping away the snow with shaking hands. She loosed a breath when she caught the first sight of green. “See,” she said triumphantly, beaming up at him. She tore up what she could with her cuffed hands, pushing herself to her feet. She was soaking. Her feet were numb, her fingers were numb. But this was the only idea she had.

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