Page 29 of A Legacy of Poison and Lies

The Fae laughed. Cocked his head to one side. “You don’t eat. I’m fairly certain you don’t sleep. I might not be able to get past that rather impressive shield of yours, but anyone need only take one look at you to know you’re damaged goods.” He clicked his tongue. “You walk around like you’re broken.”

Thallan’s green jacket was dishevelled, his blond hair a little ruffled, and he ran a thumb over the rim of his glass as he waited, watching her through his eyelashes. Zylah knew it was the wine. Knew it was probably the news of Raif’s death, of hearing updates about his rejected mate that fuelled his words. But looking at him, slumped over his glass, at the way more venomous words were waiting to spill over, she couldn’t blame Rose for rejecting him. Not one bit.

“Naughty,” Thallan said, waggling a finger. “That, I heard.”

“Heard what?” Holt took a seat opposite, the gods knew where he’d just emerged from, and Zylah took it as her cue to leave.

She felt his attention on her as she looked at Thallan and said, “It’s been a long day.” Zylah didn’t wait for a response as she rose from the table. From either of them. Didn’t let herself think about the two awful conversations she’d just had as she made her way to her room and slid between the sheets… that seemed to be infused with the aroma of cloud violas and plumeria.

Music and laughter carried over the sound of the waterfall, the fiddle growing to a crescendo and faeries cheering. Zylah felt none of their joy, none of their elation. She felt nothing at all.

You walk around like you’re broken.Thallan’s words snaked their way into her thoughts as she focused on the sound of the waterfall rushing past the cut-out in the rock.

What if I am, she’d wanted to ask him.

Because she knew the truth. Felt certain he knew it, too, had seen it in that moment he’d heard her thoughts. She was broken and hollow, and she let the emptiness swallow her up as sleep claimed her.

The other half of the bed was still empty when Zylah awoke, and she brushed aside any thoughts on the matter before they had a chance to fully form. She skipped breakfast, opting instead to sit beside one of the pools at the base of the largest of the falls, the only place in the court that didn’t feel too stifling.

The water was cool and clear, and some faeries bathed in one of the smaller pools, giggling as they washed each other’s hair. Zylah wasn’t sure how there were waterfalls on both sides of the rock, whether one was some piece of faerie magic, or perhaps several.

The court felt like it was neither inside nor outside… simply contained in whatever strange magic stasis Mae had concocted. Zylah couldn’t wait to leave. Two nights in that strange court and she already felt trapped, she didn’t know how the others could stand it.

Okwata and Ahrek approached, and Zylah attempted to conceal her frown.

“I can see your tail again,” she murmured to Ahrek as his deceit seemed to shift and bend for a moment before it was gone. “You’re not from here, are you?” The first Fae were not from this world, but not too long ago, Zylah hadn’t even known the Fae still existed. Ahrek and Okwata could be from anywhere in the world, for all she knew.

Ahrek looked to Okwata as he said, “We fulfilled a promise, and our… reward to ourselves was to travel. But being simple observers is not really in our nature.”

A deflection.

Fine, her question had been rather pressing given how little they knew each other. “And what isin your nature?”

Okwata took Ahrek’s hand and squeezed lightly. “Fighting for something better. Whatever that may be. Wherever we may be. Marcus is not the first king we’ve helped to topple.”

An offer. What assistance they could provide, Zylah wasn’t certain yet. But they’d had that strange book and seemed to know far more than they’d let on. Marcus was looking for the book that was missing from Raif’s library, the twin to the one Okwata possessed. A story for another time, he’d said.

“Where are you from?” Zylah asked, opting to be more direct this time. If they could truly help, now was the time to ask for it, before she and Holt were to leave and move on to whatever lead Maelissa had given him.

But before Okwata could answer, something cracked. Followed by a snap. A faerie cried out, and the air in Zylah’s lungs turned frigid as the sound registered. A whip. She didn’t wait for Okwata’s response, didn’t wait to hear the whip crack again, didn’t consider the consequences as she felt herself slip through the aether, moving through the court to the source of the sound.

And reappeared between Maelissa and a lesser faerie.

Zylah’s chest heaved as she took in Mae’s raised hand, whip ready to strike, the faerie prone before her, back already split open from the metal claws in Mae’s whip.Shit.She’d evanesced in front of the entire court—had been taught not to expose to anyone that she could do that, not even Fae.

She crouched low and touched a hand to the faerie’s shoulder, letting her healing magic pour into him as his breath caught.

“How dare you,” Mae seethed. Her lip curled into a snarl and her arm reached higher to wield her whip again, but Zylah didn’t flinch, didn’t move from the faerie whimpering beside her.

She opened her mouth to speak, just as vines erupted around Mae, wrapping around her body, twisting over her arm and around her wrist, shattering the rings at her fingertips and pinning her into place like some grotesquely violent statue. Mae swore viciously under her breath, but the colour had drained from her face.

“Lay a hand on her, and you’ll lose it, along with your arm, and maybe even your head.” Holt took his time striding through the court, power rolling from him as it had a few days before when they’d met the faeries in the forest. Lest anyone consider challenging him. “Lashes are to be saved for our enemies. Don’t you agree?” he said, his voice loud enough for every faerie watching to hear him.

Zylah moved a hand to the faerie’s back to check the severity of his wounds, unwilling to waste any more time on risking him bleeding out beside her.

Mae was silent, seething, completely restrained by Holt’s vines, but Zylah knew without looking up, the Fae’s attention was fixed on her.

The faerie’s wounds healed, mercifully, beneath her touch. Nothing remained but the slashed fabric of his tunic, the adrenaline that likely still coursed through him. She’d known faeries could be cruel, but the sound of the whip, the sight of the faerie’s wounds so similar to her own, to the ones caused by Arnir’s bounty hunter… It sent a chill down her spine that Mae would do that to one of her own. And it reminded her of Marcus.

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