Page 49 of A Legacy of Poison and Lies

But if Marcus unleashed his army of vampires and thralls across Astaria, neither humans nor Fae would be safe, and all that would remain would be those loyal to him, the creatures Aurelia had created in his name.

“Let me walk you to your room,” Nye offered, at last leaving her cousin’s side and motioning for Zylah to join her.

Zylah quietly murmured a goodnight to Holt and the others, casting a glance over her shoulder to wait for Kopi before she followed the Fae out of the night air. Nye led them through the corridors Zylah had familiarised herself with briefly earlier, after a quick moment to change into the clothes Rin had let her borrow. Tall, arched windows cast strange shadows on the stone at their feet, moonlight rippling over them as they walked.

“My uncle will not help willingly, no matter what transpired here tonight,” Nye finally said, perhaps when she deemed them far enough away from any of Malok’s guards who might be listening. Orblights flickered in their sconces, illuminating arched doors leading off to various bedrooms.

“Why? Is it that he won’t help Holt, or is it about protecting what’s his?” Zylah willed her voice not to sound too thin, but she had little left in her to amplify it.

“Holt trained here; I think in many ways Malok used to think of Holt as a son. But my uncle is a soldier. The loss of his guards is nothing but a consequence of war to him. He will defend his own, but this is the first time he has seen the thralls up close. Persuading him to allow his army to leave the court will be difficult.”

Zylah paused beside the door to the room they had offered her, adjacent to the one they’d offered Holt, and waited.

Nye’s amber eyes searched Zylah’s. “Be careful. Whatever he asks of you, it will benefit him far more than whatever you stand to gain from this. Even if it means Holt secures the army. Malok will ensure the payment far exceeds the debt.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you saved Rin’s life.” Nye rested a hand on Zylah’s shoulder, her touch warm and gentle. “Thank you.” She held Zylah’s gaze for a moment. “Good night, Zylah.”

Zylah didn’t get a chance to reply. Nye’s form seemed to shimmer, her body disappearing into the shadows, leaving Zylah alone in her doorway. Kopi chirped once on her shoulder, and Zylah let out a shaky sigh, fingers twisting over the door knob.

“You’re right, buddy, time to sleep.” She watched the little owl fly to the window, before kicking off her boots and falling onto the bed.

She didn’t trust Cirelle or Malok, but she trusted Holt. And Holt was going into this likely already knowing that Malok would take more than he could give. But what choice did they have? For so long all Zylah had wanted was her freedom. But tonight had shown her there would be no freedom for anyone if they let Marcus win.

Chapter Sixteen

Black,emptyeyes.Rottingflesh that exposed bone. A hand, outstretched. And a face Zylah recognised.

Raif stood amongst the creatures on the terrace, one hand in his pocket, the other reaching for her, a half grin tugging at what remained of his lips.

His skin was ashen and rotten, just like the other thralls, but his long black hair remained intact. He took a step closer, and Zylah whispered his name.

“Zylah.”

Zylah’s eyes flicked open, sweat-soaked sheets clinging to her skin.

She dragged a shaky hand through her hair, chest heaving with erratic breaths and pushed off the bed. Shoved open the door to the balcony, swallowing down the frigid night air.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Holt asked quietly from his side of their shared balcony.

Zylah’s eyes found his in the darkness and fell to the sheet around his shoulders. “You’re sleeping out here?”

“Strange dreams.”

Zylah wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement, but he eyed the glass in his hands and frowned at the amber liquid inside.

“Strange day,” she offered, though she didn’t move from where she stood. She closed her eyes and turned her head to face the ocean, letting the breeze wash over her until her skin chilled and the memory of her dream faded. When she opened her eyes, Holt was beside her, eyes dipping to her loose hair and her bare shoulders. She’d slept in her underclothes, but it was nothing he hadn’t seen before.

Holt held her gaze as he took the sheet from his shoulders and wrapped it around hers, his warmth enveloping her. This close, she was at eye level with his chest, the scent of earthy acani berries clinging to his bare skin. She shifted her attention to the angular lines of his face as he took a step back.

“No robe to call to you?” Zylah asked with a half-smile.

He rested his arms on the wall, facing out to the inky depths of the ocean beyond them. Her gaze fell across the thick muscles on his back, and for a moment she found herself wondering what they would feel like if she traced them with the pads of her fingers. Then she noticed a new scar he hadn’t had back in Virian, just above the waistline of his trousers, and the thought was snuffed out.

“Does the vanquicite hurt?” he asked, his attention still fixed ahead, his voice distant.

“No.” She wondered if he knew. If he could see the weight of it consuming her.

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