Brela had used her shadow magic before; not as freely as Elias and Farrah used their gods-blessed gifts—not as often as she used it while living in Valisea—but often enough to never lose that connection to her power after a decade of suppressing the strength of it.
Every time she used that magic, her purple eyes would threaten to reveal her secrets—that she had lived as a Veil Worshipper, that she had escaped Valisea, and that the shard embedded in her chest gave her a magic that had been hunted and destroyed since before she was born.
Certain spells would cost more, she’d discovered. Simple illusion tricks would only result in a few hours of a purple gaze—perfect for short heists, infusing a shadow stone, or disguising her friends when they went to the taverns. Others, such as using the shadows to hide or creating larger illusions, could leave her stuck at home for days.
Commanding a celvusa? Challenging it for dominance? That should have cost her weeks of hiding.
Yet she stared at a pale gaze in the mirror.
Her eyes had been purple, Farrah and Elias had confirmed it, but by the time they made it to their home outside Averlyn, that glow was gone.
On that walk, Brela told them exactly what had gone through her mind when she found Night Carver, exactly what snapped in her heart that had made her destroy Gerrart’s office, and then everything that she had done to get the shadow wolf to back off his claim over the Scholar’s dagger.
She was back to her old self by the time they walked through their front door.
Her friends chatted casually now after they had washed up, though Brela could still see the effects of the night on them. The subtle flinches in Farrah’s hands that were usually steady. Elias’s desire to keep his mind occupied and hands moving. Besides Brela, no one had said the wordcelvusa. They were still alive, but they had seen the real Night Terror, and it would haunt all of them.
Brela watched Farrah in the kitchen as she put the final touches on their food, her brown hair tied up and away from her face. She had stripped off her outer layer of fabric, revealing the tattoos she had inked across her upper back from her time at the earth temple. Only the wealthy could afford the temples, and Farrah’s parents had tried to keep her in the school when their business failed, hoping she would bring them honor again. But to do that, they forced her into marriage with an earth-blessed man who had agreed to take on her temple debts.
She had just turned fifteen.
If anyone else saw her tattoos, they’d think she had weaker water magic. But if they looked closer, they’d see the scars that evil man had inflicted and the tattoos that became distorted under those marks. Turns out, he wasn’t fond of hertaintedearth magic, because there was just enough healing moon magic in her blood to keep those wounds from staying open. Which only made him torture her more.
Farrah tried to find help, but when no one believed her, she orchestrated her escape. She dropped out of the school and thus didn’t get her final tattoos. She survived on her own between the villages in Rooke, taking on odd jobs or stealing when necessary—but she always gave half of her earnings to the local orphanages, even when it meant she couldn’t eat herself, because they always offered her a bed to sleep on.
When she was nineteen, the man who tortured her walked into the inn she worked at. He never saw her coming. His blood still stains the floorboards under the rug in room seven.
On that very day, Brela had met a terrified and shaking Farrah and invited her back to her home outside Averlyn. And as a hardened seventeen-year-old who had suffered her own horrors, Brela never let Farrah feel ashamed for anything again. She only taught her how to do it quieter, quicker, and cleaner. And in the seven years since, not once had Farrah named that man or her parents.
Elias was a different story. The spoiled child of a family of legacies in the earth temple, and he nearly flunked out. Not because he wasn’t blessed with incredible strengths, but because hedidn’t care.He’d pass the tests and then conveniently miss his graduation ink if he didn’t like the symbols. He couldn’t sit still, got into trouble because he sought thrills, and was almost more reckless than Brela.
Almost.
While Farrah was working at the orphanage with some sick children, two years after they had met, Brela had escaped to grab a drink at the inn nearby. She couldn’t be around the kids when it only reminded her of how sick she would get after the raids in Valisea — when hellthorn had polluted the air for weeks and left her frail. She needed a distraction. She needed a con to get more medicine for the children.
And a rich twenty-year-old with dazzling green eyes was the perfect target. That is, until he showed up to the orphanage the next day after tracking down where his money had gone. He offered to use his herbal affinity to help aid Farrah’s healing, and he’d been with them for the last five years.
“Nearly done over here,” Farrah called. “How are we doing in there?”
“Almost finished,” Elias mumbled, his hands still massaging the salve into Brela’s neck. The wound had already pinched closed, thanks to Farrah’s magic, but Elias’s gift would reduce any infection or scabbing. Unfortunately, it would still leave a decent scar. “Our girl had to go and get blood in her white hair so I spent more time re-braiding than healing.”
He might have been embarrassed that his strongest affinity was for herbal magic, but he’d always be proud of his skills at braiding. The little girls at the orphanage had taken a liking to Elias almost immediately, and when they taught him how to braid their hair like princesses, Brela had seen the strongest man she knew melt like butter.
Brela stuck her tongue out at his reflection in the mirror. “I’ll try to control my blood splatter the next time I fight a shadow wolf.”
“Blood is usually supposed to stayinsideyour body,” Elias replied, flicking her nose before she had a chance to bite his finger.
“If we followed that rule, we’d be really bad at our jobs,” she snapped with a grin. Her attention turned back to the mirror, stretching her neck to inspect the once-massive gash that had now become a thin slit of red with white scarring already forming. Below her new scar, the Veil shard pulsed against her collarbone, shining liquid black with hints of purple. She grumbled to herself. “As if I didn’t already hide the left side of my body.”
“Food, loves,” Farrah sang. Her eyes drifted to Brela’s. “How does that feel, by the way?”
Brela followed Elias to the table, rubbing the shard with her fingers. “A bit cold, just like it usually does after using that magic, but I thought there would be more consequences for it.”
Elias choked on his soup. “You mean besides the shadow wolf’s claw nearly beheading you?”
Farrah hissed at him. “Brela just commanded a gods-damned…celvusa.” She whispered the creature’s name, looking around as if it was somehow in the room with them and would hunt her for saying it. “With an extinct magic, mind you. I’ve seen some terrifying shit in my day, but none of it compares to that beast.”
“You say that like you’re eighty, not twenty-six, Farr,” Elias chuckled. “But seriously, I agree. Even easy shadow magic lights your eyes up for a few hours, and I’m guessing that wasn’t easy.”
