The uptight captain had found a reason to smile.
He watched Brela relent and lean toward Oni, rolling her eyes as he whispered something in her ear. With a grunt, she reached into her pocket and deposited three crystal spikes into Oni’s outstretched hand, two suspiciously still stained with her blood. She only shrugged him off when he waved the points at her, both wearing wicked smiles to go along with their silent threats.
He never thought he’d see that gorgeous, evil grin again.
Gods, he’d never been so terrified in his life. Even thinking he’d face the twenty-three Wraturo on his own was preferred to seeing Brela’s limp and bloodied body. Not knowing if she was going to wake up.
Watching those non-punctures darken into gray bruises that should have been insanely painful, according to Oni, had been just as horrifying. Brela barely seemed to notice them, to which Elias had said she’d suffered worse injuries by Ovir, as if that would make him feel better.
But here she was, smiling bright despite whatever frantic fury she’d been in last night. He’d never seen someone so delirious rip out of the grip of a strength-blessed man before, not to mention that she’d puked twice before sprinting off on a mission.
And when she’d looked at him with such focus after appearing to be in a daze… it was the same look she’d given him after snapping out of her trance with the Wraturo.
In that moment, Cason had decided. Brela would get her freedom, he’d make sure of it, and then he’d ask her to come back to Aelstow. Four hells, he’d do whatever it took, even if he had to beg Serill to give her a job or hide her from the king for the rest of his life.
As long as he could wake up and see that smile every morning, he’d do anything.
No secret of hers could keep him from feeling that way. He just wondered if she’d say yes.
* * *
Brela never wantedto see the Veil wall again.
She’d forgotten about that subtle tug that ached in her collarbone whenever she was near. Like that solid obsidian mass that climbed toward the sky was luring her closer, begging to reconnect with the piece that she’d stolen.
And this was the same wall that rejected her because her magic wasn’t gods-blessed.
Ryia was a bitch, and Brela hated everything about her. Wanted nothing to do with the cruel shadow god that had left tens of thousands to die over the years while she hid safely behind the obsidian.
Brela would give the shard back, if she could figure out how to do it. The gods knew she’d tried to cut it out before. She’d throw the cursed thing as hard as she could, hammer it into one of the dents or broken gaps, weld it back in place,anything.
Tired. She just wanted to be free of the brand. To live life and not be so gods-damned afraid all the time. To go back to Averlyn and not have to hide who she was.
She was a leader with no people to guide. One person to protect an extinct kingdom. A daughter ofwhat?
A daughter of nothing.
Brela was so tired.
But looking at the wall, running her hand over the smooth surface, it made her feel… whole. The power hummed through her bones, silent to everyone but her. The song so similar to the one she felt as the Night Terror.
No images formed, but she could feel the patterns just beyond the surface of black rock. It was like a word on the tip of her tongue, a symbol just out of reach but never solidifying. Swirling smoke like she’d never felt before.
Not even the Shadow Speaker could decipher the absolute power that had created the Veil border.
And Oni thought she could hold it up with her magic. Ridiculous.
Magic—pure, raw shadow energy—coursed through the obsidian, stronger than when she was nine. She hadn’t gone near the wall in Calcheth, hadn’t been functional enough to do so, but she still remembered seeing it in the distance. She’d called to that power then, but its strength was nothing compared to what she felt now. Whether it was the wall breaking down or her own strength, it made no difference. No one was around to answer her questions. No one was around to define that gods-damned made up word the celvusa had used.
It had been there. Twice that beast had been with her, and she hadn’t known. She still had no idea why it had come, why it had protected her when it had also tried to kill her.
Unless it never wanted to kill her.
Brela bent at the waist, ignoring every flare of pain in her body, and pressed her forehead onto the blank notebook page. She could win a staring contest with a celvusa and a fire wielder, but the Veil wall was winning this round.
Cason would make fun of her for it if he realized what she was trying to do. She wasn’t surprised he hadn’t joined her, even though she could see how he’d been watching her all day. She assumed he’d enjoy that she couldn’t talk or tease him, her throat still swollen enough that drinking and eating were painful. But she’d seen how pale he’d gotten when they arrived at their camp for the night, opting to set up his bedroll as far away from the wall as possible.
Cason must be going crazy to have his power so weakened. He’d tested his fire once they got out of the desert, every muscle in his body relaxing as if that flame had required all of his strength to stay contained for just two days. It had roared to life around them, some edges even blue with how intense the heat was, but by the time they’d gotten to the wall for the night, he’d broken a sweat just lighting the cooking fire.
