She blinked at the sun that lowered in the sky. Not once had she been able to watch the sun set while standing between those towers, but she knew the stories. Heard of the way the shadows would dance along the ground, how the buildings were crafted of stone and purple glass that would sparkle with life.
The shadows that lived in the city now were just that. Shadows. No life, no beauty, just… sadness. Despair.
Brela could feel them, like the shadows that had sang as she walked through the castle in Aelstow, but these shadows didn’t sing. They rasped, heavy and broken and desperate. Screams clawing from whatever last breaths they could take.
And it hurt. Gods,theyhurt. She wanted to sink into them, cry with them. Theirpainwas unbearable, cracking her soul.
“Brela.”
The whisper pulled her away from the shadows dragging her under, but she couldn’t figure out who had said her name. She swallowed the burn in her throat and turned. Their gazes flicked to her chest, where she hadn’t noticed her hand clutched tightly in her shirt. Where her knuckles had gone white as if she could squeeze the pain out of her heart. Or perhaps stop it from bleeding.
She released her death grip and wiped a stray tear.
“We should find a defensible building for the night,” Brela choked, glancing back at the city and the whispering darkness. Soldiers were now at the north end, moving back to their camp, the shadows told her. “The patrols end with the sun setting, but that’s when looters and raids will strike.”
Old information, gleaned from overheard conversations and a few torture extractions Brela had used on some of her victims, but the shadows suggested it was still a common practice. An unspoken agreement throughout the years between the three parties, especially as the Veil Worshipper numbers dwindled. The soldiers were there for blood, the looters were there for easy steals, and the raids… well, they were there for both, and were willing to go through anything and anyone for bigger target items.
Like the Veil Scholar’s dagger.
Brela’s hand curled around Night Carver’s hilt.
“Are you sure?” Cason asked.
She fought the urge to snarl. “Yes.”
She had to remember he was only looking out for Serill. He didn’t know how much she knew.
Elias hovered a little closer, the only one of them daring to get near. To her or to the city, she didn’t know. “Is there a way to get in without drawing attention?”
A careful question, because he knew the answer. Brela had already told Elias and Farrah how to proceed through the city, a strategy in case she couldn’t, for whatever reason. But it was a careful question because he knew that she was reading the shadows and determining whether they’d need to reveal more Worshipper secrets than necessary. Protecting any Worshippers who were somehow still hiding in the second most dangerous city in Valisea.
“We’ll maneuver east, through there,” she replied, pointing to her path. “The manors are more intact and have defensible walls. Raids begin in the west, so we can hear them coming.”
“But—“
Farrah cut off Cason’s argument with a hiss, but it was too late. Brela spun her horse around, dodging Elias before he could grab her, and did not break her glare with the fire wielder as she marched her horse next to his. She didn’t miss that his eyes widened in surprise and panic, or that his hand hovered ever so carefully over his sword.
Her nostrils flared as she sat straighter. As if he’d be fast enough, with blades or magic.
She snarled and let a bit of the Night Terror shine in her eyes. “I have gotten you this far, dragon, and Ialwayskeep my word. I know this city. Now is not the time to question me.”
Brela didn’t care about the flash of pain in Cason’s blue gaze, not when her heart was cracking open. Not when it felt like she was bleeding with the shadows of her home.
“And now is not the time for secrets, Brela.”
Her head snapped to the prince, teeth bared in fury.
For someone who had spent the day green in the face and puking, he’d straightened himself out. Shoulders back, he lifted his chin slightly. “Do not handicap half of our best chance at survival. We can’t help if you don’t tell us your plan, because right now it looks like you’re about to march us through open grounds to what might be the richest and most intact part of the city. You’ll forgive us for wanting to understand whythatis considered safe.”
The grasslands seemed to still.
Brela blinked, startled enough that the pain in her chest became secondary to the power that radiated out of the prince.
Four hells, she’d never underestimated anyone more than Serill. And he claimed she was the one surprising him all the time.
“Apologies, Your Highness,” she whispered. Very carefully, Brela bowed her head. Not a mocking gesture, not this time, and his look of surprise as she lifted her gaze confirmed that he’d seen her sincerity. “You are correct that the manors are more intact, if you can call the half-destroyed homes intact. They were picked clean of valuables while I still lived in Valisea, which means it’s less likely raids will bother with them fifteen years later.”
Brela ignored the hesitant glances between Elias and Farrah at her choice in words. Not yet. She wouldn’t reveal anything when she couldn’t see what she so desperately wanted to know. Even the shadows fell silent when she reached for them.
