She curled her hand around the handle out of instinct, tensing as Ovir’s hands lifted, his eyes still locked on hers. He set her other knife on the table behind her as his hands ran along her arms, tracing her elbows and forearms before they rested on her wrists.Grippedher wrists.
Her chest tightened as his eyes dropped back to the blade. All sense of calm and stillness in her evaporated as the words fell out of her mouth. “Please, Ovir. You know what this means to me. I’ll give you anything you want—the rest of my cut, another ten years of my life, I don’t care. Just, please don’t take this from me.”
“My little nightmare,” he whispered, his thumbs tracing in patterns over her skin… over scars that he and his father had inflicted on her. Over bones that had been broken and burned and bruised.
But Brela froze.
Had… had his voice cracked?
If she was still capable of crying from emotion, she probably would have. He’d be able to see that any tear she released was out of pure practice to get what she wanted during cons and thieving. She only had calmness left, and even that was breaking with each familiar pulse of the blade under her touch.
“Please, Ovir. I am begging you. Do not take the last piece of my home,my family, away from me.”
Ovir released his grip from her hand that still held the dagger’s handle, running it along her cheek as he shifted her gaze to his. Just like her features, his were a mask, but the glimmer that flashed in the deep blue of his eyes sent her heart drumming in tune with his words.
“I would never,never, take something this sacred from you.”
Dangerous, dangerous man.She hated herself for it, but she leaned into his caress. She let his fingers trail over her lips and trace her cheekbone. She despised his hardened fingers against her skin, yet she savored the warmth he left behind his touch. Such a different passion than Elias’s lightness or Farrah’s gentleness, but she still craved it every time he did this. Gods, he knew how to break her into nothing.
His fingers brushed white-blonde hair off her shoulder—catching slightly in the small sun-blessed rings that Elias had braided into her hair to cover her scar—dragging over her shirt’s fabric to the shard in her chest before running back to her chin and tilting her head toward his. Their breaths mingled for a small moment before he finally broke the silence.
“But you know there are consequences for the destruction you left behind.” That dark smile was back as he leaned closer to her neck to whisper. “And it won’t just be money.” Brela swallowed her shiver, but Ovir straightened and stepped away from her. He took a breath and began pacing. “I have business in Rooke. I’m meeting an informant at the end of the Earth Festival and I need someone I trust to be my escort.”
“My punishment is being your bodyguard?” she asked, well aware that Ovir’s eyes had darted to her as she slipped Night Carver back into its sheath. Her hand paused over the last strap as she realized the date. “The auction of my people’s history at Rooke’s castle.”
“You know I don’t support these things,” he said quickly, before Brela had the chance to snap. “But I am an esteemed guest who hassupportive appearancesto maintain, which is why I need someone there I can trust.”
“You’d be sending me into the dragon’s lair,” she gasped. “Do you realize what they’ll do if they discover who I am and what I have burned into my skin? They’ll chain me up, decorate me with hellthorn, and throwmeon the auction block. You’re trying to kill me!”
“I’m trying to save you!” he growled, spinning to face her. He jabbed a finger toward her chest. “You were careless, Brela.Stupid. You destroyed Gerrart’s office and drew too much attention.”
“He deserved worse,” she hissed back.
And it was in that moment she regretted her dangerous game as he lunged across the small space and slammed her back to the table. The small decorative dish in the center smashed against her shoulder blade just before her head hit wood, sending glass shards to the floor along with her throwing knife. Ovir’s grip squeezed her neck and cut off her air, fingers digging between skin and fabric as he shoved her harder against the table, but she didn’t flinch. She had overstepped her bounds, and she knew it, so she let her cheeks burn and didn’t squirm against his fierce grip.
Ovir’s teeth bared, his face inches from hers. “He deserves to be torn apart limb by limb and gutted, but you did this to yourself and I will not let you ruin my reputation with your reckless behavior.” His grip eased just enough for her to suck in a breath and prevent her head from spinning. “It hasn’t even been a day and they’re whispering about Veil Worshippers in Rooke.”
“All the more reason for me to stay clear,” she said, her voice raspy as she looked up at him.
His hand didn’t leave her throat. “I’m doing you a favor, even when I should gutyoufor screwing up my business.” Ovir pulled his head back slightly. “They won’t expect that you’re shadow-cursed, a Worshipper,orthe Night Terror if you’re there with me with this face, so you’ll stop your bloody whining and thank me for saving your ass.”
“I can’t disguise myself?” Brela whispered, choosing the shortest question to get her point across with minimal pain. If his hand hadn’t been gripping so tight, she might have flinched at him calling her shadow-cursed.
Ovir’s lips twitched into a half smile. “No. They need to see the real you.”
As his grip released her neck, she fought every instinct to rub her throat. “Why do this for me?” He raised his eyebrow as she sat up straighter. “I know you’d rather gut me.”
His eyes traced her body, slow and deliberate, that hunger of unspeakable tortures he’d inflicted on men twice her size flashing in his gaze. “The thought did cross my mind, but you’re still worth more to me alive. And there’s one more thing you’ll be thanking me for.”
“How much will this gratitude cost me?” Brela asked, swallowing the scratch in her throat.
He chuckled, sliding against her as he braced his hands on either side of her body. “I think I’ll let you decide what you owe me for this.” Ovir’s face leaned forward, hovering just beside her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “If you’re at the auction, you’ll be able to see all the artifacts and who buys them. You might even be able to convince me to let you steal one—just one—back.”
Brela’s breath caught. She’d see everything. She’d learn the names of every man who supported Anfroy and Rooke’s raids. She’d commit their faces to memory and find ways to destroy them. Not many knew the Night Terror was a woman, and she’d always used that to her advantage. Those disgusting creatures wouldn’t know who was flirting right under their noses.
Four hells, Ovir was right.Dangerous man, and he knew how to use her. A chained weapon to be used whenever he pleased, and he was making sure her debts never ended. But she had the Veil Scholar’s dagger, and she had told Farrah and Elias last night that she would live as Ovir’s slave for the rest of her life if it meant she could keep it.
Brela focused on the flicker of freedom from her debts — the flame that rested far on the horizon, but still burning — and she put it out.
