Brela let out a quick breath from her nose, an attempt at a laugh, and she felt the fire wielder turn his head toward her. She could even hear the smile in his voice as he said, “And yes, he was right that I cannot dance, and I would sooner stare down a vaarasuxa than face that humiliation, so don’t even try.”
He inched closer, fingers still squeezing as warmth wrapped around her. “There were two hundred and fifty crystals in the chandelier, if you counted the two large ones in the middle.” Her eyes darted to his, blinking at the wide grin on his face. “And there was no way you picked that number at random—that you were off by two very obvious crystals—which means you knew. I have no idea when you counted them, but you wanted me to correctyou.”
Through her ragged panting, Brela smiled. “Nothing gets by the sun-blessed protector.” She glanced down at their hands clasped together, his thumb running idly over the back of her hand but not squeezing. “You aren’t really going to stop at sixty-seven, are you? That’s such an ugly number.”
He gave three quick squeezes before her fingers shifted and laced through his. “Thank you,” she whispered, not in response to the extra squeezes.
Cason merely winked and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. But he didn’t let go of her hand or return to his horse, which Brela realized was now being tugged forward by Elias who had shifted closer. He offered her a slight nod and flashed an impressed glance at the fire wielder. Serill gave her a quick but sad smile, as if he had put the pieces together like Cason had.
The time stuck in the dark tunnel felt like decades, and extended to centuries the closer they got. She didn’t dare beg or sob whenever they passed a door that they weren’t going to take, even if it would relieve her of her anxious fear. Every time the walls around them closed in, every time the shadows were silent or screaming in her head, Cason’s solid presence kept her walking.
She’d been so young the last time she’d used an escape tunnel like this, and even then the small space had felt crushing. But her adrenaline had overpowered that fear. Herdutyhad forced her to swallow that panic, to tighten her grip on the long dagger that had been placed in one hand while her other was prepared to call on her magic, even if it meant giving herself up to keep the others safe.
She hadn’t slept, hadn’t cried until Dernian had set her in Trellis’s arms days later. And the woman didn’t try to pry the dagger from Brela’s grip, only let her keep it clutched to her chest as she shook on the bed, staring out the window to the mountains that separated her from Tybost and Lilla.
Sometimes she wished she had recognized the glint in Dernian’s eye for what it was. Recognized that hunger as he beheld a nine-year-old who snarled and waved a dagger at anyone who came close to her and the other children who had escaped.
What would she have become if she’d gone with those children to Dycorus? What sort of life would she have on that island? In a kingdom so far away from the people who wanted to kill her?
She certainly wouldn’t be at the shadow temple again, crawling through the tunnels, and she absolutely wouldn’t be holding her father’s dagger. And to think how many more men would be terrorizing her home and her people if she hadn’t killed them—learnedto kill them in such brutal ways. She’d taken her time, made them suffer in ways her people had suffered, but it never felt like enough.
At least it was something. Even if it blackened her soul, she had no intention of passing on to whatevergoodwaited after death. She’d gladly accept an afterlife in the shadow hell. She’d accept it with Sueta or Euota, too. Alinora’s hell was likely too good for her.
Honestly, this tunnel might be her hell.
Brela nearly walked into Moonheart’s rear, saved only by Cason’s quick tug that pulled her back into his side.
“Cason,” Farrah whispered, though her blue eyes were now peering at Brela. She tapped her ear, the silent question in her gaze.
Part of it was for the sun-blessed protector to determine if they’d find anyone on the other side of the wooden door that Farrah now stood in front of. The hidden layer of that look was directed at Brela, who could read the shadows at perhaps a farther distance than Cason’s magic could reach, especially with the shard and obsidian dust lining the tunnel dulling his abilities. He probably didn’t even notice it.
Brela’s fingers flickednojust as Cason confirmed the same thing. He gave her a quick glance, and Brela released her hold on his hand, stretching her fingers that she hadn’t noticed had been in a bone-crushing grip. If she hurt him, he didn’t show the slightest indication in his gaze or movements as he went to help Farrah clear the doorway.
It was a flurry of dust, quiet grunts, and creaking wood as they cleared the exit of debris. Brela didn’t see any of it, tenseness creeping back into her body even though the walls weren’t nearly as tight as they had been. She only noticed her trembling when Serill appeared next to her, a silent offer to either hold his hand or just have him stand near.
It might have surprised them both when she accepted his hand.
Rocks and stone tumbled to the ground as the door finally opened.
Four hells, she didn’t know if the slices of moonlight that spilled into the tunnel filled her with relief or dread. At least it provided space for gulping breaths, and not even crippling fear could keep her legs from fresh air. She’d never sprinted so fast in her life, and even her mount had the same idea as they charged up the incline.
As she broke to sweet, glorious above ground openness, she nearly sobbed. Cason was busy blinking at the hidden door built into a false well at the center of the manor’s courtyard, Farrah staring at the rubble of the large house directly ahead. Brela gave it a quick glance, dismissing the destruction as having not changed in fifteen years, and swallowed her nerves as she turned.
Elias’s hushed voice pierced the silence. “The stables are still standing. We’ll set up there.”
“The stone perimeter is still strong. Plenty of time to escape or fight if needed,” Cason added.
Brela caught a few words here and there, but none of them registered. Instead, she remained focused on the sweeping path to the little village below. To the half destroyed houses lined in rows on either side of the enclosed land.
Debris littered the streets. Broken weapons, empty buckets, bones picked clean, and suspicious dark stains were scattered over the stone road. Tattered and moldy curtains fluttered out of broken windows and half standing structures. Roofs caved in and groaned with the soft breeze. Blood stained the stones and wood of what remained standing.
What remained standing…
She reached out, not with her hand, but with her power. She dug into that thread of connection and found the shadows that had gone quiet because they recognized her power. Because they were wary of who she had brought with her.
Brela bared herself to them, let them see the truth of herself and what this place meant to her. Let them confirm that what she was looking at really did remain.
Her hand pressed into her chest as hard as she could possibly hold herself to keep her heart and soul from spilling onto the stones she stood on. The shadows sang in relief.
