His friend, his family.
Elias always believed she would change the world, but as Brela, not her titles. As a leader, as the woman who had protected Farrah so fiercely, and as the woman who had faced the King of Severina—certain death—and walked away with her chin held high.
That power coursing through her, though? The celvusa of living shadow magic that didn’t just stalk her but lived inside her soul? He just hoped he’d be around to keep her grounded, and if not him, someone who could keep that intensity in control.
Farrah had joined them in record time, her breath ragged from what Elias assumed had been her frantic sprint down the hill. Brela hadn’t looked away from the battered stairs to acknowledge her arrival, only sticking her other hand out and waiting for Farrah to take it.
Then, silently, she pulled them up the stairs.
There were only two rooms at the top, the one directly ahead of them in tatters. The door had been torn from the hinges, laying in splinters along with the armoire and a shattered mirror. The outer wall was missing, moonlight spilling into the room and creating shadows along the littered floor. Brela only paused briefly, cocking her head as if she were listening to those shadows.
Right, she was.
With a blink, her face still blank, she turned to the second door. One careful step. Another. She stepped over the broken door. Wood and glass crunched under her feet as she released their hands.
Silently, Farrah slid her fingers through Elias’s as they watched. Watched Brela step over destroyed furniture, shredded clothes, and ripped papers and pens and paints.
Elias didn’t hide the tear that slid down his cheek as Brela crawled into her childhood bed and curled into a ball, her back to them as she stared at the wall that she’d painted with every shade of purple.
39
An Offering
Brela stared at the bedroom wall until sleep somehow claimed her in the final hours of their stay.
Her home. Her room. Her bed.
The once perfect whorls and twists of shadow and smoke painted on the wall had chipped or disintegrated over the fifteen years. Some of it had been damaged by weather, seeing as the right side of her room was completely missing, but most of it had been wiped off by looters.
Cultist, cursed,and several obscenities were scratched into the wood over the patterns that had once lulled her to sleep. She ignored them. Ignored her friends who took turns sleeping on the floor until Cason came and relieved them so they could actually rest.
Most of all, she ignored the nightmare that she’d lost herself to.
She had been so convinced that the man she was chasing down wasn’t Ivan, but Gerrart. And she was going to make him suffer through such unspeakable violence… until Elias had pulled her out. Until she realized that her father wasn’t dead in the house, and the man she was tormenting was just a looter, not a killer.
Gods, Ivan could barely wield his sword. It was obvious his status was built through words, brains, and hired muscle. He’d been in the right mind to run once he realized that she was just playing with the men attacking her. He’d realized she hadn’t just gotten lucky with the first few men she killed, and that if she couldn’t kill him, Cason would.
Brela rubbed at her eyes and rolled over. Cason was leaned against the barely standing dresser, staring beyond the massive hole in the wall, toward the destroyed shadow temple.
“I’m glad you finally fell asleep,” he whispered, not looking her way.
“Did you sleep at all?”
“A little.”
She swallowed and sat up, wringing her hands together. “Where would you like me to start?”
“Actually, I think I’d like to go first,” he said, voice low.
Fair. Completely fair, and she already knew what he was going to say. She only nodded, and though he didn’t look at her, she knew his pause was to help him gather the right words.
Cason sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I understand why you snapped at me, I understand why you’re trying to protect the remaining secrets of this place, and I understand why those looters triggered you. I know being here is torture, but…” His blue eyes finally lifted and met hers. “Can you not see that I’m trying tohelpyou?”
As much as she wanted to bow her head in shame, she forced herself to face Cason’s pained look. Forced herself to accept the utter humiliation and heartbreak that she deserved.
“Ever since the auction and the forest, I have been trying so hard to understand you, Brela. To figure out where to push and where to sit back and wait for you to be ready to speak. I don’t know when to ask questions that won’t result in getting my head bit off, and I never know when the secrets you keep are going to result in some surprise that may or may not be trouble. But it can’t be like that anymore. I am trying to get us out of this alive. I’m trying to get us to the Anfroy camp on the other side of the lake, get the information, and get out of here. I am sworn to protect Serill during that trip, and when you put him in danger, you’re forcing me to make choices I don’t want to make.”
Cason shook his head. “I’m not asking you to suddenly let me in like you did with Farrah and Elias, but as Captain of the Prince’s Guard, I am demanding more information. More warning before you stomp off and meet a sand sprite in the middle of the desert or nearly skin a looter alive. More strategy behind why certain movements will keep us safe.”
