He picked at a loose thread on his shirt as he kept his voice steady. “I am desperately trying to convince myself that me doing this, giving you another shot at this trust thing, isn’t because of how I feel about you or about what we’ve shared. But Elias said something the other day, that no matter how many times someone ignores your hand, if you give it to them, you will continue to hold it out for them until they are ready to take it.”
Cason took a breath and lifted his chin again, hand reaching out. “So here it is. A hand, an offering to let me in just enough for the sake of this mission. If that’s it in the end, then that’s it, but I need to know that you aren’t going to pull another stunt like last night.” A small smirk. “Unless approved by me first.”
Brela allowed her lips to twitch just slightly at that, her gaze locked on the fingers stretching toward her.
She felt it, that tug that continued to draw her in against her better judgement. Not just to trust him, but to get close to him. To let him in, to show him the parts of herself that she so fiercely protected.
She reached forward and rested her fingers in his palm. “Okay.”
He blinked. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
“No cursing or vulgar gestures? No argument or defense?”
“What would I argue?” Brela asked with a frown. “Everything you just said is the truth. I thought I could do this on my terms, to save myself from hurting…” She squeezed his hand. “But it hurts a lot worse to see you look at me the way you did last night.”
Like she was a monster. Like he would look at her when he discovered her magic.
“I was nine, the last time I was here,” she whispered, because if she stopped now, she’d never do it. As Cason shifted to sit next to her on the bed, her eyes focused on the floor. “I remember the last time I stood in this house, in the living room downstairs. I remember the sounds of horses outside and frantic goodbyes, the smell of terror that hung in the air, the feel of cold sweat on my skin.”
A shiver ran through her body. “I remember screaming at Lilla for making me stay behind when I should be fighting next to them. The feel of Tybost’s massive hands in my own, prying the dagger from my grip, dragging me to the cellar in the back. He locked me in there, not because he was cruel, but because he knew that was the only way to keep me safe. Told the neighbor to unlock me in the morning when I had calmed down.”
Cason’s other hand moved to her shoulder in silent comfort.
“I spit at them. I told them I hated them for leaving me and that I’d never forgive them.” She blinked away a tear. “And when I knew they weren’t outside the door any longer, I broke the gods-damned lock, stole a dagger, and hid in one of the wagons.”
Cason stilled next to her.
“I stayed hidden for days as they traveled. Until I heard the shouting and the swords, until I smelled death… until I heard the children crying, trapped at the end of an alley. I slashed through two soldiers to get to them, and then another turned the corner and caught me by surprise. Broke my ribs, sliced my shoulder and saw the shard, and was seconds away from smashing my head into the brick wall when a sword burst through his chest.”
“Dernian,” Cason whispered.
Brela nodded. “We followed him for fifteen blocks to the tunnel, but down the street… I saw him. I saw Tybost and I froze.”
She paused. Once again, she’d keep a secret from Cason. That the soldier Tybost was fighting was only a distraction. That the two coming from his blind side had their death blows ready.
That she’d screamed so violently at the top of her lungs, she’d ripped the shadows out from under the three soldiers’s feet and cut through their flesh and bone.
Instinct. No calling of magic, just reaction. Thank the gods the children didn’t see what she’d done, but Dernian…
“Tybost ran to me, picked up my dagger and set it back in my palm, and told me to run. Told me that he and Lilla loved me, that he was sorry as he kissed my forehead, and then he was gone. I… I always believed he died that day. Thateveryonedied that day—especially after the news came days later—until I saw Night Carver in Gerrart’s safe.”
Cason blinked at her. “Brela,” he mumbled, voice tentative. “What city were you in when you escaped?”
Brela swallowed and met his eyes. “The capital. I was there two days before Orhyrst fell.”
* * *
Orhyrst,the bloodiest raid in history, and what many believed was the final destruction of any organization the rebellion clung to. Though the King and Queen had already been killed, the fall of the castle had been the crowning achievement of that battle. The last symbol of the Veil Worshippers turned to rubble and then burned… with any rebels that had been captured trapped inside.
Brela had been there. She’d fought—sort of—as a nine-year-old, all to protect other children from being slaughtered. She’d put her life on the line, her secret, for kids she didn’t know. A soldier had been prepared to shatter her skull for it, and by some stroke of luck, she’d been saved, just like she’d somehow been saved at the wall when she was three.
Cason didn’t know what it meant that she’d cheated death so many times. As a child living in Valisea, as an assassin who had a knack for picking fights, or as a woman with a celvusa tracking her movements.
Thank the gods that beast hadn’t shown up last night.
He dumped another bucket of water over the stones, thankful that a quick rain shower in the middle of the night had cleared some of the fresher blood stains. With the bodies cleared, the remaining stains didn’t look as suspicious, but he wasn’t going to risk it. Not when anyone with a perception affinity could scent the fresh blood. They didn’t need any extra patrols getting in their way over the next few days.
