Poetic justice indeed.
Cason hadn’t expected their plan to gothatwell, but Brela hadn’t doubted it for a second. She’d pulled him aside earlier to tell him about Arkta and what orders the sealed letters in Lyle’s pack might be carrying. She needed to distract him, and wanted to know how to bait the soldier for some information about what they might be doing to the wall.
Cason had told her everything about the man, every cruel prank and topic he’d tortured Cason with over the years. He knew that no matter what they said, Lyle would still be a prick and try to rile him up. So Cason even told Brela as much as he could about Era, knowing Lyle would do his best to hit where it hurt.
Brela didn’t flinch at the mention of his previous relationship. In fact, she’d only blinked and then flashed a wicked grin before asking how he’d like to prank the son of a bitch back.
Cason had never agreed to something faster, and Brela had gotten to work communicating the rest of the plan to Farrah and Elias.
What he wasn’t prepared for was Lyle’s detailed reminder about his mother. Not many besides his father and the soldiers he’d taken to Oyria knew about the shadow-cursed man who had attacked his mother’s patrol. Fewer knew about his father’s methods for getting information about the shadow-cursed monster from the villagers; how he learned that bastard placed an illusion on her soldiers so they’d begin attacking each other, thinking they were being attacked by Veil Worshippers.
At least Brela’s momentary hesitation hadn’t drawn Lyle’s attention, the man too focused on getting Cason to lose control of his fire. After that, the game had been easy. Pushing the heat of his power toward the campfire instead of the flames wrapping around his arm. Pretending to shake with restraint. Bringing back the glare that he’d worn for years.
All to keep Lyle close to Brela’s Veil shard and its dulling abilities so Farrah could sneak into the patrol’s tents and figure out what orders they were carrying from Arkta.
Even though his blood was thrumming with excitement, he was handling the wait much better than Brela. Farrah had returned to Serill’s tent at the same time as the little fire show, but would wait until Lyle’s men changed shifts before joining them in the stables. Which left Brela pacing back and forth, her hands clenching at her sides as he sat and watched.
“I’ve never seen you so fidgety,” Cason whispered, eyes trailing her path. She shot him a look but didn’t change course. “Farrah’s back safe. Why are you acting so weird?”
Brela huffed. “I’m just trying to work through it all. If Lyle came from Arkta, he’s on orders from their command outpost. It also means he’s gone through the camp where they’re doing… whatever it is they’re doing at the wall.” She tugged at her braid as she continued wearing a trench in the ground. “You heard him, too. He expects the wall to break. They’re doingsomethingup there, and their stupidity is going to kill us all.”
Cason frowned. “Shadow hell.” Brela didn’t acknowledge him. “Back in the Wilds, you told Oni that if the wall came down, shadow hell would be unleashed.” She pursed her lips but kept silent. “You’re afraid.”
“Of course I am. We all should be,” she grumbled.
“But Ryia is your god, and you’re the Veil Scholar. Shouldn’t youwanther to—“
“I want her to stay the hells behind that wall like the coward she is,” Brela spat, teeth bared as she stopped pacing. Cason stilled as she forced a breath and uncurled her fists. “I don’t care if she’s my god. She built that wall to protect herself and her pure shadow-kind and left the rest of us to suffer fora hundred years.” She rolled her eyes. “Ryia doesn’t give a fuck about my people or who I am. She doesn’t care that we’ve spent those years honoring her.She left us to die.”
Cason dipped his chin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think of it like that.”
She pulled her arms around her stomach. “Not like I’ve indicated as much to you before. Not like I have a whole lot of people to talk to about how the Veil Scholar doesn’t actually like her god.” She let out an emotionless chuckle. “I told Elias if I ever met Ryia, I’d call her a bitch and figure out how to get that celvusa following me to rip her face off.”
He grinned. “Why does that not surprise me?”
Brela opened her mouth, then closed it and started pacing again.
“What?”
“What if the wall really does come down?” she whispered, running a hand over her collarbone. “What if I…” A shake of her head as she turned away. “Never mind.”
Now. This was when he had to tell her. Beg her to come back to Aelstow with him once this was all over.
“Brela,” he breathed, snagging her hand as she walked past him. The words died in his throat as she faced him, a tear rolling down her cheek. That sadness shimmering in her pale blue gaze cracked something deep in his chest as he tugged her closer. “Brela…”
“Who is going to protect my people if that wall breaks? They sure as hells aren’t going to find sympathy from the other kingdoms, and I doubt Ryia cares about the people she left on this side of the wall,” she said, lip trembling. “What am I supposed to do? Try to stop whatever Anfroy is doing at the wall? Try to find what’s left of the Veil Worshippers and drag them to the Crystal Desert?”
Cason shook his head. “Why do you have to do any of that?”
Her jaw clenched. “Because I’m the Veil Scholar. It’s what Tybost would expect me to do. It’s what Ishoulddo.”
He stilled, and somehow his heart cracked further.
Shatteredwas a more appropriate word.
Of course she would never go back to Aelstow with him. How could he have been so stupid to forget that she was the leader of her people? Why would she travel back to a kingdom of people who hated her when her own people were suffering?
He should have known she’d never run away.
