Cason leaned closer to Brela. “See anything?”
“Patterns, maybe,” she whispered, tugging the last paper Farrah had drawn into her lap. Gears. She shook her head. “We’re smarter than this. There’s got to be something here we aren’t connecting.”
Farrah let out a sigh. “This was a shot in the dark anyway. Clearly the generals in Arkta are keeping something secret, so at least we know Serill’s father had a reason to be nervous. It doesn’t change anything about our mission except that we can’t turn around now.”
Elias mumbled something, and as Farrah and Serill argued amongst themselves, Brela twisted the drawing of armor around a few times. Then blinked at the spike and gear.
“These were in the same tube?”
Farrah nodded. “Three tubes. Those two were together, the weird armor thing in another, and then the ingredient list, along with a shit ton of dried hellthorn inside.”
Brela couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her at the thought of being so close to hellthorn.
“Armor?” Cason asked, turning his head as he studied the paper in Brela’s hand. “Why would they make armor out of shards?Howcan they make armor out of shards?”
“Using all that hellthorn to weaken the obsidian? Mold it?” Elias asked.
Serill hummed. “Hellthorn doesn’t affect the obsidian, though.” Everyone turned to look at him as he shrugged. “What? I know things.”
Farrah met Brela’s eyes for a split second, concern flittering through her gaze, before she turned back to the group.
“They might be lacing the weapons with hellthorn for extra protection, like Gerrart did with his windows,” Farrah offered. “The presence of that shit indicates they suspect to face shadow-kind.”
The prince rubbed his jaw. “It still doesn’t explain what they’re doing at the wall.”
Cason shook his head. “What if we’re looking at this wrong?” Brela raised her brow at him. “We’ve been focused on the wall breaking, on things coming out…” His eyes focused on Brela. “What if they’re trying to getin?”
Shit.
Brela pulled the papers closer and let her mind fill in the gaps.
“I didn’t think anyone except pure shadow-kind could get in,” Serill said.
“But what if youdidn’thave magic,” Cason replied. “Lyle said they could use someone with Brela’s abilities in their ranks. What if he was referring to her not having magic?” He tapped the armor. “What if you could trick the wall into thinking it was letting a pure shadow-kind in, or at least trick it into recognizing a person as itself? Disguise someone without magic using the shards as armor?”
“It doesn’t work. I’ve tried to get through the wall before,” Brela mumbled, not looking up.
A tense silence settled before Cason whispered, “Sorry, I didn’t—“
“It’s a drill.”
They froze as Brela grabbed a blank paper and started drawing. Twisted spike, the armor that wasn’t armor, then the long rectangle. Then she added the details that would explain why gears were needed.
“Oh, gods,” Serill breathed.
Elias leaned closer. “That’s not armor.”
“It’s a crank,” Brela replied, staring at her drawing. “They’re drilling into the wall, obsidian against obsidian.”
“Four hells,” Cason blurted.
“He said shadow-cursed,” Farrah gasped. Her eyes widened as she looked at Brela. “Lyle said he didn’t run from his duty to destroy shadow-cursed, not cultists. They aren’t here for the Veil Worshippers.”
“Hellthorn.” Brela swallowed the bile creeping up her throat. “They want to finish their war against the shadow-kind and Ryia. They’reattackingthe wall.”
Gods, this couldn’t be real. How in four hells did Oni think she could stopthisfrom happening? She couldn’t stop a gods-damned army with her magic, and definitely not with hellthorn in the picture. She couldn’t even fathom how to hold the wall together, either. Not when these drills were clearly damaging it. Not when the obsidian barrier stretched for miles and miles. She was just one person.
“We need to get back to Rooke and send word to my father,” Serill said.
