Serill sighed. “Think of it like a day off, okay? Take a break and try to enjoy yourself for one day.” A sly grin crept over the prince’s face. “Gerrart says the women in Averlyn are less…elitistthan they are here in Rooke.”
“Gerrart said that?” the captain asked, his brow raised in skepticism.
“Fine, I might have translated what he said into terms you’d prefer, but I am being serious. You haven’t had a night off in… well, maybe ever. It’s always been rigid Captain Valkip. Just once I’d like to see my friend Cason again.”
Cason shook his head. “I’d consider it if your life wasn’t in danger.”
“I’ll be at the castle all day, and we’re staying there for the rest of the week,” Serill replied. “Look, assassin or not, if I were a Veil sympathizer, I’d probably avoid going into the one fortress that is housing the people who hunt me for a living. It’s suicide, and judging by the Night Terror’s reputation, I don’t think that’s his style. That’s the safest place for me to be this week.”
“From an assassin, perhaps, but a celvusa?”
Serill’s jaw dropped. “Did you just make a joke about a mythical beast?”
The captain grinned. “You wanted your friend back, didn’t you?”
“Just make sure this version of you sticks around to the end of the festival. I will not be robbed of my chance to watch you try to flirt with a woman for the first time in years.”
* * *
Cason was prettysure he’d bite his own tongue off from trying to keep his mouth shut. If it were up to him, the men he traveled with would be in disguises—no colors or displays of wealth, with a mission to draw the least amount of attention as possible while still getting information. They’d enter Averlyn in stages, heading to different parts of the village to make it look like they weren’t an organized group before converging at the end of the night to share their findings and come up with a new plan for the morning.
It was obvious that Averlyn was one of the poorer villages on the edge of Dredon, and possibly in all of Rooke. It seemed like most of the area had been forgotten or dismissed by the King of Severina and the Rooke Guard. Cason had passed through the village before with Serill, but never during the Earth Festival. While all of Dredon had been decorated with the richest colors and people, Averlyn seemed to draw a different type of crowd; one that didn’t care much for the elitist earth-kind on the other side of the hills. The perfect place for a Veil Worshipper to pass off their cult ideals as distaste for the Rooke royals and politics.
Rynn and his men had clearly never been to Averlyn before, or perhaps they were playing into their elitist nature. Cason was pretty sure Rynn was doing everything in his power to remind him who was in charge. Tempting the fire in Cason’s chest was the worst possible thing to do under normal circumstances, but Rynn knew he couldn’t do anything with that frustration here in Rooke.
Of course, that only encouraged the man to test the limits of Cason’s patience. Rynn and his five men wore the most decorated armor with the brightest and most expensive swords money could buy in Rooke. As if their matching outfits won by the spoils of Valisea weren’t enough to draw attention, their decision to march through the hills as a unit and storm into the village as if they owned it made everything worse.
“We’ll scare that assassin out of hiding,” Rynn had said after seeing Cason’s unamused glance at their array of weapons.
If anything, they were just giving the assassin an excuse to stay hidden. Or, better yet, six new targets. A small part of Cason secretly hoped the assassin would end Rynn’s life while they were in town. He even considered watching it happen before attempting to stop the Night Terror.
The captain had done his best to blend in with the village. He had chosen his most worn shirt and pair of trousers along with a simple sword that wouldn’t draw attention. He even made sure that his extensive tattoos—an obvious sign of wealth to afford studying at the temples—were covered under loose long sleeves, despite the heat.
None of that would do him much good with the plan Rynn had in place, and it would only make finding the assassin impossible. A waste of time, so the captain had pretty much decided that this visit would be good practice to let himself be Cason again—the man Serill had wanted to see more of.
He sighed as Rynn and his men charged ahead to the village, choosing instead to distance himself in the hopes he could actually enjoy some of the things Averlyn had to offer. The market they had passed the other day had been rather impressive, and while he had no use for trinkets, there would be a good chance that he could gather some information while pretending to be interested in those useless items. Surely the assassin had walked these tables and been seen, and someone would be foolish enough to give him details.
Cason made his way to the inn to drop off his belongings and tie off his mount before he made his way to the village streets.
* * *
The cart had nearly been unloadedas Farrah leaned against the shade of a tree, stroking Moonheart’s mane with one hand while the other rubbed her temple. It had been yet another sleepless night—way too many in a row to count—but instead of seeinghim, she had seen the celvusa.
Farrah had seen Brela’s eyes change color before, but hers were always kind, albeit slightly frightened from using a cursed magic. The shadow wolf’s glare couldn’t compare to the terrifying legends that she had heard. That purple gaze seemed to follow her everywhere today; the deep, searing rage making the hair on her neck stand on end. She’d been jumpy ever since she woke up curled against Brela who was stroking her hair to try to calm her down. Though she wanted to apologize for another nightmare that left her sweating and screaming, she knew Brela wouldn’t have any of it. Neither would Elias who had just brought her food in bed and told her that he would take care of everything today.
But she had to stay busy, otherwise she’d just sink into that shaking feeling that she had tried so hard to hide from the kids. They couldn’t see her as weak, and neither could Madame Bele. The woman already had these children to worry about; she didn’t need to know that the petrified girl she had given a bed to so many years ago was still unstable despite having two friends who protected her from those horrors.
“Miss Farrah?”
She nearly yelped at the small voice that called her attention. She blinked, focusing on the little head that poked around Moonheart’s legs.
“Jyva, love. What is it?”
“El said that I should come help you with the last crate,” the little girl replied, twirling her messy braids between her hands. Elias had done them a few days ago and, according to Madame Bele, Jyva had refused to take them out until he was there to do them again.
“Did he now?” Farrah said with a smile, reaching out to tap the brown-haired girl’s nose. “Are you sure he isn’t just being a baby because it’s hot out?”
Jyva giggled, her green eyes sparkling as she squished her nose. “No, he had to go patch the roof. Veris and Diggory were climbing the trees again and knocked a branch into the bedrooms.”
