“Dancing.”
Cason planted his heels and stopped her forward momentum. “No, not happening.”
Brela tugged back with equal strength. “Yes, happening.”
“I already told you—“
“Yes, yes,” she said with a wave of her other hand, still not giving up the tugging contest. “That you’d rather stare down a vaarasuxa than dance, but we’ve already done that first part.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” Cason grumbled.
Brela huffed and let go of him, gesturing to the grasslands and destroyed town around them. “It’s just us. No music to rush us, no witnesses, and no judgement. Besides, you never know when it might be the last time.”
His fists clenched at his sides, feet planted firmly in the grass.
Brela glided forward, eyes locked on him. “Please dance with me. It’s not Orhyrst, but I never got the chance to dance under the stars.”
Cason felt every muscle in his body lock up. “I told you, I can’t dance.”
Her smile softened as she stepped closer. “Cason,” she whispered, then lifted her palm to him. “Trust me.”
He stared at her outstretched hand. The offering.
How many times had she done this for him? Given him kindness, seen something inside him that he couldn’t see himself?
Hadn’t he told himself he would take her hand if she offered it?
Somehow—without remembering lifting his hands—his fingers were in hers, his other hand against her waist. And they were moving. He vaguely heard her instructions through her humming, vaguely noticed her pause as she waited for him to catch up before she continued the song.
Through the grass, they swayed and spun and…danced.
He was dancing.
Brela tiptoed around him, nimble enough to dodge whenever his feet tripped or tried to step on her. Not once did she poke or prod him for being stiff. Instead, her fingers slid across his muscles to soothe him, her body melded into his, and she wiped his nerves away. Her smile became infectious, her little squeals of delight lighting his skin on fire. And that gods-damned purple-stained tongue. Four hells, she had to know what it was doing to him.
But even as they finished the night swaying slowly together, her arms wrapped around his neck and cheek pressed against his shoulder, words failed him. He only soaked up her smell. Smoky and sweet louze, cherry mixed with campfire—and hickory smoke,hisscent—and a little bit of emptiness from the shard. It wasn’t until she was asleep, softly snoring into his pant leg as his fingers curled into her hair, that he finally had the courage to speak.
“I love you, Brela,” he whispered into the sleeping night.
43
Thin Ice
Serill stared at the abandoned town, jaw slack.
Brela had been right about every inch of Qord. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she had produced a perfect drawing of the broken streets, dilapidated houses, and fractured buildings down to the splinters. If the town had never seen rain, he wouldn’t put it past her to describe Qord down to the blood stains and graffiti splattered.
He wiped his eyes of the heavy mist, thankful that they’d made it here before dark… and that the rain had lightened enough to only be mist.
“We need to get off the streets,” Farrah whispered, patting Moonheart as he pranced nervously.
Her brown hair had deepened a shade, plastered to her skin from the water. She’d used her magic earlier to deflect the rain when it was heavier, but after hours of creating a barrier, that exhaustion had weighed her down more than the water weighed on her hair and clothes. She still somehow found a way to offer Serill a polite smile.
Beautiful and bright, even soaked.
Elias, on the other hand, looked like a sad, wet dog. His playful demeanor had slowly disappeared, replaced with fidgety silence. The rings around his eyes had darkened from little sleep.Nosleep was probably more accurate. Elias hadn’t woken Serill the previous night when it was his turn to keep watch. Farrah would have slept through hers too, had she not woken up from a nightmare.
The earth-blessed man seemed determined to stay awake until Brela and Cason returned.
