The shadows replied. She bit back a growl.
What about a path with significantly less hellthorn?
Crimson and blades.
“That’s no fun, either,” she grumbled under her breath. Why could there never be a happy medium?
“There,” Cason whispered. Brela followed the path of his finger and let out a surprised grunt as she turned to stare at him. He grinned back. “What?”
You’re better than my shadows.“Perhaps the thieving lifewouldsuit you.”
Oh, she could imagine the things they could do together. His senses working with her shadows…
She couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her, not from the cold.
He rolled his eyes, but the smile didn’t go away. “Focus, Brela.”
It might have been for his own sake, considering the small spike in temperature. She chuckled and returned her gaze to the path.
Where her chuckle abruptly died in her throat.
“What?” he asked, head snapping back to the selected path.
One. Two. A big three. She grimaced. Four. Five.
Brela swallowed the lump in her throat. “Nothing,” she whispered. “That’s the path. Let’s move.”
The three weak healing stones in her pocket suddenly felt all too brittle.
* * *
Cladin gold and crimson fabric that stuck to their skin with rain, Cason and Brela pressed against the back of an empty wagon, waiting for the guards to pass. Cason had sensed them a moment before she had—their heartbeats, their mechanical footsteps in the mud, their subtle smoky scent.
Only a third of the way to the strategy tents, Cason had resorted to counting. Counting whatever he could see through the now torrential downpour. Counting each silent footstep he made next to Brela’s nearly invisible presence. Small distractions to keep him from thinking about their suicide mission.
“Distract me,” she’d whispered as they changed out of their muddy blue and silver fabrics.
“Would it help to go over the plan again?” he asked, savoring the brief few minutes of dry clothing before they left the cover of the half-collapsed stable. Hopefully they would be returning.
“No, I’ve been doing that for the last ten minutes. I need something different.”
Her voice was wrong. Cason glanced up after tugging his boots back on.
Brela had retied her hair, a tight plait hanging down the length of her spine, leaving streaks of dampness down her stolen Anfroy shirt. She shifted after tucking the shirt into her charcoal pants, hands reaching for the laces around her chest and currently exposed Veil shard.
He blinked as she fumbled with the ties. She actually fumbled. Failed on multiple tries to get them to cooperate; to properly hide her collarbone and the fading bruise on her throat. He’d never seen any of her movements look less than graceful and precise, yet her fingers were trembling with the gold and crimson ties.
In two steps, he was in front of her, wrapping his hands around hers.
Unraveling the strings from her fingers and pulling them from the eyelets, he laced them in a better pattern to keep the fabric closed.
“What’s your favorite color?” he asked, keeping his eyes focused on his task.
“Teal,” she whispered, then pursed her lips. “No, green. Like Elias’s eyes. Wait, maybe purple, but not the dark black one of the wall. More blueish and lighter.”
Cason chuckled as he tightened the strings. “Can’t make up your mind?”
A flicker of a smile. “What’s yours? Fire red? Lightning white?”
