“Blue.”
She blinked. “Wait, that’s it?”
“Yes.”
“Notsky blue, orcornflower,ornavy? Just… blue?”
He shrugged. “Just blue.”
Without flinching, he swiped her corset belt from where it rested on her horse and tied it around her waist. Secured the many, many knives and hid Night Carver along her spine. She didn’t protest, didn’t move, just stared at him until he finished and met her gaze.
“I’d like to change my answer again.”
He raised his brow, but she just smirked as her eyes flickered back and forth over his face.
“Steel blue,” she whispered. “Steel blue is my favorite color.”
Brela’s heartbeat remained steady next to him, like a rhythmic drum calming his nerves and racing pulse. She blinked away rivulets of rain that ran from the strands of hair plastered to her forehead and cheeks. Body preternaturally still, she was a portrait of composure.
Except for the slight grittiness he heard underneath her breaths. Silent to any sun-blessed perception except for the one standing next to her. Even weakened with the wall, despite not being out of breath or having an anxious-beating heart, he could hear her lungs straining to suck in enough air.
Her fingers tapped against the back of his hand, signaling their cleared route, and they were off again.
Cason hated his own steps—silent, but not as quiet as Brela’s. Hated the grind of wet fabric between his legs and change of sounds as they blocked the rain’s path to the ground. Grimaced at the sound of Brela’s hand crunching on something as they ducked between stacks of wooden boxes filled with hellthorn.
If he could have afforded the noise, he would have exhaled in relief as they slipped behind three guards. Thankfully, the men were distracted, trading turns making a shield over their heads to stay dry. They continued along their path, completely unaware of the two thieves now standing in the main strategy tent.
The crimson and gold rug spanned the entire tent, though less than a quarter of it could be seen. Tables, desks, cauldrons, chests, papers, and ingredients littered the space. Half of the tent looked like a war room, the other half an apothecary.
Brela didn’t take more than a ragged breath before weaving through the tables to the desk in the back, as if she’d known where to go the entire time.
Keeping his feet light over the miscellaneous chests of ground-up Veil wall scattered around the rug, Cason took his time scanning the surfaces of the shelves and tables. Fresh and dried herbs, bottles of tinctures and strange ingredients, lists of plant and hellthorn combinations taped to vials with every color liquid, syringes…
What in the four hells was going on here?
Another crunch, and the slight whiff of spring air. He turned to the noise as Brela shook out her fingers, wiped them on the last dry part of her pants, and began rolling a set of large papers together. Cason grabbed a tube and joined her.
“Schematics for the drill and a list of the locations and generals of contact at each camp,” she breathed, the words raspy like her tongue was dry. She shoved the first paper inside the tube and squeezed her eyes shut briefly. “I didn’t see any Veil shards around the camp that would be large enough to create this thing.”
“They have a forge on the other end of the camp. What if they’re not making it entirely out of the obsidian?”
At her raised brow, he pointed to the chest of ground obsidian in the opposite corner. Brela snarled and looked back at the table, shifting through the papers again.
“Shit,” she breathed, lifting a long list of weapons and coordinating mixes of steel and… “Hellthorn and obsidian is included in the forging process. Swords, blades… the drill.”
Cason rolled the paper up and shoved it into the tube. “We’ve gotten proof now. Let’s get out of here while the guard is still out of earshot.”
Her nostrils flared out of nowhere. “What the hells?” She whipped her head around and let out a grunt, her hand gripping the table as if she’d lost balance. She looked to the shelf he had just been standing at. “There.”
As she moved toward the vials and herbs, he saw it. The slight stumble and non-linear path. The louder footsteps and heavier breathing. He strung the tube over his shoulder and chased after her.
“Brela, what’s wrong?”
She blinked at the labels, swaying slightly as she swallowed. “That ingredient list Farrah found… it wasn’t for weapons.”
“Brela, you’re acting—“
“Opharel is a truth hallucinogenic,” she said, eyes out of focus as she read the ingredient lists. “Arrose is used when bodies reject non-magic healing… this isn’t right.”
