Cason stilled next to her.
The entire room tilted as her muscles gave out. Her father. Tybost… he…
The mud squished under her shins as she sank, sank…
Brela scrambled to hold Fowke’s head up again. “My father? You…when?” she breathed.
“Months ago. He… we were…” He let out several pained breaths, then, “The king… stop him.”
Cason leaned down and handed Brela a sharp tool, taking her place so she could free his cuffs. His hands held Fowke’s head with the same gentleness she had as he asked, “What are they doing to you?”
He had barely finished his question by the time she finished with the lock. Fowke groaned as she eased his arms down, Cason helping to lean him against the stake. Brela grimaced at the bare tent. No water. No healing stones. Nothing tohelp.
“Experiments. Injecting with—obsidian mixtures.”
“Do you know why?” Cason asked.
Fowke let out a small grunt. “To get—into wall.”
Brela threw a hand over her mouth. Cason had been right the previous night, except they weren’t building armor to trick the wall into letting them in. That would never work. But if it were part of them…
“Non-magic users with obsidian in their systems might give off the impression of a pure shadow-kind, or at least register as part of the wall,” Cason whispered, finishing her thought. “Has it worked?”
“I don’t… think so. We have been test subjects,” Fowke rasped, then looked to Brela. “So far—makes us…vulnerable. But he… Raff is readying an army—for when it works.”
It wouldn’t work. She was proof, because she couldn’t get through the wall. Brela bit down on her tongue before she asked the more important question that ran through her mind.
Did the injections give you shadow magic like this shard gave me?
“He wants to attack whatever is behind the wall… or shatter the barrier,” Brela said instead. On Fowke’s nod, his head lolled and his body pitched forward. “Fowke,” she hissed, diving to help him upright. He didn’t respond. “Fowke, hey, I told you we were going to get you out. Don’t you dare sleep on me.”
“Brela,” Cason whispered, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We…” His voice cracked. “Just… look.”
She squeezed her eyes, letting the tears fall freely as she took in Fowke’s weak form. His broken legs. Shattered soul…
He’d never make it out of the camp if they moved him. They’d never make it themselves.
A brittle hand slid into hers. “Please.” She choked on a sob at Fowke’s broken words. “Give me… peace.”
Gods, hadn’t she asked Elias and Farrah to do this for her? Cason, too? To give her a clean death beforethiscould be done to her. She’d barely known this man and it felt like her heart was going to shred. No wonder her friends had chosen to rescue her over ending her life.
Brela weaved her fingers through Fowke’s and nodded, then turned to Cason. “In the bag… finola.” She wiggled through the mud and propped herself against the stake, curling Fowke’s body into hers as Cason rummaged through the vials. “Talk to me, Fowke. Tell me where you’re from.”
“Tybost loved you,” he whispered, stifling a cough. She froze. “When I met him… He told so many stories about you. How… proud he was that you were his daughter. He fought with me—before…”
Her hand trembled as she brushed a tear off his cheek, ignoring the ones streaming down hers. “Before you were captured.” He nodded. “Before he was killed.”
Cason pressed a syringe in Brela’s free hand, a painfully dark color like Farrah’s finola darts, only more liquid than necessary. Sleep would be quick. Deep and painless.
“He… I did not know,” Fowke breathed. “We… most were captured… but many… died. I… always hoped.”
“Hope is never a bad thing, Fowke,” she whispered, sliding the needle into his leg. The man didn’t flinch, either because he didn’t care or he could no longer feel it. “Hope keeps us kicking. Keeps our hearts pumping and our eyes on a better future.”
A smile tilted on his cracked lips. “He believed you… lived. Fought to protect—you. Your future. Now, you are—the Scholar.”
Tears fell faster now. “Of course he spent all these years worried aboutmyfuture, that stubborn man. Always fighting for others and never taking care of himself.”
“There were whispers…” Fowke’s cheek dragged along her shirt, and his amber eyes lifted. “Tybost was looking—” He froze, blinking heavy eyes as his mouth hung open. “They… succeeded.”
