Brela blinked as Fowke’s head fell limp. “Wait,” she breathed, gripping his cheeks. Patting them as his eyes rolled, unresponsive. “Tybost was looking for what? Succeeded in what?”
Cason moved in swiftly, shifting Fowke’s body out of her grip and carefully laying him on the ground.
“No, no, no,” Brela sobbed, digging her fingers into her hair. Into her legs. Into the blood-soaked mud.
“Brela,” Cason whispered, gripping her wrists.
Breathing was too hard. Her lungs were too shallow, throat constricting. Panic, maybe. Hellthorn, likely. The combination? Dangerous.
“Brela,” Cason hissed again, this time his hands grabbing her cheeks, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m so sorry, but we need to finish this. We need to leave.”
She nodded. Once. Twice.
He reached toward the satchel and lifted another syringe. Red. “Would you like me—“
“No,” she whispered, taking the needle. “I can.”
She didn’t ask what the liquid was. What Cason had mixed together that caused Fowke’s body to convulse for less than a minute and then collapse into the mud. He didn’t cry out. Didn’t appear to be in any pain. Just… sank. Slept.
Finally at peace.
Brela barely remembered Cason leading them out of the camp, skillfully hiding them whenever guards were near. Barely breathed through the hellthorn burning her lungs and seeping through her skin. Hated that her sorrow for Fowke was drowned by the poison clouding her eyes. Couldn’t even be relieved that Cason didn’t question the source of her tears.
Staring at the camp, Cason waiting nervously behind her, she felt one small relief.
They had proof. The King of Severina might not uphold his half of the bargain and offer her freedom, but he would be forced to act. The other kingdoms would be forced to act. To stop this madness before the drills were complete, before the experiments continued, and before the wall crumbled.
And Brela?
She’d raze the entire army to the ground herself if she had to.
And then she’d set her targets on the King of Anfroy.
45
A Good Challenge
That could have been her.
Cason couldn’t unsee the image once it formed. Brela’s body tied to the stake instead of Fowke’s. Bruised, broken, and branded. Being forced to slide that needle into her skin because there was no other option.
Burning the entire gods-damned camp in his fury.
He had no idea how she had handled finding Fowke so well. She’d thought quickly, keeping him focused on her. Had been in the right mind to unlock the man’s chains when Cason could only stare helplessly.
Absolute fear. That’s how Fowke had looked at them when he thought they were soldiers, until he saw Brela’s dagger. It’s how he continued to look at Cason until Brela had told him that they were friends. Then it was surprise and… respect. For Brela. For the Veil Scholar. For the fire wielder who was friends with his leader.
Cason didn’t feel like he deserved any of that respect, not when it was his people—his father—who had done this to the Veil Worshippers. Not when he’d ignored this cruelty for years.Thisis what Cason had tried so hard to escape by staying in Severina.
He and Brela didn’t stop riding for miles after the camp, until the horses were forced to slow. Then another hour. Two.
Until Brela, pale and sweating since she’d vomited at the edge of the Anfroy camp, toppled off her mount and landed face first on the ground.
She didn’t get up.
“Shit,” Cason hissed, leaping from his saddle.
He made it two steps before her shaking arms finally pushed off the ground. She crawled to a softer patch of grass, face planted again before succeeding in lifting herself up, then, she vomited.
