“Your freedom.”
“My freedom was secondary,” she replied without hesitation. He stiffened, watching her with a look… Oh, she didn’t like that look. It was getting too emotional. Too vulnerable. She forced a smile. “Besides, my freedom means nothing if shadow hell destroys us all.”
Cason nodded and sat back on his heels, watching her stretch out her fingers and arms. “Would something in that satchel help with the pain? Finola?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Cason Valkip, if you stick me with one of those needles, I swear to every god I will drown you in Calesevain Lake then feed you to Atuphe and Dulphi.”
Chuckling, he held up his hands. “I would never.”
He might. One day, maybe soon.
His hand reached forward, thumb brushing her cheek as he held her face. In response, her eyelids seemed to gain weight, sinking into his touch.
“Sleep,” he whispered. “A few hours.”
“Thirty minutes,” Brela replied, curling closer.
Cason shifted her head to his lap, stroking dizzyingly gentle fingers over her forehead, chin, nose. “A few hours.”
She didn’t remember replying before she fell asleep.
* * *
To her credit,Brela slept an hour before vomiting again. Then claimed she was fine after chugging the rest of her water.
“You don’t look fine,” Cason grumbled. Though her eyes had cleared, her skin was still too warm to the touch, still too pale. And the scrape on her cheek from falling was starting to bruise.
“Rude,” she pouted, gesturing to the heavy fog. “You try looking presentable in this weather.”
Even after retching for hours, she still looked beautiful.
“I seem to recall you telling me I was handsome,” he replied with a smirk. Baiting.
“I had just fallen face first off my horse because my bones felt like soup. Clearly I suffered brain damage,” Brela mumbled as she rubbed her temple. “You look like a drowned rat.”
He couldn’t help the grin spreading on his face. “And you look stunning.”
She stiffened, pale eyes lifting.
“If you’re fine,” Cason continued, unsheathing her throwing knife, “then you should be perfectly capable of winning this knife back.”
Brela’s eyes flared as she shifted to her knees. “You…” She swallowed, very obviously trying to hide the fact that she’d almost vomited again.
“I… what?” he teased, taking a small step back. Flipping the knife between his fingers.
Slowly, she rose to her feet, eyes locked on his hand. “You are…” Her head snapped to the left. “Cason,” she hissed.
He was at her side a moment later. “I hear it.”
Bodies moving silently, surrounding them. A few less than a dozen heartbeats, and steady ones. Trained. Add in the smell penetrating the dangerously dark mist… magic.
“Eight,” he whispered, eyes scanning the dense fog. “Earth-blessed strength, two with fire and water, and one shield.”
Brela snorted and drew Night Carver with trembling fingers. “At least they’ll give us a good challenge.”
“Brela, you’re—“
“If you tell me I’m in no shape to fight, I will stab you.”
