“It’s atrocious.”
“Be nice. He tried really hard,” she said, running it through her fingers with a smile.
“I can’t look at it any longer, it’s painful. Let me redo them.”
She smacked his hand away and sat up, jaw hanging open. “You will do no such thing. I love them.”
Elias stared at her. She stared back.
Brela never used that word so freely.
It took her a lot longer to realize what she’d said.
“Shut up,” she grumbled, then shoved off the ground and stormed toward the hallway. Who she was going to find was a pretty obvious guess.
“Ha!” Serill cheered, pointing a finger at Farrah. “Told you she’d cave first.”
Both women swore at him in unison.
47
Truths and Lies
Everything was going perfectly, and yet everything was going to shit.
Sitting on a relatively sturdy table, Cason stared through the half missing roof at the night sky. He counted the endless stars, growing more frustrated with their presence; their lies. They made everything seem so gods-damned calm when nothing in this world—in hismind—was.
Cason let out a long string of curses into the night.
Curses for his body getting the best of him the other night when Brela was weakened by hellthorn and they were surrounded by the raiders they’d killed. For not protecting her better, even if she didn’t need anotherterritorial bastardlooking after her. For remaining silent over the last few days of their trip to Qord.
The last one was the source of most of his self-chastising.
Because it wasn’t the last few days of traveling just the two of them, but the last few days of them being togetherperiod. They’d leave for the mountains in the morning, and once they reached Rooke in a few days, that would be it.
The end of what they were sharing.
He didn’t want it to be the end, yet he’d wasted those days thinking himself in endless circles, trying to make something work. To convince her to come back with him to Aelstow, to work out a way to be both the prince’s captain and spend time in Averlyn with Brela, or to throw away everything he’d worked for and see if she’d let him stick around.
His past seemed to creep up like dark shadows behind him. Everything he’d tried to hide from, everything he’d tried to avoid, was becoming more difficult to ignore.
He’d run from the raids. Shuttered his mind from the battles and glory that came from being in Anfroy’s army. Completely shunned his time training with the Elite. All because he wanted to ignore it.
There was no ignoring it now.
Severina would make a choice—make a plan to stop Anfroy, to defend their kingdom from the oncoming hell, or attack before it ever reached their border. They could no longer hide. War would come to their kingdom.
Cason didn’t know where that left him.
The world was changing. He wasn’t ready.
Wasn’t ready for the wall to unleash shadow hell. Wasn’t ready to accept that the shadow-cursed might return with their cruel tricks and illusion magic. Wasn’t ready to raise his sword against the magic-kind that killed his mother when it also meant raising his sword against Brela’s people.
Against her.
There was no winning, though he knew there was no such thing as winning a war. There was only death and heartbreak. The shadow-cursed would bring back the nightmares he’d tried so hard to forget.
Smooth hands ran up his back. Kneading into the tight muscles and curling over his shoulders as he lifted his face from his hands. Arms wrapped around his neck.
