He opened his mouth to protest but the woman snarled. “Don’t pretend to be chivalrous. It’s like I said; you have no idea what I have to do to survive.” She sighed, pushing the anger out of her voice. “Why do you care so much about this break in? Did the Night Terror kill someone you know?”
“No one was killed; just a robbery.”
She pinched her brow. “And I’m guessing since you’ve been stirring up Veil Worshipper gossip, whatever was stolen was something from Valisea?” Cason nodded. “Then why are you looking for an assassin when this is clearly a thief?”
“The assassin has been known to target supporters of the Valisea raids.”
“She’s also a killer who has rid our home and other villages of rapists, predators, and evil men and women who have committed worse crimes that go unnoticed out here because Rooke is too busy swimming in their gold.”
Cason froze. “You saidshe.”
“I did,” she replied, her face calm. “The Night Terror is a legend to some women here because of the evils she’s eliminated. We’ll never see the face behind the name, so can’t we for one moment believe that there’s a woman out there looking out for us when all the men in our lives have let us down?”
The Night Terror—a woman. What a strange thought. Maybe more surprising was the fact that despite being a Veil Worshipper, people respected the assassin.
Respect for a Veil Worshipper. What an even stranger thought.
“Isn’t she the one letting you down?” he asked, pointing to the woman’s bruised neck.
Her jaw tightened, the second flinch he’d seen out of her besides the first mention of her bruises. “My debts are mine to pay. Or maybe the Night Terror is someone I’ve wronged in the past and thinks I’m getting what’s coming for me.” She straightened. “There have been several thieves and assassins in Averlyn and other villages who claim the Night Terror title—men and women, many of them at the same time. It’s a concept, not a person. Today there might be one, tomorrow there might be more.”
“So you’re telling me it’s useless to look for this assassin?”
Her pale blue gaze studied him. “I’m telling you that if the Night Terror really is your thief, there would be a lot more dead bodies, not poisoned staff.”
Cason had to admit that after seeing Gerrart’s reaction to recalling the state of the bodies the Night Terror left behind, this woman was probably right.
“Finola poison,” the woman sighed. “It’s a signature for Warley and Ripley, two thieves who frequent Averlyn to buy supplies. I saw them a few weeks ago.”
Cason glared at her. “And you’re just now remembering this information?”
She snarled. “No, of course not. I was trying to see if you were worth risking my life for.” He raised his eyebrow as she swallowed. “Because if they find out I gave you the information,this”—she pointed to her throat—“will look like child’s play.”
He nodded. “I won’t tell a soul, gods honor.”
She kept her face flat. “Not even when they’ve snapped every bone in your hand or carved their names into every soft part of your flesh?” Cason flinched. “That’s what I thought. Don’t underestimate them just because they’re thieves. Men hire the Night Terror to make a statement, but they hire those two for something far worse.”
With that, she swept her stones and jars into a crate and walked off.
8
The Set Up
Brela could barely hide her laughter as she left the man fumbling where he stood. It was so easy to fool men into thinking they could be heroes when apoor, helplesswoman was involved. She’d had his mind spinning since the minute she opened her mouth, her deliberate flinches at the mention of bruises around her neck, hiding her excitement that Gerrart and his men really were paranoid about a celvusa… and the tall, blonde idiot thought he could play her. She knew exactly what she was doing and saying to get him into her trap, and now she’d cleaned her hands of two problems: Warley and Ripleyandthe sun-blessed man who would kill her if he discovered who she really was.
She’d smelled him from the minute he walked into the market; smelled himandfelt the vibration of warning rippling out of the shard in her chest and Night Carver against her thigh. The feeling wasn’t new—Brela had felt that any time she was near someone sun-blessed—but this man had to be insanely strong if she could still feel the chill.
The sun-blessed may have been the first to start hunting the shadow-kind, but Brela still had one advantage over them—her shadow magic dulled their power, even without actively using it. She sometimes wondered if the shadow-blessed were the ones with the protective affinity, not the sun-blessed, but it was probably just a piece of the illusion affinity. It had helped her people survive a little longer in Valisea; at least until Anfroy discovered hellthorn and Rooke joined in on the raids.
Brela almost felt bad that she was sending that handsome man directly into Warley and Ripley’s path—and potentially his death after being beaten to a pulp. The two of them weren’t really as horrible as she made them out to be—men hiredherto do both the statement-making and torture, not them—but they still had their tricks. It was a shame to waste that sun-blessed man’s pretty face, even if his magic and distaste for Veil Worshippers were repulsive.
In fairness, everyone except her friends felt that way.
Still, there was a part of her that entertained the idea of messing with him one more time, especially after she caught him staring at her. Imagine—bedding the shadow-kindandassassin you were supposed to be hunting only to wake up and discover she’d robbed you and disappeared. Oh, that would be too fun.
Too bad he’d never survive if he went looking for Warley and Ripley.
Brela balanced the crate on her hip as she opened the door to her home.
