Shadows shifted.
The Veil shard in her chest pulsed.
She twisted away from the flying knife, dropping the crate as she spun and drew her own knife from her back. She wound back before the woman had reached for her second weapon, catching movement to her right. A second intruder. Her other hand was nearing the dagger at her hip before her shoulders sagged.
“Elias? Farrah?” She grumbled as she stood again, her throat scratching at the words. Too much talking had been done after Ovir’s visit. She pointed over her shoulder at the blade Farrah had thrown into the door. “Nice aim.”
“Four hells, Bre,” Farrah snapped. She weaved around her hiding space behind the couch and wrapped Brela in a tight hug. “Don’t scare us like that.”
“I was only at the markets?” she rasped, though that was more from the grip Farrah still had around her.
Elias ran a hand over his face before joining the hug, breathing a sigh of relief as he squeezed them into his chest.
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Brela whispered.
Farrah leaned her head back and pointed over her shoulder. “We thought… Ovir…”
Brela raised her brow, but then she saw the mess at the table. She’d been in a rush to get to the markets after Ovir left that she hadn’t had time to clean up the bowl that had broken on the floor. As if the glass pieces littering the floor weren’t enough to spark their worry, they would have noticed how far the table had shifted when Ovir had thrown her into the surface.
Farrah would have noticed if the couch had been moved even a hair closer to the fireplace, she was that careful.
“Sorry,” Brela whispered, wiggling out of their grips. “I, uh…”
Farrah had stepped back and was busy tucking her weapons away, but Elias’s gaze was fixed on Brela’s neck. His jaw tensed, cheeks burning as his eyes filled with anger.
“Bre…” His voice was more growl as he lifted his fingers to move her hair away. Light, soft… so much kinder than the hand that had gripped her that morning.
Farrah frowned, her eyes lifting to Elias before flashing to Brela. She gasped. “Oh, fuck.”
“It’ll heal,” Brela sighed, doing her best not to grumble as Elias and Farrah studied the bruises.
“Was this his punishment for last night?” Elias asked, unable to shake the deep anger in his voice.
“Part of it, but I didn’t help the situation.”
Farrah lifted her hands. “I can—“
“No,” Brela said, wrapping her fingers around Farrah’s palms. She pulled one closer and pressed her lips to Farrah’s soft skin. “You can’t heal it—this is my reminder. I’m okay, I promise.”
Farrah hissed under her breath. “Gods, that man is wicked.”
“He’s tightening my leash, as he should,” Brela replied. “Because celvusa or not, I screwed up.”
They sat on the couch as Brela filled them in on Ovir’s visit—how he had known about the hellthorn and not told her, how he knew Brela had lost control because it had to have been an important artifact, and how his voice had almost cracked when he realized it was her father’s dagger.
It disgusted her that the words came so easily—that she believed Ovir was telling the truth when he promised he wouldn’t take anything sacred from her. Itwasthe truth. It always had been. He had broken her bones, bruised her skin, destroyed her mind, tortured every inch of her… but there were lines that he had never crossed. He’d never taken advantage of her, never touched her inappropriately unless she had given him permission—even though it often felt like she had no other choice—and he had never,never, taken something sacred like a Veil artifact from her.
She swallowed the bile in her throat.His words, not hers, but they sounded so natural off her tongue because they were true. Dangerous man.
Elias and Farrah knew it too, and though they showed—and voiced, loudly—their hesitations, they eventually let Brela continue.
As she told them about the other part of her punishment, where she walked willingly—without a disguise—into a castle full of men and women who hunted her kind for a living, they reacted in the same way she had. And as much as she hated defending Ovir, he was right.
He wasalwaysright, proven by the arrival of Gerrart’s men in the markets that morning. After she had told them about the soldier she had teased, Farrah had chimed in with her own experience meeting one of the armored men, punching him in the throat, and the moon-blessed storm wielder that had been with him.
It wasn’t until after Brela shared her description of the sun-blessed man she had spun in circles that they discovered they had met the same man. The multiple gods-blessed man.
“No wonder he knew about my dagger,” Farrah said, scrunching her nose. “Moon and sun-blessed. I bet he also has a protective affinity.”
