He needed to now. He needed to accept this final hand she’d offered him. A chance to understand her.
All of her, including her magic.
Scrambling, he flipped through the pages, growing more and more confused at the symbols she’d drawn. They weren’t smoke and shadow.
They were lightning. Perception. Fire.
He finally opened to the last section of her notebook, where the letter had been stored. The final pages of writing. On the paper, Brela had written him another note.
I hope you don’t find this offensive, but I’ve taken the liberty of updating your tattoos. As the Shadow Speaker, that’s my job. From the moment I saw your ink in the courtyard, I’ve been wondering what sort of design could best fit you. I figured I’d take on the challenge of speaking to your magic.
It broke my heart that you were so afraid to show your ink when it was so beautiful. I hope you know, I’m always handsy, but there was a reason I couldn’t keep away from you. Every time you slept next to me, I found myself getting lost in those tattoos… in you. I was trying to understand each flicker of fire and spark of lightning. I watched how you reacted every time I ran my fingers over your markings, and how each of your senses adapted to the changing scenery on our trip. I even studied your movements while we sparred, and several times when we fought together. I wanted to knowyou.
After the raiders on our way to Qord, I thought I had it figured out. I thought I had come up with the perfect answer to my problem.
It wasn’t until our last night together when it finally clicked.
Cason blinked and flipped to the next page. Centered on the top half of the page were three familiar patterns. But he’d never seen them like this.
A small bolt of lightning became the left side of the symbol, followed by a tracing of fire, curled and capped by a single, rounded line. Together, it looked like a lick of flame made out of his lightning and perception symbols.
It was… it was beautiful. Somehow, Brela had made three separated lines—three separate magics—look like they belonged together. Like they had always belonged together.
Underneath, she had continued her note.
I know your fire marks don’t show the real strength of the dragon within, and that’s when I really understood what your symbol should be. Others have always feared that power, but it’s not cruel. Your fire doesn’t seek destruction.
It wants to be understood. To be seen for what it is.
Beautiful.
The man who has more ink than anyone in the five kingdoms doesn’t need something elaborate. You don’t need thicker swirls or raging flames or jagged bolts. You don’t need more when everyone can smell how strong you are.
You need simplicity. You need to be seen.
For you, ov qigri. My dragon, because I might be just as territorial as the bastards in my life.
I see you.
Cason wiped at his eyes. He’d been an idiot, and now she was gone. Captured. Likely being tortured or turned into a cruel experiment. What would they do to her? Not just as the Veil Scholar, but as a shadow magic wielder? As someone with a shard burned into her skin. Remont had tried to yank it out of her before, and he didn’t have to imagine the sorts of tools they’d use to cut it out of her. He’d seen them on that table with Fowke.
Four hells, he couldn’t leave her to die like that. Couldn’t leave her to suffer.
He would save her.
His feet were moving toward the door the second the decision was made. Somehow, he’d find her. He’d save her for all the times she’d saved him.
Because he loved her. He still loved her, even if she could never love him after what he’d done to her.
Cason yanked the door open only to stumble back.
Serill stood on the other side, eyes wide and fist raised to knock.
“I know what Brela is,” Serill blurted at the same time Cason said, “I have to save Brela.” He paused, then, “What?”
With trembling hands, Serill shoved a paper into his chest. “I figured out what the celvusa called her. If I’m right…” He swallowed. “Case, we need to find her.”
Cason blinked and read the paper, his heart dropping to the floor.
