Slop shut him up with a glare. “That tainted fire wielder is barely containable with the prince to calm his flame. Sometimes I think he’s worse than the shadow-cursed and those Veil scum.”
Brela hissed under her breath.
Elias coughed, giving her a pointed look. Maybe her hiss hadn’t been as quiet as she intended.
“So,” Farrah said quietly, trying to distract her. “CaptainValkip has fire and protective magic? On top of his already strong storm magic?”
“That’s a lot of sun-blessed magic. Would he be able to sense you?” Elias asked.
Brela swirled her drink, clearing the scratch in her throat. “It doesn’t work that way. Illusion and shade affinities dull sun-kind magic.” She tapped the mug between her fingers a few times. It had been a long time since she’d shared stories about her years in Valisea. “I remember some of the neighbors joining us in our cellar during Anfroy raids. It was too small for all of them, but they just kept piling in until there wasn’t a single empty space. I asked why we didn’t just build a bigger cellar. My mother always told me it was our duty to protect as many as we could, but that there was only so much we could do. I don’t think they wanted me to feel like it was my responsibility to save everyone, especially after Anfroy started using hellthorn and I would get sick. No one hid with us after that.”
Farrah chewed her lip. “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”
“By the time I was born, almost all of the shadow-kind had been killed or were pure enough in magic to escape through the Veil wall,” Brela replied. “Besides, I’m notreallyshadow-kind. The shard burned into my chest… that’s never happened, and the magic is a side-effect. Not even the necklaces, gems, or jewelry the Worshippers wore gave them shadow magic.”
“Only protecting the pure shadow-kind, not even the men and women who honor her? Your god is a bitch,” Elias grumbled.
Brela raised her drink to that. “If I ever meet her, I plan to say that to her face.”
“Attention!” Everyone in the inn quieted as Graybeard stood and raised his drink in the air. Somehow, Slop had sunk further into his chair and Corbin’s face had turned a bright shade of red, but that didn’t stop the old man. “Our dear friend Corbin has lost his puppy. Has anyone seen a celvusa running the streets?”
Laughter erupted throughout the inn, some patrons slamming their mugs while others banged the tables with their fists. Corbin grimaced as some of them called him names while others jeered that they had seen a celvusa stalking his mother. One even went so far as to say he should lace his crib with hellthorn just to be safe.
Idiots. If only they knew.
Gods, even though Brela had looked a celvusa in the eye—even though she had fought the shadow wolf for her father’s dagger—she still couldn’t truly believe what she had seen.
The shard in her chest pulsed, as did Night Carver hidden against her thigh.
“Enough!” a voice roared from the doorway.
Silence once again fell over the inn as everyone turned to see the four men standing at the entrance. Rynn’s silver armor was speckled with blood—at least some of it his own, judging by the stained red gash along his shoulder—and his face was set in frustration. Behind him, Merik was groaning and favoring his side, held up by the soldier that Brela had teased in the market who had a bruise forming under the cut on his cheek.
Of course, that left Valkip on the other side of Rynn—the real source of the Veil shard pulsing against Brela’s skin. Valkip’s outfit was stained with sweat and clinging to him, but there were no obvious injuries.
Brela cursed her traitorous eyes that had first scanned his visible, very well-defined muscles, then cursed her lungs for releasing an uncharacteristic sigh when she realized he wasn’t hurt.
She bit her tongue before it betrayed her too.
Right, she was trying to get her mind off Ovir, and though she much preferred Farrah and Elias’s real features over their illusions, she needed a different focus tonight—even if he was a revolting sun-kind. The man was too handsome. Did he have to be her enemy?
For a small moment, it looked like Rynn shot Valkip a threatening glare, but the sun-blessed man kept still. Impressive, considering how the other men had complained about his flame of a temper, but uptight was definitely the personality radiating off him.
The four men made their way toward the other soldiers, ignoring the glares they got from the men and women they passed. Some of the patrons took the opportunity to drop their coins and scurry out of the inn to avoid any further drama. Even Emerie had found her position near the kitchen and the knives she had tucked under the table.
Farrah’s mischievous flicker of a grin behind her drink mirrored Brela’s feelings as well. Things were about to get interesting.
Graybeard had sunk into his seat nearly as much as Slop by the time Rynn made it to their table.
“Did any of you consider that some of these patrons might have some answers as to who the Night Terror is and where to find him?” No one spoke. No one in the inn even breathed until Rynn finally growled again. “That’s what I thought. The three of you are on night watch tonight and for the next two weeks. Sober up before I beat it into you.”
To her right, Elias was fighting a snicker. Even Brela had a hard time holding back her laugh, but it was mostly at the face Valkip was giving Rynn—a mix of amusement flashing in his gray-blue eyes. Rynn tried so hard to be commanding, but it never really hit as strong as he intended. The soldiers, however, were mortified and scrambled out of their seats, hurrying down the hallway to their rooms. The man carrying Merik followed close behind, stopping only to ask Emerie for something—probably food or supplies for Merik’s unknown injury.
Normal volume returned to the inn, though slightly less overwhelming after a third of the patrons had ducked out while Rynn was yelling at his men.
Gerrart’s head guard pushed his shoulders back and began his questioning around the room, Valkip keeping his mouth shut as he followed Rynn like a shadow.
“Hey Bre,” Elias whispered. “You’re staring at the sun.”
