Cason kept counting her fingers. “How did you—“
Pale blue eyes met his, a sad smile tilting her lips. “Not used to people calling you names to your face?” She wiped a palm over the sweat on her neck, still tapping. “No, of course not, because if they did it to you, you’d actually breathe fire. But me? I can’t bite back like that.” She stopped tapping. “How many?”
“Fifty-seven.” Cason hesitated. “How do you deal with that so well?”
Brela’s sad smile softened. “While you count, I imagine a fortress. I picture their words and glares as claws, trying to scratch through my walls to release the anger or shame. They want me to feel and act like the chained creature I am, but they only win if I break.” Cason frowned at her phrasing, and she seemed to understand his question. “We’re all chained to something, Cason. Money, power, magic, our past… Something will always hold us back until we learn how to break it. What are you chained to?”
He sighed. “I’m not sure.” She wiped her palm on her dress, leaving a damp handprint behind. “I’m sorry about that. The heat.”
Brela shrugged. “Cason, I would have been fine if you burned this whole place to the ground, but this dress costs a fortune, and I’ve grown quite fond of it.” She glanced at him after he stopped laughing and ran her hand over the barely visible greenish-yellow bruises on her neck. “My chain. Itwasmy fault—I screwed up in glorious fashion—but I have debts to pay, and that’s how I survive. I was lucky he let someone heal it enough.”
He followed her gaze toward the other side of the room, where the bodyguard and dark-haired man exited a side room. Cason’s eyes widened as he looked back at her. She only nodded slightly in confirmation.
She was chained to the man who had touched her like she was a possession. That man had gripped Brela’s throat only a few days ago, and Cason would bet good money that the scars she wore were also courtesy of him.
“I don’t care what you did, you don’t deserve that kind of treatment,” he whispered.
Brela frowned. Blinked as if she was trying to see through him or clear a fog. Just as her nose upturned and she nearly gagged, the scent hit him too. Pine and pepper. He and Brela shot out of their seats.
“Four hells,” Serill snapped, seemingly coming out of nowhere. How had he not noticed them approaching? Cason shook out of his own fog, glancing at the man who wasn’t Boelyn as Serill coughed. “Did you bathe in hellthorn, Gerrart?”
With the overpowering stench wafting off Lord Gerrart, Cason was pretty sure the man was wearing a suit of it. Enough to put Cason’s heightened senses into overdrive and give him a migraine.
Lord Gerrart just shrugged, his face flushed. Already drunk, to no surprise. “Did you think I’d take my chances? Four more reports of a celvusa running around the forest last night.” He glanced at Cason and gave a curt nod before focusing on Brela. No,leeringat her. “My, my. That’s a lot of skin for no tattoos. But you’re too low, even for Captain Valkip’s tainted magic.”
Serill shot Cason a look that told him to keep his mouth shut or to tame the fire before it lashed out.
He should have sent it to Brela who’s fortress crashed down in an instant.
“That’s a lot of hellthorn for a creature of legend,” she snapped, her voice strained. No, it was raspy. “You must have really pissed someone off to fall for that shit.”
Gerrart’s eyes widened, but before he could speak, Cason reacted. He slid his arm around her hips and pulled her into his side. “Please forgive us, Lord Gerrart.” Cason hoped that Brela tensing wasn’t because he had made sure Gerrart saw him dragging his fingers over the skin on her back. “We were just on our way to the gardens. The drums give my senses a hard time.”
“It is a little crowded in here, and I was starting to overheat with the wine anyway,” Brela mumbled. She kept her eyes down, but made a show of running her hand over Cason’s arm. Very slowly. Very deliberately.
So maybe she wasn’t mad about the touching.
Gerrart glanced at Serill who luckily played along, raising his hands. “I gave him the night off. It seems we caught these two at a… bad moment. Come along, let’s get you some water.”
As he led Gerrart away, Serill flashed him a look that said they would be sharing words later.
Brela made no effort to move away from Cason’s side, only sucking in breaths and clinging to him harder. He ushered her toward the open doors to the right, having to carry more of her weight than he expected. Once they were outside, she leaned against the stone railing and let out a string of curses. Cason was tempted to do the same as he leaned over the railing and coughed, inhaling the clean air.
“Four hells is right,” she choked. “Overpowering reek.” Brela wiped at her eyes. “Didn’t help that I stood up way too fast after chugging that wine.”
Cason pinched his eyes closed, rubbing his temples. “Gods, I thought that stuff only worked on those horrible shadow-cursed murderers. Just the amount of it knocked my senses into oblivion.” He blinked to find Brela staring at him with a face he couldn’t read with his senses fogged. Fear? Hesitation? Dread? Thankfulness? “What?”
He took a step toward her but she backed away, clutching her hands around her stomach. Pain flashed through her gaze as she shook her head. “Sorry. Thank you for getting me away from that man.”
“Brela, don’t worry about what he said.”
“I don’t believe him,” she whispered. “That you’re tainted, I mean. I’m not afraid of your fire. I’m not afraid ofanymagic, because it’s not the magic that is bad.”
“I’m not following.” Cason flinched through a throb of pain in his head, which only made her step back further. “What are you afraid of, Brela? What just changed?”
Fear. That’s what the look on her face was, the tremble through her body.
Cason only shook his head slowly. “Is it the other part of what he said? Brela, I don’t care that you don’t have tattoos. I don’t care about you not having magic. I don’t care about the scars or whatever tie you have to that man.”
