The prince rolled his eyes. “That’s what I just said—”
Cason hissed. “Shh.”
His hand tightened over Brela’s knife, as the crackling of the fire grew.
No, not fire. Lightning sparked at Cason’s fingertips as his eyes scanned the dark horizon. Serill’s own hand drifted to his sword, watching the darkness for some sort of movement.
There was nothing but stillness.
Until the fire at the head of their camp exploded in green flames.
18
A Shit Rescue
Gods, that man had perfect aim.
If Farrah hadn’t been on a mission, she might have spent more time marveling at Elias’s shot. Nearly one-hundred paces out, he’d fired that poison-dipped arrow directly into the heart of the fire, sending green flames into the sky and around the camp. Granted, none of the soldiers would wake up or scream for a few hours thanks to Farrah’s finola darts stuck in their already sleeping bodies. Only the frightened horses and crackling flames were indication of the raging green fire.
Despite her own exhaustion, Farrah tightened her grip on the dagger in each hand, back pressed against the prison wagon that held Brela. The keys she’d stolen itched in her belt as she held still. Waiting for Valkip to make his decision—stay with the prince and Brela, or try to hunt down the source of the exploding fire. Elias would be well gone by now, on his way to Moonheart and prepared to meet the women early the next morning. He was the distraction; Farrah the quicker and quieter body to sneak into the camp. She had gotten this far without drawing suspicion.
Come on, Valkip.Farrah kept her breaths calm just as Brela had taught her. It wouldn’t do her any good to be nervous about the sun-blessed captain who would pick up on an elevated heart-rate that didn’t match any of his soldiers or the prince who looked pale, at least from Farrah’s quick glance past the wagon.
Finally, Valkip took off, the prince at his heels. Farrah shuttered the relief in her chest and slipped along the wagon, her steps light even with the roaring fire at her back to muffle them. Without so much as a groan from the wagon, she gripped the wood and leapt inside.
Farrah locked onto the wide eyes of Brela. She’d been healed and cleaned, even wore a new shirt that hid the shard in her chest, but her eyes were rimmed with red, breathing more shallow than it should have been, even with a gag on her. That pale gaze flicked up and Farrah followed it to the dried hellthorn hanging on the ceiling.
Shit, there went Farrah’s first escape plan. No shadow magic. Running it would be.
She reached up and plucked the hellthorn from the lantern, carefully tossing it out the back of the wagon without crunching the leaves into dust.
Brela’s eyes narrowed as Farrah knelt next to her, placing one of her daggers in her friend’s hand as she tugged the keys from her belt. The lock was quick work, but Brela’s arms sank rapidly after being released, thanks to the hellthorn weakening her. Farrah reached up and tugged the gag free, careful not to drag it over Brela’s split lip.
“Elias missed,” Brela rasped, her head drooping. “He should have set this wagon on fire.”
Farrah only smiled as she gripped Brela’s cheeks and held her gaze. “Then this would be a shit rescue.”
“Remind me to kill you for disobeying orders once we’re out of here,” she grumbled, her breathing ragged, but the glistening of tears in Brela’s eyes betrayed the annoyance in her voice. Farrah only leaned forward, resting her free hand against Brela’s chest as she kissed her, letting her healing magic clear her friend’s lungs and fix her lip. Brela blinked and sucked in a breath after Farrah leaned away. “That’s one way to do it.”
She bit back a laugh as she sliced through the ropes on Brela’s legs. “I figured I’d save my lecture for later.”
“I look forward to it,” Brela replied, letting Farrah help her stand. “The soldiers?”
“Finola.”
“Valkip?”
“Hopefully chasing down the traps Elias set up,” Farrah replied, jumping out of the wagon. She reached up and guided a still shaking Brela to the ground.
“Shit, that won’t last long. And the prince?”
“Right here.” Both women hissed as the prince strolled past the wagon, his sword lifted toward them. He dipped his chin. “Ladies.”
“Prince Serill of Severina,” Brela said, bowing dramatically with her arms wide. No, that wasn’t for show. Her hand slid behind Farrah’s back, to the blowgun and finola she had tucked away. “It’s been a pleasure antagonizing your men. Tell the fire-breather I’ll be back to collect my knife.”
The prince only chuckled. “I’m not sure he’s willing to part with it. I think he’s grown quite fond of…” He looked Brela up and down for a breath before emphasizing, “the knife.”
Brela let out an amused snort. Farrah gaped. The prince was somehow flirting with Brela… for Valkip. Her enemies.
