Part of that fire was probably being held in reserves because he could feel her debating doing something reckless.
Not yet, though.
No, she was still not sureBrelahad fully returned. It was like flickering between two breaths, one where she was something else, the next where she was herself. It had been years since she felt her muscles sing the song of the Night Terror like that. Years since Ovir and Dernian had first unleashed the shadow wolf that growled in her chest. Fewer years since it had controlled her so completely.
Back then, she didn’t have Elias and Farrah to steady her. There was no lightness and flirting before battle, no hands to soothe her after being drenched in blood, no light to coax her out of the depths. It was just darkness. It never ended when she became stuck in that fortress, surrounded by emptiness, fear, and utter loss of identity. It was in that pit that she had first met the Night Terror. Had let the nightmares of her past curl into her skin, flow through her veins, and mold her into a weapon.
It was always Elias to find her, like calling to like. His reckless and wild soul reminded her of who she was, cleared the path out of her own mind, and caught her when she finally breathed in the light. Farrah was her strength that followed, helping to rebuild the obsidian fortress and the very bones and muscles that kept Brela from collapsing.
But seeing Cason after that battle had snapped her out of the Night Terror song so quickly, she’d broken in the wrong direction by sheer surprise. She’d lied and told Elias and Farrah it was the dagger—hells, she almost believed it, since it was the first time she’d used Night Carver—but it was the fire-wielder who had shook something loose in her.
The man she had teased at the markets. The man she had tempted in the inn as Maeve. The man she had helped at the auction and willingly saved in the forest in exchange for her own freedom.
Her enemy who was so much like herself that she suddenly felt like she was betraying everything her people had fought for. Betraying the man and woman who had raised her.
It took her until after lunch before she stopped staring at the sun and finally approached him. With Farrah and Elias sleeping in the prison wagon, the prince promising to keep an eye on them, Brela nudged Moonheart toward the front of the caravan. The soldiers were already keeping their distance from the captain, but they retreated further as her horse fell into step with his.
“You look better,” Valkip said by way of greeting.
“You didn’t even look at me,” Brela replied, grinning as the captain raised his eyebrow and looked her over. Then his eyes fixed on the blue shirt that dwarfed her.
“Did you steal my shirt?”
She had, but in fairness, the prince had already offered two of his shirts to Elias and Farrah after the blood stains from the previous night refused to wash out. Serill had only smirked at Brela before tilting his head toward Valkip’s bags.
Brela flashed her teeth in a wicked smile, jerking her chin toward his hand. “Did you steal my knife?”
The captain’s lips twitched up briefly, but he only gripped the blade tighter and looked ahead. “You left it in the jaw of a Wraturo.”
“That one’s my favorite.”
It really was. She wondered if the man would ever figure out that it was the same blade she had left in Gerrart’s home. The same one she had stolen back that night at the inn when she pretended to be Maeve. Only, that discovery would lead to an entirely new problem about an extinct magic, and she had just barely convinced him not to strangle her for the shard in her chest. Baby steps.
“You have a lot of favorite knives,” he replied.
Brela chuckled. “Too bad we aren’t going back to Averlyn. I have a whole chest full of them. You could have had your pick.”
Valkip finally took his gaze off the horizon and settled those blue eyes on her. “I can’t figure out if I should be terrified that you own so many weapons or relieved that it means you know how to use them.”
“Is that a thank you for last night?” she asked with a dramatic gasp, throwing her hand over her heart. The look he gave her only saidyou’re insaneso she shrugged. “At some point we’ll have to break our tie, fire-breather. Seven kills apiece is such an ugly number. Perhaps the winner gets to keep the knife.”
He actually smiled at that, flipping the blade between his fingers like Brela so often did to keep herself busy. “I have grown quite fond of it.”
Brela didn’t miss that the Captain hadn’t once glanced at the knife in his hand when he spoke, or that he could very well feel the heat that burned through her body with his statement. Still, she smirked at her dragon enemy.
“Clearly, because you’re staring at the wrong thing.”
To her surprise, Valkip didn’t balk. “No, I don’t think I am.”
So, the uptight Captaindidknow how to talk to women. Serill would be proud. Perhaps Valkip regretted what he had said because he pinched his lips together again, his smile gone. “It’s never taken me this long to figure someone out.”
Brela raised her eyebrow. The man really couldn’t see how obvious it was. That chain dug deeper than she first thought.
She shrugged it off and tapped her collarbone. “You’re relying too much on your sun-blessed senses.” His brow twitched as he frowned. “Do you know how I figured out so much about you?”
“Because you and Farrah compared notes after that day in Averlyn?”
Brela chuckled. “Yes, but I also don’t have your magic to depend on to survive. I’m damn good at my job because I’ve learned to observe and trust my gut. Iseekthe answers and tells while youexpectyour magic to reveal them to you.” Her grin remained as she gestured to herself. “Go ahead, ask whatever it is on your mind rather than trying to get your magic to pick up on what it won’t find. Or, by all means, keep staring.” Valkip’s cheeks burned red and Brela laughed. “Oh, please. You’ve already seen most of my skin through that thin excuse of a dress.”
