Farrah elbowed her. “If they were serious injuries, why did we come out to find you drinking at the table surrounded by twenty unconscious men?”
“What else was I supposed to do while I waited for you to finish? Bleed out sober?” Brela replied, teeth flashing as Cason finally lost the staring contest with her. He snarled under his breath.
Elias let out a laugh. “Don’t take it personally, Captain. Brela could stare down a celvusa and win.”
“I’d pay to see that,” Serill said.
Brela’s grin flickered toward her friends as she picked at a loose thread on her shirt.Cason’sshirt. “Hm, so many bets going on tonight.” Her eyes flashed knowingly between her friends and then Serill. Thankfully, Cason had no idea what she was talking about. Brela shrugged and stood. “I’m headed to sleep. Someone wake me if we get attacked.” She stared down at Cason as she added, “I have a knife to win back.”
Serill could have sworn that his friend almost laughed.
* * *
It had been nearlytwo full days and Cason still hadn’t recovered from hearing Brela say his name. Not Captain, not Valkip, butCason. He hated himself for liking the way she emphasized it, for allowing it to knock him off his guard just like she had done at the auction. Hated that they’d become so locked in a silent stare down that he’d forgotten how to speak, forgotten how to count. And yet he refused to give her back the knife in his hand, as if the game they were playing could excuse those traitorous thoughts about her that lingered in every corner of his mind.
He had nearly followed her as she sauntered off toward her bedroll, saved only by the utter lack of control over his muscles and magic. Some inner part of his mind was desperate to hear how the Night Terror had casually gotten into a bar fight with twenty men in Roulant, wondering which of those scars she bore were from that night. The other parts were more interested in figuring out how the woman barely a few inches shorter than him could both fit inandbe dwarfed by his shirt. Thank the gods that Farrah and Elias had excused themselves a few minutes later, joining Brela in their strange, three-person sleeping pattern.
Cason had nearly expended all of his restraint in the final hours they rode to Aelstow. He knew damn well Brela had avoided him on purpose after that night, and gods, that tension was infuriating and…exhilarating. At least the air had cooled the closer they got to the city, otherwise he would have sweat through his shirt completely just thinking about her. And he didn’t have a spare, seeing as Brela had somehow stolen yet another one out of his bag when he wasn’t looking. More thoughts about her wearing his clothing, and no filter preventing those thoughts from running rampant about her wearing nothingbuthis shirt.
He’d run out of things to count by lunch that second day, resorting to testing Brela’s strategy of building a fortress in his mind.
At the moment, that fortress was a pathetic excuse of a shack rather than a solid structure, and those inner walls burned to the ground the minute the castle came into view. Or maybe it was because Brela had found her way next to the prison wagon to stand with him.
The sights from the outskirts of Aelstow were always Cason’s favorite; the glass and stone and paints meant to highlight the powerful ocean that flickered just beyond the city. Silvers and blues of the castle sparkled in the sunlight, as if the structure was as alive as the streets full of people. Though Aelstow and the castle were designed to reflect the night sky, it was yet another beauty to behold in the sunlight. Severina was nothing but perfection. The sounds, the laughter, the calm—gods, thesmell. Fresh and cool air from the ocean, tugging his soul in and out like the tide. That water had always drawn him, calling to his moon-blessed magic. More than he ever felt his magic in Anfroy, regardless of their golds and crimsons that made the sunlight feel otherworldly.
Part of him always wondered if his storm magic was meant to be the ink drawn on his chest—closest to his heart—at least until the fire bared its teeth and reminded him how little control he had over it, despite his extensive training. Some had even suggested that he should have been banished to Idalo to live with the Fire Sentinels because of his gift. But Severina had been good for balancing his magic. This place was more home, the prince more family, than he had in the sun kingdom.
His father would be disgusted with that. Not that Cason cared, but the thought still existed.
To his right, Brela had uncharacteristically remained silent. Cason chanced a glance at her, surprised to find the woman stiff, her jaw clenched and eyes glazed. Somehow that pale blue had dulled to gray, not even reflecting the light off the buildings or the shining waters of the inlet.
The Night Terror, uncomfortable. It should have delighted him. Brela was still his enemy… but this? It tugged at something deep in his chest. Unfamiliar. Powerful.
Maybe it was because he was seeing more of her face. She’d tied half of her hair back with a strip of leather, at least three more braids woven into the thick white-blonde strands around her left ear. He even saw the golden cuffs that he’d glimpsed briefly before today, held tight to her scalp by the braid he’d seen Elias twisting for her earlier. What he hadn’t noticed before were the faint hints of protective sun magic tugging at his senses, the first smell he’d ever noticed from her. The shard in her collarbone, he had to remember, was interfering with his magic when she was close.
He tried to loosen the knot in his chest. “Have you ever been to Aelstow?”
A subtle shake of her head. Not even a retort. No flirtation, no comment about their staring contest the previous night. The only other sign she had heard him was her grip tightening on Night Carver—gods, that was such a good name for a blade—against her hip, her other hand resting over her stomach and the corset belt that tempted Cason’s eyes to look elsewhere.
Four hells, smalltalk was not his strength.
He sighed. “I can’t let you have a weapon when you’re with the king.”
“I know.” Barely louder than a breath. The swallow that followed was more audible than her words.
“Brela,” Cason whispered, even though nearly every soldier had kept their distance and wouldn’t hear their conversation. “I made a promise that you’d be safe.”
“I know.” Another rasp, but this time her fingers flicked the hook loose at her hip and she removed the sheathed blade. The Veil Scholar’s dagger rested in her palms, her thumbs tracing over the black and purple obsidian jewels in the hilt. She took a breath and lifted her eyes as she faced him. “I told Serill I didn’t know my last name.”
“I assumed you lied,” he replied.
Her jaw clenched. “I didn’t.” Brela swallowed, her eyes glazing for a moment before she finally breathed. “Lilla and Tybost Reinhart, the leaders of the Veil Scholars. My parents…adoptiveparents.”
Cason picked up on the shake of her voice. Not deliberate, not forced. That was real heartbreak and emotion rippling through her.
She continued, painfully slow. “Lilla was sixteen when her village was raided. The men of Rooke and Anfroy… the things they forced… and then they left her to die.” A tear streaked down her cheek, her words cracked. “Tybost found her two days later, saved her, protected her. They fell in love, tried to have a family, but she couldn’t have kids after what they did to her. Tybost didn’t care, even if it meant there would be no heir to the Scholars; he loved Lilla with every breath in his body.”
Cason felt his gut tighten. He’d spent so much time surrounded by people who hated the Veil Worshippers for being heartless and cruel—hells,hehated them for the same reasons—but it had never occurred to Cason that the elitist men and women of Rooke and Anfroy could have been just as terrible to innocent lives. He thought the shadow cultists deserved it, but a sixteen year old having something like that taken away from her?
