Then he remembered what his father had done to the women and children of the Valisea village where his mother had been killed. His head spun. Bile crept up his throat. He was going to be sick.
Brela wiped her cheek. “I was three when they found me against the Veil wall, crying and curled up in a puddle of blood from the Anfroy soldier next to me. He had been shredded apart, but I was just… left there. Discarded, even after someone had saved me from that man. I don’t know why… I don’t know how the shard ended up in my collarbone,” she whispered the last words, her eyes distant once again. Her fingers ran over the cuffs tied into braid in her hair. “The soldier hit me so hard, I barely remembered my own name, but Tybost took me in without hesitation. Lilla said that I was Ryia’s gift to them. I was named their heir when I turned five. It was the first time Tybost placed this dagger in my hands and told me that family is forged, not by blood, but by love.”
Cason hesitated. “I…”
He cut himself off. What could he say in this situation? She never wanted his pity before, so why tell him this story? Why divulge a past she was so adamant about keeping secret? Why bring up something he hadn’t questioned before?
He finally forced himself to whisper. “Why are you sharing this with me?”
“Because when we get to the castle, I don’t care what happens to me, but don’t let Farrah and Elias go down with me. I’ll admit to anything you want, I’ll give you anything you want, just make sure nothing happens to them. They are the only family I have left,” she said.
Offering her hand in kindness to her enemy… again. Tears lined her eyes as she finally met his gaze, glistening as if she might break again.
He did his best to give her a reassuring nod. “Our agreement stands. Your friends are pardoned under the prince’s authority and no harm will come to you while you’re with the king,” Cason replied. After a slight hesitation, she shoved the sheathed dagger into his hands. Cold bit into his hands, and in front of him, Brela shivered as if she felt it too. Or, perhaps, felt the emptiness of giving up yet another piece of herself. He patted the dagger gently. “I’m only holding it temporarily. It still belongs to you, that was our deal.”
Her lips twitched. It was an attempt at a smile, but it fell flat, even as she tried to bring a lightness to her next words. “You know, you’ve taken two of my favorite blades now.”
A glimmer of her old self. He could handle flirting if it meant Brela could shake out of her scarred memories.
He countered with a teasing tone, “Then you’ll just have to find me and get them back.”
“And if I’m thrown in your dungeons?”
“I think we both know that won’t stop you,” Cason replied, flashing her a grin.
Brela might have responded—might have cracked a real smile—but Serill poked his head around the wagon. “We’re ready to go. Boelyn will meet us at the gates.”
Cason slid the Veil Scholar’s dagger into his belt, careful to adjust the formal jacket he now had to wear over the hilt. Time to be the captain of the prince’s guard. “Thank you, Serill.”
The prince nodded and ducked behind the wagon again. Cason looked back at Brela who, instead of having her eyes locked on the dagger hidden at his belt, was staring at the horizon. Frowning as she blinked away the tears.
“What?” he asked.
She sucked in a breath, paused as she chewed her cheek, and then shook her head. “Nothing.”
Cason frowned. “You really think you’re walking to your death, don’t you?”
“Do you blame me?” Brela asked, raising her eyebrow.
No, he didn’t, because sheshouldbe walking to her death. Even if she wasn’t a Veil Worshipper, she was still an assassin. A famous killer in the forests of Rooke that shouldn’t be allowed to continue terrorizing their citizens. Hells, she’d already causedhimenough trouble, and she was sure to cause more.
But she’d also saved him, more than once,andshe’d done it while knowing that he’d still hate her for what she was. And yet, she had shared part of her past, memories that were sacred.
She started to turn away.
“Wait,” he blurted, shooting his hand out and wrapping it around her left wrist.
Cold. She tensed, eyes darting to the fingers that dwarfed her wrist, but she didn’t yank away. There was still a distinct trembling that shook through her body, and even her pulse rose under his touch. Maybe it was because he could now feel the very prominent scars along her skin—her incredibly soft skin that sent shivers through his own muscles.
Or maybe it was because his traitorous thumb had run over them twice before he realized what he was doing.
“Sorry.” He dropped her wrist and lifted his fingers toward her head.Thatshe flinched at, eyes widening as she leaned away. He froze and tried to calm his voice. “The rings in your braids are faded. May I?”
Brela’s gaze darted between his hand and face. Once. Twice. Until her shoulders softened and she dipped her chin just enough to pass as a nod.
Cason reached forward again, much slower as his fingers brushed over her ear and rested on the gold cuffs stuck in her braid. Gods, this was too close for his failing self-control, especially as his fingers itched to continue their path. Plunge into her hair and hold her head. Not stop tracing patterns around the skin of her ear and pull her closer into his heat so she’d stop shaking.
He made sure his eyes stayed locked on what he was doing and not her pale gaze studying him closely. With a gentle pulse, he siphoned some of his protective magic into the jewelry.
