He waved behind him, another soldier stepping forward and handing the king’s captain two sets of coppery-looking irons and one normal. Magic dulling manacles for the earth-kind, of course. Cason took care of chaining Farrah while some unknown soldier chained Elias.
Brela held her hands up to Boelyn, allowing him to clasp the manacles without resisting. She purred against his neck, her own distraction, as she maintained eye contact. “Nice to see you again, lightning wielder.”
Boelyn’s jaw clenched as he yanked her out of her seat. “Shadow cultist.” When Brela snickered, his hand tightened around her upper arm, fingers digging through fabric with such force, she thought the sleeve might rip. Brela didn’t miss that Cason flinched as he guided Farrah out of the wagon, his eyes subtly locked on that grip, especially as Boelyn hissed in her ear. “You may have helped with the Wraturo, and the king might need you alive, but I will never forget that you threw that knife at my friend. You should have been chained to the wagon and dragged here after that stunt.”
Brela only grinned wider. “Are you offended I didn’t try to kill you instead?”
The man’s response was to shove her out of the wagon. His mistake. Brela maneuvered her stumble into Elias, effectively knocking him into the soldier unfortunate enough to be standing nearby. She nearly found herself face first in the ground after that, but Elias’s hands gripped her shirt and yanked her to her feet. The quick taps on her shoulder indicated that he’d taken advantage of her distraction.
Brela settled her feet, briefly gazed up at the castle of glass and stone and midnight blues, and then settled on Farrah who was casually playing with the end of her braid. Her signal.
Oh, Cason had been right. She’d trained them well.
“No welcome party?” Brela asked, her voice as sweet as she could make it.
Boelyn almost gaped at her.Almost. He surveyed the forty or so armed guards who had been stationed at the entrance before he raised his eyebrow at Cason.
To his credit, Valkip kept his face blank. “You learn to ignore her.”
She smirked, but Boelyn yanked her toward the doors. Cason flashed her a warning glare, and even Serill had his brow raised, but she ignored them and practically skipped next to the king’s captain. An awkward feat, considering he was still tugging her forcefully.
Brela smirked. If she was walking to her death, she’d go out in style.
* * *
Every movement Brelamade was precise—a signal to Elias and Farrah within each deliberate action, and a distraction to their escorts. Each skip, each tap of her foot on the stone, each teasing twirl she made around Boelyn despite his yanking and dragging was a message.
She watched her friends out of the corner of her eye. Not Elias and Farrah. They could handle themselves, as they had already proven out in the courtyard.
No, here in the enemy’s fortress, she made friends with the castle itself, because there was one thing that no one knew about the Night Terror.
The shadows whispered their secrets to her.
It wasn’t shadow magic, not entirely. She never had to call on that power when she extended herself like this. This skill was as embedded into her as the Veil shard in her collarbone, only a natural part of her instincts. It was what made her a vicious and terribly effective assassin. It was how she always knew where her enemy was, even in darkness. How she could discover the layout of a home in a matter of seconds. How no one could ever sneak up on her, and how she could effectively hide her own movements within that darkness.
In terms others could understand, it was like Cason’s protective magic—his heightened senses. But to Brela, it was so much more. The shadows were part of her consciousness—living, breathing, and watching. They were her, and yet, not. She couldn’t bend them to her will, not without calling her magic, but she could still read them and learn about her environment. Use them to possibly make it out ofthissituation alive.
Frostfurywould have been a predictable strategy, but the cold, vicious Night Terror would give the wrong appearance. She’d already been testing the waters with her behavior around the soldiers and her escape attempts. Cold-blooded, psycho bitch worked in most instances, but not when her Veil Worshipper status was already revealed. She couldn’t afford a bounty on her head and her secrets revealed by acting unhinged. The King of Severina still had too much of the upper hand, and she needed to utilize every ounce of the control she had in this situation.
Thussharpshadow; the strategy that gave the illusion of having all the answers and unsettling her opponent. The same way she had walked through the auction in Rooke without fear; by utilizing her inner fortress’s strength of purple obsidian and darkness.
And so she communicated with those shadow friends, relaying the information to Farrah and Elias who were diligently working on their part of the plan. She hummed to the shadows on the ceiling as they sang to her the floor plan of the castle. Her hands danced and made a point of rattling the irons on her wrists, communicating the locations of guards stationed around the walls painted like night skies and embedded with diamonds to sparkle with the moonlight. Legs kicked, twirled, and slid as she listened to the shadows hiding behind statues and tapestries depicting Severinian history, sharing with her the activities of the army training just outside the walls.
They’d barely made it down the first hallway by the time Brela had learned about the office where they would meet the king. The shadows painted a clean picture of the space where King Ingram waited. It was a grand library, much like Gerrart’s, with a massive fireplace and stone carvings along the bare walls. Not always bare, the shadows told her; only temporarily cleared of the display weapons that the assassin might be able to use.
As if she couldn’t disarm the several dozen armed guards stationed along these hallways, or even Boelyn for that matter, who still hadn’t noticed any of her tricks from earlier. Hadn’t noticed the empty weight along his belt. They really underestimated her abilities. It wasn’t even a challenge.
The shadows continued to speak of the office. Ornate desks, bookcases, and chairs neatly positioned around the room, almost as clean as their cottage in Averlyn. Silver spiraling staircases and delicate diamonds on chains hanging from the rafters. Windows as tall as the walls and stretching over the ceiling, overlooking the inlet and allowing the moonlight to sparkle through the patterned glass and reflect on those diamond chains, depicting a living night sky on the floor.
Brela spent the next hallway communicating her strategy to Elias and Farrah, giving them their assignments. It was her way of keeping them distracted and out of harm’s way while she gathered the necessary details for what came next. Despite all the knowledge she’d just collected, there was one thing the shadows could not tell her.
What in the four hells the King of Severina wanted with her.
The answer was close, but Brela needed just a little more time to work it out. The final piece needed to fall into place.
She made a final spin as they reached the office, pretending to admire the castle around her as she secretly shared her final plan. Both Elias and Farrah’s brows were tight with concentration, and Boelyn was so annoyed that he had given up trying to get her to stop moving. The prince looked rather entertained by Brela’s incessant bouncing and feigned curiosity.
But Cason—oh, the poor sun-blessed dragon—was churning in his thoughts more than he had on the wagon. His blue eyes hadn’t left her since they had entered the castle, watching each move she made as if he knew she was planning and scheming with each breath. Heknew, and yet he would never be able to understand it. That’s what had his mind spinning. That’s what made his features contort with confusion, frustration, and just a small sliver of attraction toward her.
