Freedom from the debts that chained her to a man that abused his power over her. Life away from Ovir.
She ground her teeth, trying to recover from getting caught off guard. “I haven’t been to Valisea since I got out fifteen years ago.”
Such specific words.Got out, which meant she had probably been owned since that day as well. Possibly sold to someone before Ovir… as a nine year old. No wonder her debts were so large. It made Cason sick.
The king smiled in a way that twisted Cason’s gut more than learning that Brela had been a child and seen such horrors.
“I just offered you a chance at a new life, a number so specific and outrageous that no one would ever guess at random, and you think you can lie to me?” King Ingram folded his arms and smirked. “Calcheth.”
It happened so fast, Cason had barely lit his arm with lightning by the time it was over.
Brela leapt toward the king, somehow going from that lazy, seated position to lunging in less than a breath. Elias and Farrah moved just as quickly, the former wrapping his arm around Brela’s waist to hold her back while the latter grew an ice dagger and pounced behind her friends. Farrah diverted Boelyn’s quick but still delayed attempt at stopping Brela, the point of her ice dagger at his ribs, the other hand now holding his sword to his throat.
Cason hadn’t even seen Farrah disarm the captain. He was too busy gaping at Brela.
One second, she’d had a knife in her hand, the next, it was embedded in the middle of the king’s desk. Wobbling from the impact that echoed through the office. And then the strength-blessed man had his second arm around Brela, crushing her into his chest and pulling her away from the king as she trembled so violently, Cason could hear her bones shaking over the roar of fire and lightning in his head.
Gods, she wasterrified.
The three assassins didn’t make any other moves besides their labored breathing. They just stood there as the chairs they had been seated in finally settled after being kicked away.
Cason didn’t ease his magic, though the crackling rage stopped pounding through his skull. And in that clarity, he realized where he had planned to aim his magic. His attention immediately latched onto his own pulse as he began counting.
Serill’s voice was barely a whisper. “Where did she…”
Boelyn paled, his eyes darting away from the knife in the desk to his empty belt. Where his blade was supposed to be. But she hadn’t grabbed it off of him in that moment, which meant she had been holding it this entire time.
Brela’s breathing was ragged as she clung to Elias’s arms with as much strength as he held onto her. “I told you. If I wanted to kill your king, he’d be dead already.”
Somehow, the king barely looked bothered, even though he’d flinched as much as everyone else in the room. “My offer still stands, Night Terror. Travel to Valisea and tell me what Anfroy is doing at the wall.”
Her shoulders sagged enough to convince Elias to loosen his hold on her. Even Farrah took a step closer to them, still holding Boelyn’s sword. Brela’s trembling hand clutched onto Elias’s fingers while she reached back to rest her other palm on Farrah’s leg.
“I made a bargain with the prince. My friends are pardoned for everything,” she rasped.
The king nodded. “They are free to leave.”
“We go wherever she goes,” Elias growled. Farrah nodded her agreement, not looking away from Boelyn.
“If that’s what it takes, fine,” the king replied.
Brela sucked in a breath and swallowed. “Then you have yourself a deal. We’ll need supplies for the three of us, but we’ll leave on your orders.”
“Supplies for five.” He smiled as Brela hesitated. “You didn’t think I’d trust you to go on your own, did you?” That roaring of lightning and fire was back as the king nodded toward the prince and Cason. “Captain Valkip and Serill will be joining you as well.”
23
The Shadow Wolf Under My Bed
Red everywhere. Soaking her black outfit. Puddling in her boots and squishing with each step. Running in rivers along the ground and splashing as she ran. No blonde could be seen in her hair, no part of her skin left clean. Only the scent of iron filled her nostrils, the slick and stick of blood and sweat dripping from her fingers and daggers.
She didn’t know her name. Didn’t know where she had come from or who she was. Didn’t care if she ever remembered those things.
All she knew was that she was a vessel for the Night Terror. Her muscles a conduit for shredding and ripping through skin and bone. The hum of that energy in her soul carried her through body after body.
Power rippled off her skin, calling on the shadows as if they belonged to her. Heat cut through the air and burned her lungs, but all she felt was cold stinging through the shard in her chest.
The taste of fear lingered on her tongue, screams never reaching her ears. She’d never stop slicing until there was silence in her head. Until the song was over and there was nothing left.
