Page 6

Bria

I leave the library to find it’s well past supper time. Pulling the thick hood up over my head, I trek back out into the freezing air. Though my hair dried hours ago, I feel much colder after spending the day by the cozy fire of the library.

Warriors made of bones dance through my mind as I pass the pub where the rebels and soldiers are drinking after a day of training and patrolling.

Lost in thought, I look up at the sounds of clinking glasses and laughter coming from the building.

I pause my steps as one of the soldiers opens the door to enter the bustle and the joyful noise bursts from inside.

Evander is sitting by the front window, drink in hand and leaning back in his chair, his feet casually kicked up as per usual.

Quinn sits across from him next to a captivating girl with long fiery hair curling around her.

Ashbel is laughing, her emerald eyes dazzling, even from here.

I make an attempt to duck my head, but she catches sight of me through the window and jumps up, waving.

Damn. I’m not in the mood to go out drinking with anyone tonight, but Ashbel beckons me inside.

I push thoughts of bones and death to the back of my mind, determined to focus on the living tonight.

As I open the door, it’s a barrage to my senses: loud music and laughter, the smell of alcohol and sweat mingling, and heat.

Glorious heat. My fingers are stiff and nearly numb already from the short walk.

Ash meets me at the door, pulling me into a tight embrace. If her intention is to suffocate me, she’s succeeding. Her hair still holds the sweet fragrance of vanilla from her day in the kitchen and the scent makes me smile. She always smells delicious.

“Where have you been all day?” she squeals, grabbing my hand as she leads me back to where they have been sitting. We make our way through the throng of people relaxing after a long day.

“I was studying with Cato,” I reply, allowing Ash to guide me around the clumps of rebels milling about.

“Well, that sounds atrocious. You’ll be needing a drink,” Ash answers firmly as we arrive back at the table.

Evander pulls his feet from the remaining chair, his head lifting to look at me. I meet his gaze, his eyes reminding me of hot cups of chocolate we would have on special nights as children. Warm and inviting. The flecks of gold only make them more so.

“You have no idea,” I respond, taking the open seat next to Evander.

“Is one of you going to get your lady a drink?” Ash demands, her eyes a striking green as they dart between the men. “Or is chivalry dead?” she asks, her voice taking on a teasing but firm tone.

Evander lets out a deep laugh that rumbles in my bones, while Quinn rolls his eyes and pushes back his chair with a loud scrape across the floor. “Of course. Where on earth are my manners?” he quips before prowling away.

Titles mean nothing anymore. Where you came from is merely a talking point here.

But Ash still likes to tease about my former status, especially since I’m the only noble in the rebel camp.

But we are no longer forced to abide by our status like we had been at a young age. And we never would be again.

“How was Cato?” Evander asks as I get comfortable, removing my cloak and gloves, stretching the chill out of my fingers.

“Oh, fine,” I reply, not sure how much information I should give the group just yet about my newfound gift. “It was mostly just reading today.”

“Sounds wretched,” Ash cuts in, her lip curling in disgust. She enjoys reading, but mostly romance. Give her anything else and she won’t last more than a few pages. “We were just talking about their patrol today,” she informs me as Quinn returns with a mug of ale.

I thank him and take a sip of the cool beverage, the foam brushing my lip with familiar and delightful floral notes.

For quite some time my friends were hesitant to offer me a drink, fearing I would slip back into the dark hole of depression I sank into upon our arrival at the camp.

It took months of me pulling myself back together and focusing my attention on my training and magic before Ash and Quinn finally realized I had no intentions of drinking myself to death and I had just been in the midst of a breakdown.

A short-lived stint of allowing the despair of my fate and the warmth of whiskey drag me under before I came around and started acting more like an adult.

Now, no one pays any mind to offering me an ale or a glass of whiskey.

There’s no fear that I’m going over the edge again.

The men start back in on their recounting of the trip as I sip at my drink.

They were gone most of the day, only returning an hour ago.

Quinn sits with his back straight in his seat, arms crossed in front of his chest while Evander lounges back in his chair, rolling the sleeves of his tunic up to reveal toned forearms.

The two have shed their armor after their shift and now sport more relaxed clothing.

I let the conversation lull me, listening to the back and forth of my friends, feeling at ease.

Evander tosses an arm behind my seat, the heat from his arm warming my back, the calluses from his fingers brushing across my shoulder.

I chew on my lower lip, consciously reminding myself not to lean into him.

Were it not for the fabric between his fingers and my skin, I might just melt into his touch.

“Wait, what did you say?” I snap back, trying to focus on what Quinn is discussing. I realize that, yet again, I had been so distracted by Evander’s touch—by him—that I tuned out of the world around me for a moment.

Ash eyes the hand on my shoulder, one brow arching as she takes a sip of her drink. I glare back, ignoring her wordless query and instead turning my attention to Quinn. She knows me too well and I’m aware there will be a conversation in the near future about my behavior toward Ev.

Quinn’s hazel eyes look pained. “The whole village was gone. Wiped out. But they must have found someone there who was of use to them.”

“What makes you think that? The king has killed off villages before, especially if he thought they were linked to the rebellion,” Ash offers.

“They were sending a message,” Evander adds in a low voice, staring down at his drink. I note the warning glance Quinn shoots him when he speaks.

“What? They’ll hear about it soon enough. Word travels pretty fast around here if you hadn’t noticed,” he scoffs.

The rebel camp is comprised of only a few hundred people, and we function as a unit.

From what I understand, the southern camp is similar.

It’s necessary to keep the peace, or that’s how Helara sees it, at least. She wants transparency, wants every person here to understand their role and be here willingly.

She believes it’s the only way to make this work.

She keeps no secrets in the camp. Aside from me.

Quinn nods his head in agreement. “Ev is right. They were trying to send a message. The bodies were...” He looks down before finishing. “Ripped apart, torn limb from limb.”

“Shit,” Ashbel curses, knocking back the remainder of her drink and clasping the empty mug tightly, her fingers white with the effort.

“They hung them from the trees on the outskirts of the village, the symbol of Vaohr burned into the bodies. Branded.” Evander continues, “The whole community was burned, including their fields. There were no signs anyone made it out alive.” He rakes a hand through his thick hair, pulling it away from his face.

A quiet spreads, nestling down between us, thick with the words we are all thinking but no one dares speak. No one but me.

“Magic,” I say, the word catching in my throat. “They found someone with magic. What other reason would they have to send a message like that?”

Evander tightens the hand around my shoulders, running his fingers down my arm. It’s a soothing gesture but my skin still prickles in response.

“Yes, that’s what we think.” I can feel his eyes on me, and it takes everything in me not to look into them, keeping my own focused on the drink in my hand.

Another person like me, hunted down. It hurts and it’s terrifying, and I know if I look into his eyes and see pity, I will fall apart right now.

And maybe he would be there to help me pick up the pieces, but I can’t let that happen either.

Instead, I look out at the group of people enjoying their night.

They laugh and dance like there is no rebellion, like there are no bodies strung up in trees, like people are not being chased and killed for being different—tracked down and captured because of what runs through their blood.

Like we are not fighting a war we may not win.

It's times like these that I want to run to the capital and turn myself in so no one else can be harmed. But I know that type of thinking is useless. Being a martyr won’t get us anywhere.

Even if Aamon and King Braddock have me, they will still track down the rebels and kill them for taking me in the first place.

“This is a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, let’s drink,” Ash says, slamming her palms on the table before standing and gracefully moving herself back through the throng of bodies to the bar.

I watch her slide between people and somehow land herself next to a handsome soldier while grabbing more drinks.

He is a younger man, newer to the camp, and I’m not yet familiar with him.

They are too far for me to make out what they are saying but I can guess the mood of the conversation by watching Ash’s body language.

It shifts when she talks to him, and she tosses her bright red curls back from her shoulder and tips her head back as she laughs.

The girl has confidence. And why not? She is simply stunning, curvy in all the right places, and has an outgoing personality to boot. Men always have their eyes on her.