Page 39 of Cursed Shadows 2

Aleana smirks something unkind at him, a mocking smile. “Someone should tell the general to watch his back then.”

Rune sneers at her, and it’s the first time I’ve seen any look of the sort aimed at her. She seems entirely unfazed, her sleepy smile still painted over her pale lips.

“General Caspan has no reason to mistrust me.” Rune’sshoulders are stiffer now, heckled by the insult. “Difference is, I respect him where I do not respect Bracken.”

With a grunt, I reach out for my second bottle of honeywine and praise myself mentally for taking it slow this phase. “Is he unworthy of your respect?”

Rune nods, eyes on the sudden ignition of blue flames in the hearth. It keeps a blue hue for a heartbeat, two heartbeats, then swells back into its angry oranges and blood reds.

It’s Samick who answers, while he works the cloth in between the nooks and crannies of his throwing stars, all without cutting his ungloved hands, “Bracken is emotional. Too much so. He makes battle personal, loses his head. His thirst for bloodshed is deranged, unevolved, and unrefined. Is he so different from the wastelanders?”

Rune hums in agreement. “A leader like that can’t be respected—or trusted.”

I turn my chin and look over at the group by the door.

Daxeel catches my gaze—and hooks it. He holds it steady as he starts for our claimed corner of the Hall, a steel to his eyes.

I flicker my gaze around him to the general and his second.

Bracken has his daggered eyes on Daxeel’s back… then slides them to me.

I swallow under the assault of his fierce gaze.

A breath shudders out of me as he smiles. It’s a smile that pebbles my skin and stiffens my shoulders.

Bracken’s beauty is striking but striking like a sword. And I feel every bit of that sword’s sharp edge grazing over me.

A hand comes down on my stiff shoulder.

With a jolt of icy fright, I jerk against the sudden touch, pushing myself up the spine of the couch.

“Calm, vicious one,” Daxeel’s growled words soothe the rush of panic instantly. The panic I only felt because I was trapped under Bracken’s stare.

Evil isn’t a word I throw around, but it’s the one that comes to mind.

And Daxeel must have noticed Bracken’s stare on me, and so he’s come up to the side of the couch, put his hand on myshoulder, and claimed me right in front of the second.

I don’t want to look at him again, so I shift around to face the fireplace, and catch Rune’s small smile.

It’s a smile that says,told you so, and I think of Samick’s words—

‘He makes battle personal.’

I wonder if what he meant to say was that he makes any grievance or dislike personal—and no one is off limits.

But then Daxeel’s hand is suddenly gone from my shoulder, and the abandonment should sadden me, but he wouldn’t have let me go if Bracken was still in the Hall.

Besides, Daxeel doesn’t abandon me just yet. He stands by the arm of the couch, within reach, and uses a dry rag to wipe blood from his leathers.

From behind me, jeers rise up from the table, and it takes me a moment to fully come back to the Hall.

Master Cup must have delivered quite a dare, but I don’t look over my shoulder as Ridge’s voice reads out the task from the cup’s spitted parchment—

“Prit!” I don’t recognize the name. “Kiss a halfling!”

Instantly, I cut my panicked gaze to Eamon.

He watches me already with a twist to his mouth, only a slight crease between his eyebrows. His concern is there, but it’s mild enough that I wonder if I might convince him that I’m doing the right thing by playing the long game with Daxeel.

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