Page 10 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

I fought the urge to snarl. To yank against the chain limiting my mobility and throw myself at him.

I could stop his heart.

Aren had taught me to wield my magic as well as any weapon.

But killing him would get me nowhere. If they executed me in retaliation, it would leave Alvara without an ally inside these cruel stone walls. She might be my only chance of escape, but for now, I was her only shot at survival.

The captain sighed again, this time with exasperation. Exhaustion poured from him as he stepped deeper into the cell, his boots scuffing against the dirty floor. Slowly, he lowered his mammoth frame and, without looking at me, reached for my ankle with a key in his broad hand.

A hand I promptly kicked, sending the key flying through the bars and into the adjoining cage.

He braced his elbows on his knees and dragged reluctant brown eyes to my face. “Briar, think this through. The less you fight this, the easier it will be.”

“You sound like a rapist,” I snarled, satisfied when pain lanced through those dark eyes, his brows pinching before he could control the flinch.

“Of all my crimes, that has never—and will never—be one of them. I can keep you close and ensure nobody touches you, Blythe. But you must cooperate if that plan is going to work.”

“Good cop, bad cop? Really?” I narrowed my eyes. “That’s your strategy? As if I don’t know exactly what pieces of shit you all are.”

“As a guest of the prince, you will have quarters.”

“Guest,” I scoffed.

I lunged for him and nearly toppled over when the chain caught around my ankle, thrilled when the giant rocketed upright and stumbled backward.

Good.

I’d melt the skin from his pretty face. The face Jaycee had loved so deeply.

At least he knew it.

“Fuck. You. Murderous filth.”

This time, he didn’t flinch when I spat at his feet.

This time, his eyes turned stony. He wet his lips before fishing out a pack of smokes and plucking a joint from the box. Without a word, he backed away and slid down the bars to sit on the stone floor, evaluating me as he raised the paper to his lips and lit it with a Zippo.

The familiar scent brought tears to my eyes, memories rushing through me. Teenage years spent getting into trouble. A college dorm full of mayhem. This very man on our porch, laughing with Mags and Bell—Adrastos.

Laughing with Adrastos.

The enemy.

After smoking his way through half the joint, he held it out to me. I jerked my face away. Now wasn’t the time to lower my inhibitions. And fuck him for thinking he could hand me a peace offering.

They’d fucked my sisters.

We’d all bonded over television, trauma, and afternoons hunched over competitive board games. We’d let this asshole create masterpieces across our skin using nothing but ink.

All the while, they’d slaughtered our witches. The people they’d vowed to protect.

“Hate us all you want, Briar. We deserve it. Lord knows, I’m a little relieved to see it because it means you’re still you. But Moros has identified you as a problem, and you’d best pray my cousin lays claim to you tomorrow.”

What the hell did that mean?

As if reading the question in my eyes, he explained, “The King has a nasty habit of breaking beautiful things for his enjoyment before bending their wills to match his own. Tomorrow, you face the hoddsendi.”

Some distant corner of my brain stirred, like a cat roused from a deep sleep, but she told me nothing.