Page 14 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“The captain moved me here from the dungeons. Said I was to face the hoddsendi.”

After exchanging loaded looks with his brother and Odessa, the shifter turned back to me. “Our king hails from a long Nordic bloodline. Hoddsendi is Old Norse for ‘gold distributor’ or ‘treasure sender.’ They were responsible for dividing the spoils from raids.”

My brow pinched as I replayed Bartholomew’s warning. “He warned me I’d be distributed like loot. He can’t—he can’t mean…”

My words faded at the solemn shadow crossing the warrior’s face.

“We are spoils of war, healer.”

“Slaves?” I snapped, whipping my head between the brothers.

“Should you choose that as your fate.”

“We have an alternative?” I balked, fighting to keep my voice level.

“There’s always a choice,” he said flatly. “Death is sometimes the more appealing option.” Whatever blood remained in my face must’ve drained away, because Branoc straightened and Kennon set both hands on my shoulders.

“I’m not saying that’s your only option. I’m analyzing our situation.”

“And as for you?”

He glanced at his brother, some silent communication passing between them. “We are survivors above all else. Thornquist has taught us well in the art of vanishing. Given the proper circumstances, bending the knee temporarily may very well lead to our escape.”

Odessa nodded, fatigue etched into her bones.

“Where did you fight? I assume that’s how you ended up here.”

“Seattle, until the portal was sealed and we drove them back. Then we came to you—to Santa Bloom—to answer Grayshell’s call for aid at Hazelharbor.”

I nodded, my throat tight with the torrent of questions begging to be asked. “Is it true—what they’re saying? That Aren and⁠—”

I caught myself, unsure how many of them were familiar with Grayshell’s inner circle.

“Commander Aren Amadeus and his right hand, Ansel Callahan. That they both fell?”

He didn’t have to speak. The devastation in his eyes said enough.

The bridge of my nose burned, and I blinked at the ceiling as he gentled his voice. “We were captured after the Old General fell. But others… others have said The Commander took his last breath in your heiress’s lap. That she… detonated afterward.”

He fell quiet, watching as I blinked tears from my eyes, every breath like fire in my throat.

Mags.

Oh, my sweet sister.

My heart screamed for her—raged against the confirmation. Against its juxtaposition with that golden braid.

Softly, he asked, “You knew them?”

All I could do was nod, afraid my voice would fail me.

“Good men,” Branoc said. Again, all I could manage was a pitiful, tear-filled nod as their smiles flashed through my mind. Their laughter. Their gentle hands. Their unwavering bravery in protecting my sisters. Then Magnolia, finally at peace, a radiant smile across her face, seared itself into my vision.

Gods, she must’ve felt so broken. Her world knocked from its axis.

It might not be today, but Adrastos would pay for the agony he’d inflicted.

It might not even be me who did it, but somehow, someway, I would see the bastard brought down.