Page 15 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

For Mags. For Aren. Ansel. Lana. All of us.

I couldn’t clear the lump from my throat, but we didn’t have time for further conversation anyway. The great oak door swung open with a creak, revealing two looming Renown and a witch with hair so blonde it was nearly silver.

People panicked. Scattered. Cowered against the wall, averting their eyes as though meeting her gaze were a crime.

A gaze that sent a chill down my spine… Because she had Adrastos’ rich brown eyes. The same cheekbones beneath that unearthly pale skin.

“The king’s sister. She wields death,” Kennon whispered, his eyes flicking between me and the witch in the doorway as she curled her delicate fingers in a beckoning motion. “A single touch turned our people to ash. The ground beneath our feet, too.”

Fear raked steel nails down my spine, searching for purchase.

Well. That explained the welcome.

When those eerily familiar eyes landed on me, I held them, funneling every ounce of rage—of fury—into my stare. Like a black widow creeping down its web, the bitch smiled.

The look in her eyes was vile—pure evil staring back at me from a face too beautiful to be real. As though she fed upon the misery in this room. Upon the challenge in my eyes.

“By all means, keep me waiting,” she drawled. “See how that goes for you, vermin.”

Two sentences—the English lilt in her voice as pronounced as her brother’s true tenor—and the room rushed to comply.

Gods, she must’ve been terrifying.

The room was full of herbalists, earth wielders, water wielders, and warriors. Every hierarchy I recognized was an ally. I assumed they all had training, but when the witch spoke, they rushed to obey, resigned to their fates.

When it was our turn to join the funnel, Branoc stepped ahead, naturally taking point as Kennon ushered Odessa and me between them, as though I’d somehow become his to protect.

Shoulder to shoulder, jostled like cattle, we were led down a corridor and into the hall where I’d seen them dancing the night before. I did my best to count our steps as we continued down another hallway toward a tight, winding staircase tucked away as though it belonged to servants—to those the royals wished to keep unseen.

I lost count as we spiraled down the endless steps, terrified I’d miss one and send us toppling like dominoes. The air grew damp and musty as shadows settled around us, giving me the undeniable sense that we were underground.

At last, we emerged from the stairwell into a long gray hallway. Light shone at the far end of the looming passage, where countless voices rose in anticipation.

An oily sensation soured my stomach.

“Remember,” Kennon said.

When I glanced back, Odessa was looking at him over her shoulder.

“There is only one person who dictates whether you break. Understood?”

She nodded, but tears filled her eyes as she faced forward again.

“Only we decide whether we feel hope or despair. No matter what is said, no matter what they do to you, they cannot break you. Only you, O.”

“Only me.”

“Only me,” Branoc echoed ahead of us as the gloom gave way to a great square.

Light filtered down from far above, like an atrium of sorts. On either side of the cordoned walkway stood what had to be hundreds of onlookers. Every one of them fell silent as the witch led us into the square.

I couldn’t help but look up. Three crowded floors, all open to the ground where we now stood.

A spectacle.

We weren’t simply facing this hoddsendi. We were being paraded before these demons like prizes to be won.

The witch strode up the steps to the stage, her dress like liquid silver, leaving nothing to the imagination as she poured herself into one of three chairs behind the podium. My throat tightened as the king himself—her mirror image in every way—climbed the steps and settled into the center throne, followed closely by Adrastos.