Page 192 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“What’s going on?” I rushed to keep pace. “What about the king?”

“He’ll be preoccupied.”

“How do you know that?” I demanded at the back of his head.

“Because his coven just returned with news of Solskari magic.”

Something in the phrase plucked a chord deep in my chest. I blinked, trying to remember where I’d read it. “What does that mean?”

“It means the king is about to go on a warpath, and I’d prefer you weren’t standing in the crossfire.”

“What is Solskari magic?” I asked, as he hauled me into the servants’ hall and threw the kitchen doors open with his shadows. It was all I could do to keep up with his long strides. “And why do you care? Where the hell have you been?”

“Just as chatty as ever.” His head snapped from one end of the kitchen to the other as he threaded us through the bustling staff.

“Smith? Is that even your name?”

“Yes,” he growled as we nearly sideswiped a cook’s butcher knife. Irritated shouts chased us through the kitchen and into the... pantry? I gaped at towering shelves fitted with rolling ladders. Only when we reached the back wall did he whirl to face me.

Not to face me, I realized as he wordlessly grabbed my shoulders and spun me back toward the door. A tug at my hair told me he’d plucked the comb from my braid. Irritation flared at being manhandled, but I didn’t get time to object.

When he spun me around again, he pressed the hairpiece against my bare chest and dragged my hand over the stone. Sentient warmth flooded my veins. The wall behind him rattled, dust sifting from the ceiling. I stumbled back, stopping only when Smith caught my arm.

“What in all seven levels of hell...” The words died as a passage opened in the stone—black rock and shadow, lit by torches slowly waking along the walls as though we’d disturbed a centuries-long slumber. Cobwebs coated the corners overhead. Gross.

“Go,” Smith barked, shoving me squarely between the shoulder blades.

“Are you insane?” My eyes widened. “No.”

“Now, Blythe. Go. It will take you to your room. I need to keep Moros off your trail until Adrastos is capable of doing it himself.”

“What does that mean?”

“That the king will require a target for his fury, and most often it’s his brother. Now, go. Open your door for only Adrastos.”

I scowled up at him. “I can’t open it. It’s locked from the outside.”

Something tightened in his expression, gone almost as soon as it appeared. “Now, Blythe. Go. Wait for him.”

“You cannot be serious.” I stared into the darkness. Knowing too much and not nearly enough rooted me in place while sweat gathered beneath the dress. Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

“Follow the stone.”

“What?” Fear cinched my throat until the word came out barely above a croak. “You don’t honestly expect me to believe you had no idea his gift served a purpose.”

I clung to irritation like a life raft. At least anger could make my voice work. “It was a godsdamned collar.”

“Semantics, Briar. When acting of his own will, my cousin does nothing without intent.” Shouts erupted beyond the pantry door, followed by the rush of a panicked crowd. Smith’s patience vanished. His eyes hardened, and he shoved me into the near-pitch black.

“Please.” It took everything I had to force that single trembling word off my tongue. What I didn’t say was don’t leave me alone, or that I’d rather debase myself like one of Adrastos’ concubines than take one step into that cramped dark corridor.

“Trust the stone.”

“He strapped it to my throat.”

“I didn’t say he was conventional. I said he was intentional.” Fuck, this was probably the most I’d ever heard Smith say at once. “I’d tell you to trust him, but I know better.”

“I hate him.”