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I lost track of time. Faint light was creeping through the windows when my senses suddenly sharpened. I held my breath and listened for footsteps that never came. Blood reached me first—the unmistakable metallic scent. Then the door opened without a knock, and terror iced my spine.

Adrastos stopped one step inside, shoulders sagging. Whatever defeat had followed him in vanished the second he looked at me.

Exhaustion hollowed out his features. Exhaustion and... pain.

“What happened?” I asked. His eyes were vacant, and something about that expression dragged me backward in time. “Bellamy?”

A shuddering breath tore out of him, and I was moving before I understood why. My magic lashed forward in ribbons, wrapping around him as though light alone could keep him standing. Then the smell of fresh blood hit my nose. My tongue.

“Seven Sisters, what happened?” Panic sharpened my voice as my hands swept over his shoulders and chest. Slowly, as though even my magic couldn’t hold him upright, Adrastos sank to his knees. My breath caught when he leaned his forehead against my belly, his hands wrapping around my legs like I was the only solid thing left. I glanced toward the door. Neither of us needed to be seen like this. A pulse of power slammed it shut.

“Blythe,” he rasped, and for the first time since I’d known him, his voice was stripped raw. Desperate. Serrated. My hands shook as I cupped his face and lifted it toward me. Magic rushed through his skin, down his spine—and exploded in furious light at what it found.

“What...” Panic made my fingers clumsy as they flew to his shirt—his torn shirt. The buttons fought my trembling fingers while he sat back on his heels, lids heavy, struggling to follow my hands.

When the shirt finally fell open, I saw it. Blood. Thin rivers tracked down both sides of his body.

My stomach dropped. I peeled the fabric away, wincing involuntarily when he did. He swayed on his knees as I stood. “Gods.” Deep, crisscrossed lashes split the skin across his back.

The king will require a target for his fury...

This. This was what Smith had warned me about. Their men had spotted some kind of magic, and somehow Adrastos had been blamed—or simply chosen to absorb the king’s rage. For all his swagger and pageantry, this kind of cruelty was familiar to him. To all three of them.

“Bell.” My voice cracked. I didn’t think as instinct took over. My magic slammed around him, holding him upright while light stitched torn skin back together. Minutes dragged by. Both of us breathed harder as I fought to close the wounds.

Brutal. Down to the bone.

When the bleeding was staunched, I dropped to my knees but failed to haul him up. “Come on, motherfucker. Get up. I can’t lift you.”

With an agonized grunt, he let me drag his arms around my neck. Together we staggered upright and nearly crashed into the armchair before I managed to steer him toward the bed.

He collapsed onto the mattress.

“Fuck.” I summoned the chair and dropped into it.

Between ragged breaths, he managed, “Thank... you.”

“Rest.” My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The cruelty of it. The sheer barbarity. I’d suspected he’d endured this kind of punishment when I first saw the scars in the arena. Seeing him flayed open was something else entirely.

Whatever monstrous things he’d done in this life—if this was how your family treated you...

What hope was there of being a good person to begin with?

With a few heavy blinks, Adrastos drifted off. I watched his breathing even out. Watched dawn brighten the room until sunlight spilled warm across his olive skin. It was high beyond the windows when he finally dragged in a breath and blinked awake.

Those haunted brown eyes found me immediately.

“Can I ask you something?” I said instead of good morning.

“I owe you that,” he croaked.

“What’s Solskari magic?”

“Light magic, Briar. Until last night, Moros believed the last of the Solskari died in the war.”

“Like… healer’s light?”

“No. Not healer’s light. An untrained eye could mistake one for the other, but... no.”