Page 278 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“Cyrus, are you fucking with me? Because it’s not funny.”

“That’s all I have left, Freya. And I’m probably gonna fuck it up a dozen times this week alone, but I promise you I’ll spend my eternal life trying to earn back your trust. Eventually, your forgiveness.”

“You have⁠—”

His lips pressed to mine, firmer this time. “No,” he breathed, peeling back but keeping our foreheads together. “Don’t say it. Not yet. Not until I earn it.”

“Cyrus, you⁠—”

“No,” he repeated, shaking his head against mine. “Let me fix this. Let me earn this, Freya. I can’t right the sins of my parents⁠—”

“It’s not your job to.”

“—but I can try to be a better man.”

“You are a better man. Mostly because she was a woman.”

“Freya.”

“Sorry. I’m done now.” I squirmed against him, and he just tightened his hold.

“I need you to take this seriously. Take me seriously.”

“I know this might be shocking, but this is my serious setting. The manufacturer fucked up the dials.”

“That mouth.”

“I can think of better uses for it.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head again. “Fuck no. I’m gonna earn that too.”

“What are you saying?”

He leaned away, a gentle smile slanting his infuriating lips as he studied me. “Who are you, Freya Porter?”

I blinked, throat thick as I said, “You know who I am.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not Valora. Not The Wraith. Not the queen called Commander. Who are you? Beyond music camp—I shoulda’ started there. We did everything fuckin’ backwards. Let me try. Let me learn with you. Let me see if I can be the kind of man who earns a mate. Let me be better than my mother.”

“Cyrus—”

The creak of the door swinging open was the only warning we got before Carr’s voice broke into laughter. “Sam Hill, I think he’s got it.”

“Someone better be dying, motherfucker,” Cyrus growled, tugging me down onto the bed beside him. I grimaced when my ass landed on his wing, but he didn’t seem to mind. Turning, I found a grinning Carrson.

“You know, if I’d known I just needed to maim you to get you to stop running around like a headless chicken and deal with your shit, I coulda snapped those fuckers myself.” He threw a shirt onto the end of the bed and grinned between us. “Get up. Jo made dinner.”

Cyrus and I groaned in unison. Jo was a tremendous healer. Irritatingly gifted singer. And a terrible cook. Her nights on kitchen duty were excruciating.

Cyrus threw himself back on the bed. “I think I’d rather eat sawdust and lie here dying.”

FIFTY-FIVE

LISTEN UP, CHAOS

FREYA

138:20:13:07