Page 292 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

The body that wasn’t.

Because I didn’t know—couldn’t truly know—what happened to her that night.

The cruelty of the world—of war—had my mind filling in blanks that needed to remain exactly that. Blank.

The hand on my real leg tightened again, a thumb pressing a bruising line over my knee almost in… a pattern. One line sharply left, angled up. Another right. Down the center again.

A rune, I realized.

Again. Again. More insistently as the monsters in my vision dragged a whimper from my throat. And I let the nightmare keep me, hoping they’d focus on me. Leave her alone.

Algiz. The recognition came like a breath. Adrastos was pressing the rune into my skin.

Protection. So often carved atop… shields.

And with that, I slammed my walls up. Pain was the answer.

But pain I could endure.

Pain I could fight, even when it felt like my temples had been split clean through.

With a gasp, I tore free of the vision. Trembling. Mouth open. Tears pouring. Saliva wet on my lips.

Still, that strong hand remained, even as he eased the pressure.

The table was still. Every set of eyes still glazed over.

All at once, the royals shifted, each of us refocusing on the king.

“Very few souls have the strength not to cave in the face of their nightmares,” Moros said smugly, drawing out each word as though he could savor our terror through them. “I assure you, August Porter will fold. Not only in the face of my magic, but because he is living his.”

Fighting down bile, I turned shakily toward Adrastos, absurdly relieved by the steady heat of him as my body swayed in the chair.

Not real.

The entire thing had been an illusion.

All but that hand. Still steady against my leg, his thumb now tracing a warm circuit as though easing me back inside my skin.

“May I…” I panted, fighting for air. “May I get more wine, my Lord?”

It came out as breath. A hoarse plea. So soft, it was a miracle he heard me.

Adrastos jerked his chin toward the wall where the servants kept the pitchers, eyes locked on his brother, jaw tight.

“Thank you,” I managed on a shaky exhale. My chair scraped softly as I stood, desperate to put distance between myself and… that.

Gods.

Visceral.

It had been so fucking visceral.

My worst nightmare made tangible. And he’d done it to an entire banquet table without flinching. What had they seen? Something just as personal? Just as horrific?

Gods, was this what Ally had been enduring for months?

“I want amnesty for my people,” Kade was saying, far too calmly as I closed the distance to the tables against the wall. “A vow that you will not wield that against them. Ever.”