Page 330 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“We are at war,” I said, hobbling another step forward as pain radiated across my lower back. “I’m not sure how much clearer it gets.”

“I didn’t say our reality. I said yours.” Nathara stood, bangles jingling as she brought her fingertips together before her sternum. “You know, it is said that anger settles in the back.” I held those dark eyes as she stared me down, one brow eventually lifting. “Perhaps that’s something to ponder?” She stepped around the edge of her desk, her expression softening. “I feel for your predicament, Mr. Porter. I do. But I have a shift to attend in the field.”

As she made to pass me, I lashed out, wrapping a hand around her wrist. “Nat, please. The longer they have her, the more she breaks. Every goddamn day, her grief and confusion deepen. She doesn’t even respond to me in dreams anymore.”

She didn’t. It wasn’t an exaggeration—I needed no ploy for her pity. I’d seen Ally again in the depths of my own hell, trapped across a raging river. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t swim. Couldn’t shout loud enough for her to meet my eyes over the water. Still, I fucking tried, jolting from sleep when the frigid current swallowed me whole.

“Please.”

Her shoulders slumped, the slender scar beside the tendon in her neck catching the light as she swallowed. Nat was shaking her head even as she said, “On the table, Mr. Porter.”

“Thank you,” I breathed, holding those rich brown eyes for a long beat as hope bloomed, then crushed itself just as quickly. I fought back a snarl as I forced my legs across the room, clenching my teeth with the effort of hauling them onto the exam table.

I rolled onto my stomach, face pressed into the opening at the top, steadying my breathing as her bejeweled toes came into view. The cooling caress of healing magic washed through my back and legs, easing tension from my shoulders like water wrung from a sponge.

“Everything is in place,” she assured me, though her magic continued flooding my senses. “Spine and nerves look good, though I can sense the inflammation.”

“So, there is something.”

“Many things contribute to imbalance, just as many factors create its inverse. I didn’t say your anger wasn’t warranted, Mr. Porter. I simply find it intriguing that the body is telling you something while the mind refuses to hear it.” She tucked my shirt up, laid cool hands against the sore muscles, and pressed her magic deeper into the tissue before straightening the hem and patting my shoulder in a silent command to roll over. “When Aren was here, he told me many things about you—predominantly of your kindness.” When I got onto my side, she extended a hand. I took it gratefully, and she helped me sit up. “He spoke of your gentle nature and resistance to violence, though you were disconcertingly good at it. He told me you wielded Command your first day in the field to protect your people, not harm the enemy.”

“Aren sees the best in everyone,” I countered.

“He does,” she agreed with a gentle smile that spoke to years of friendship, inside jokes, and trust beyond measure. “But he also told me how quickly you picked up a blade to defend your people. How thoroughly you wielded it. Perhaps your roots in mercy are begging you to extend it again.”

“War doesn’t leave a place for mercy.”

“Perhaps. But your humanity does.”

“The enemy killed that when they took my mate.” My mate, who’d stared back at me less than a year ago on that Florida beach after confessing she’d spared Adrastos. There’s still some humanity left in all of us. That’s what I’d told her. The General I’d carved to pieces would beg to differ. Still. An idea formed—nebulous and likely not what Nat had in mind, but there nonetheless.

“Freya ensuring the safe transfer of rations to the mortals in her territory—is that not mercy?”

I nodded stiffly, throat working. She pursed her lips and headed for the door, hesitating on the threshold. Turning back, she placed one tattooed hand on the wall beside the frame. “Beyond that, Mr. Porter… I’m inclined to believe it is your love, not your fury, that will bring her back to you.”

I was pretty sure the enemy had killed that too.

“Thank you, Nat.”

My boots landed on the front lawn of Luminark Manor later that afternoon. I didn’t make it to the porch before Paladin sentinels surrounded me, easing only when I lifted my face and dropped my hood. Freya burst through the front doors and collided with me on the steps.

Pain lanced down my hip, but I welcomed it, crushing her against my chest and burying my face in her hair. The best part of having siblings was that they didn’t give a shit. Freya didn’t treat me like a goddamn invalid because I wasn’t in fighting form. She didn’t talk like it was permanent either, unlike Reyna, who frequently reminded me my recklessness was to blame for their current disadvantage on the front lines.

It was probably the highest compliment she’d paid me.

Something soft brushed between my calves, and I glanced down to see a white fluffy cat peering up at me with bright blue eyes. It pranced away, rubbing along the porch rails as it went. Cute little fucker.

Freya shoved a step away, hands gripping my elbows as she surveyed me in the way only little sisters did—equal parts relief and disapproval written over her features.

“You look like shit.”

“I feel it.”

“Fabulous, we can commiserate together.”

My shoulders deflated a fraction—The Wraith was notoriously adept at gathering intel. Five months in, not even she’d cracked it.

The pressure of watching eyes had me looking toward the wide-open front door, where Cyrus leaned against the frame. We both lifted our chins in greeting. But it was the slight frame walking up behind him that held my attention.