Page 344 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“Alec!” I breathed, relief sluicing through me as Lana and Fae filed in behind him—Winnie strapped to Aphaea’s chest.

“Brought you something,” he said softly as Mom and my soul-aunt filed into the library. Lana immediately scooped up the little calico runt that liked to sprawl out across the hearth. I slid back in my chair, rising to make a beeline for them.

“Well, give me a cookie and call it Christmas, because we have something too.”

“I figured, what with the coincidence fuckery,” he said, arms already spread wide. I collapsed into his broad chest, knocking a sigh clean out of him. He crushed me against him; cheek set against my crown. “Goddamn, it’s good to see you, kid.”

“Same—y’all have been busy.”

“We’re trying,” he said, still hanging onto me like I’d disintegrate if he released me. I supposed, with how often they were combating Marlana’s blight, that was a little too on the nose to voice. “You okay? I mean… all things considered?” he asked against the top of my head. My eyes burned, because Alec had stepped into Ansel’s role of looking after my mental well-being these last few months, and somehow it made me miss him all the fucking more.

I nodded against his chest, tightening my hold before disentangling. “Come on,” I said, jerking my head toward Cyrus, who was still scowling down at the pages like they detailed a genocide rather than a connection we’d all been fucking missing. “You might wanna sit down.”

The three of them—well, three and a half—followed me over, claiming chairs.

Only when they were all seated did Cyrus begin. “We haven’t proven anything yet, and it could all be coincidence.”

“Again. No such thing,” Alec countered. God, he looked exhausted—the kind that went far beyond the rings beneath his eyes or the way his chaotic curls were always just slightly askew these days.

“Well. In that case, read the inscription below the shield.”

Cyrus slid the book over to the three of them, and we watched in real time as their faces collectively lost their color.

Because according to the text, we were staring at an artistic rendering of the enchanted shield of Arlo Amadeus.

SIXTY-EIGHT

MUSCLE MEMORY

BLYTHE

167 days…

For the first time since the ball, Bartholomew entered without his cousin. He dipped his chin in greeting, but his attention stayed on the door he’d just closed, jaw tight.

“Barry?” I prodded, spine straightening as the door opened and Smith rushed across the threshold, eyes only for his cousin. The hair on my neck rose, and I glanced between them. “Smith?”

The two exchanged something unspoken, nodding before their focus turned to me.

I staggered back a step, colliding with the dresser shoved against the wall, my hands latching onto the surface to steady myself as my mind spun through the objects around me. None were viable weapons against warriors of their magnitude, yet desperation landed me on the table lamp. If I broke the bulb, at least the jagged glass would keep me a foot away from them.

At least from one of them.

“Get dressed,” Smith said curtly, stalking toward me like a predator. I staggered to the side, keeping my back to the wall and at least a few feet between me and the nearest window.

Helpless. I was positively helpless if they’d been sent to dispose of the problem. Didn’t mean I wouldn’t attempt every mad strategy Aren had given us. “Why?” I breathed.

Smith’s hard eyes flicked to mine. “There’s something you need to see.”

“So why didn’t Adrastos take me?” I asked, horrified at the tremor in my voice.

“Why would he bother?” Smith retorted. “It’s not like you’d fucking hear him out anyway.”

“I wasn’t under the impression that I had much of a choice.”

“There’s always been a choice.”

“Tyranny removes it.”