Page 351 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“Only on my signal.”

“Fine by me.”

She canted her head, eyes nearly slits, like she couldn’t figure out what my motive was. “And I need assurances that if Alvara cannot be brought back from the depth of whatever hell they’ve plunged her into, that you will do what is necessary.”

I gritted my teeth, staring out the window. “We have the best healers in the world under Nathara. I’m sure one of them can help her come back into herself.”

“Somehow, I doubt the heathens will restore her, Mr. Porter. If they can’t sort a spine, what can they do for a mind? I would brace yourself for the genuine possibility that we are playin’ a shell game with no stone to find inside.”

Hands sweating where I flexed them against my thighs beneath the table, I held her stare, expecting hatred—judgment—but in those vibrant blues I found… pain. The soul-deep haunting planted only by unspeakable loss.

Nodding, I said, “I will protect the cause, Reyna. You know this.”

“Maybe. But love is a powerful tool, and an even more powerful motivator. You’ve proven nothing to me except for the fact that your morals are flexible where she is concerned.”

“As are we all,” Cyrus snapped.

“Speak for yourself.”

“Like you wouldn’t burn down kingdoms for Blaz,” Freya challenged.

“Blaz isn’t so arrogant as to sacrifice himself when he is best placed behind a blade.”

“She did it for Aren,” I gritted out, tightening my fists until my nails bit into my palms.

“And that was her prerogative. This is mine. I need assurances that the devil will not infiltrate my ranks because the Angel of Death has been compromised.”

Nodding, I wet my lips before saying, “Fine.”

“There will come a time where I need payment, Mr. Porter, and I suggest you prepare for when I call it in.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

“Like any good Christian,” Freya sneered, shaking her head in blatant disgust before she whirled, motioning to wrap it up as she threw the door open. Cyrus held his aunt’s stare for one long beat before following in her wake.

Only once their footsteps faded did Reyna clear her throat. “You have a mole, Mr. Porter. News of Alvara’s presence in London and news of your arrival in Paladin both reached my spies last night. If you intend to survive—whatever this is—I suggest you find them before our enemy learns we are united in this mission.”

“Who—”

“I don’t know, and either way, that’s for you to find out. Best a’ luck.”

With that, the queen of Bellaton rose and motioned to the door in blatant dismissal. Thunder rolled beyond the windows as my irritation swallowed the sunshine, but I got to my feet and, with Blaz and Montague on my heels, followed Freya and Cyrus out of Reyna’s estate.

SEVENTY

TURNS OF FATE

CYRUS

September 9th, 5:42AM

Dread knotted my stomach as I stood on the threshold of the outbuilding a few days after August’s meeting with Reyna.

Rations were disconcertingly low.

Mother had compiled two years’ worth of supplies for our people. But Freya wasn’t that kind of leader. Wasn’t a queen that drew the line between her followers and others in need.

All good people were Freya’s people. All lives affected the balance.