Page 390 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

My words were cut off by a lash of shadows as Reyna burst out of her chair, whirling for me as her power looped around my neck, shoving me across the floor until my back hit the wall.

A humorless chuckle rumbled in my chest, and even as Reyna closed the distance, a promise of violence flickering in those blue eyes, I couldn’t help but smile darkly.

“There she is,” I said as she stepped into my face, the sharp line of her slender jaw going hard.

“Speak another word about Anastasia, and I will slit your fucking throat, and face your sister with a smile on my face as she hunts for your killer. Again. Do. You. Understand?”

“Yes,” I said as satisfaction slithered through my bloodstream. “Because you and I are not so very different. There’s not a crime we wouldn’t debase ourselves with if the prize was protecting those we love. My coven. My mate. Blaz. Your ward. The souls you liberated on that damn plantation all those years ago—you came back for them as much as vengeance, didn’t you? We are but instruments of mercy in a world built on cruelty, and I bet it breaks you just like it breaks me.” When Reyna said nothing, I pressed, “It broke your heart to hand her over to Aren, didn’t it? To trust her to him. Not to ask questions afterward.” Her nostrils flared, chest heaving as I stared down at her, shaking my head. “Hell. The only reason I could put it together is because I know Aren like the back of my hand, and because Blythe loved him for bringing her home to the healers. So. What was it, Reyna? Shadows sniffing around, still hunting for the lost heiress of a slaughtered kingdom? A fate weaver, at that? A rather unique gift, isn’t it? The ability to see the ropes of fate—manipulate them. But—according to my sources—” namely, Cyrus, “—it wasn’t all that uncommon among the Solskari. As shadows are to Bellpost, fate belonged to Solskivall.”

“You have the same propensity for cruelty as your sister.”

“Damn straight. But only for those who deserve it. You are not a target of my cruelty,” I vowed. “But I need to understand who and what I’m dealing with, and how deep this rabbit hole goes. Adrastos told me she’s painted a target on her back—Blythe—and that it’s only a matter of time before Moros puts together what, or who, she is, and either puts her to the blade for it, or rapes her to bring his children into the world.” The color drained from her cheeks as her eyes widened. Calmly, I promised, “I’m not going to let that happen. There was spellwork woven into that crown. When he uses it, I’ll at last have the intel we need to get them both out.”

“It was a trap.”

“Of course, it was a trap. I’ve torn this realm to pieces hunting for my mate—you think one of my strikes has been coincidental?”

“You really are Aren’s protege.”

“Thank you.”

“Who said it was a compliment?” But the shadows loosened, falling away from me like smoke. “Marcus?”

We weren’t talking about me anymore. Reyna was looking for the details on our plan. The enchantments woven around the crown. “Who else?”

Nodding stiffly, she breathed, “It’ll work.”

“I know it will.” I ran my palm over my hair. “Now we wait. And I plead my case with you.”

“Why the theatrics?”

“Because I needed your undivided attention. Now that I have it, hear me out. I was engaged before I ascended. Did you know that?”

“I did not.”

“Layla. I thought there had never been a woman more beautiful than her. She was my world. My best friend. If it weren’t for being haunted in my sleep, the concept of a life without her would never have occurred to me.”

“Crawlers?”

“Crawlers,” I agreed. “Ally beat them to us, but only just.”

“And then you fell for your superior and tossed her aside. How romantic.”

“No,” I disagreed. “I reunited with my other half, and the world I knew shattered from existence.”

“Poetic.”

“Not poetic,” I said calmly. A little too calmly if the goosebumps across her skin were any indication. “Alvara isn’t just my mate, Commander Gwyne. She’s my twin flame.”

“That’s New Age⁠—”

“No,” I cut her off. “No. When King Calloway went head-to-head with hell itself in defense of humanity, a demon king tore his soul in two—it was the force of that explosion, like an atomic bomb, that allowed the portals to seal. Those soul fragments then found vessels. But that took centuries. We spent lifetimes trying to find each other again. Sometimes, we succeeded. But never long enough for me to ascend and click the pieces back together. Predominantly because Koa, and then Moros, have always been quick to extinguish any lights brighter than their shadows can cast out. And then—I suspect—because Adrastos decided that if he could align all pieces of the prophecy, he could manipulate the outcome of the gates opening again.”

“You think you survived to Alvara’s side intentionally.”

“I do,” I agreed. “I think, for the first time since the Great War, every piece is on the board at the same time. I think he sensed it. Saw it, maybe. And I think we now stand on the precipice he designed. Hear me when I tell you that I wish I could apologize for the cruelty I have shown these last six months, but I cannot. No more than I imagine you would apologize for cutting down traffickers—human or Renown alike—and tending to their victims after. No more than I imagine you would apologize for stabbing that monster in the neck with the letter opener.”

“Your sister has a big mouth.”