Page 452 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

But you don’t grow up in the fucking south without knowing exactly what that sound was. Like a fucking freight train as the wind began to tear the landscaping clean out of the earth.

“Ho-ly shit,” I breathed as the western side of the rolling green met the spindling fingers of sister funnels. I glanced at the man beside me, wondering how much it took from him to conjure a fucking tornado—let alone two—and found an apathetic mask across his face, his eyes hard.

“Where is she?” he growled, and I realized he was talking to the white ball of fluff at his feet.

“East wing,” hissed the haunting soul within, all at once one and many.

“Excellent,” he snarled, lip curling as he swung his arm in a vicious right hook.

The twisters advanced—right as Vik took out the wards.

NINETY-TWO

VENGEANCE

BLYTHE

I whirled as screams filled the hallways, bursts of shadow and flame flashing through the windows under the crackling gold and blue, the palace itself creaking and groaning. In a dead sprint, I stopped for nothing before throwing open Rhiannon’s passageway. Dark, musty, and coated in cobwebs, but…

I snatched the comb from my braid, aware pieces had come loose when I betrayed my conscience, betrayed my sister—his hands, no doubt, though I couldn’t remember them in my hair—holding the stone to my chest as I whispered, “Can you get me out of here?”

It heated and thrummed, and something like a sob burst out of me. I made it all of a step before I glanced back—maybe Nathara was right and I really was a cat to be killed by curiosity, because I bolted back across the space, slipped the ring on, and snatched his envelope from the table as raised voices reached through the door. I tucked it into my bra, against my chest. And ran.

Straight into Rhiannon’s labyrinth.

The bookshelf swung shut behind me, leaving me ensconced in blackness as my eyes adjusted to the torchlight. My heart was already pounding as the palace whined, like they might bring the whole damn thing down with us inside it. Maybe they would. Maybe August already had Ally and any soul still within was collateral. I wouldn’t blame him. If he found her—whatever was left of her—I wouldn't blame him for razing the entire palace to the ground with the last of both the Hadriana and Balaskas lines trapped within. I had to move my ass. Grateful for my slender stature, I bolted down the narrow stairs, my fingers trailing through the blanket of dust across the stones, like finely ground sand.

The floor shuddered, sending me jolting forward, catching myself against the narrow wall. Panting, I hesitated, catching my breath as dust rained from the corners, the torches flickering. Eyes burning with tears I would not shed, I panted into the darkness and began again, a little slower this time. When vengeance arrives at our doorstep, you run to the cliffs, where the shadows will be in wait.

The cliffs. But if I was going to cross the rolling green to the cliffs, I’d be running right across the attack. How in the hell would they recognize me against a sea of fleeing Bellpost souls?

As though his letter were burning a hole in my dress, I lifted my hand to my chest. Just above my pounding heart, each pulse synchronized with a footfall.

Out.

For whatever bullshit he liked to weave across his tongue, Adrastos’ fear for me in this had been more than obvious.

Get to the cliffs.

Keep your promise.

Find Cyrus.

It was only fitting that Freya had dumped the man at my feet just six months ago—hopefully he’d recognize me through whatever hell awaited me outside.

At last, my feet hit the flat pathway, and I broke into a sprint—as hard and as fast as I could manage after six months cooped up like a rat. My bare feet smacked against stone, sending dust flying—tickling my nose, my throat. But I ran, Rhiannon’s ruby pressed into my palm so I would feel if she warned me.

But there was no warning as I came to the X in the paths, no warning other than the soft thud of feet over stone a beat before I collided with a body so hard the air rushed from my lungs before I even hit the ground.

Body aching, teeth singing, I rolled onto my side with a whimper, scouring the darkness until I found⁠—

“Fletcher?!” I gasped, sucking down air.

“Blythe,” he croaked, his eyes flying wide.

“What are you⁠—”

“When you helped us before⁠—”