Page 217 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“You’d like that,” Carr grumbled.

“Not a chance,” I promised.

She shrugged. “Your funerals.”

“If you can survive it, we’ll be just fine.”

She arched a brow—you know jack shit—and twisted the cap back onto her bottle.

“Hypothetical awareness isn’t the same as experience, Prince boy.”

“Only one way to gain that.”

“Fine. Don’t die. It fucks up my plans. Not irreparably, but still.”

“I’m touched,” I said flatly.

She shook her head, turned, and resumed our trek. The scrape of wards across my skin sent a shiver down my spine. From the dilapidated church roof, a murder of crows took flight, and the already-frigid air dropped colder. Two babbling black streams—one from the castle, one from the church—merged beneath our path.

“The first floor is the easiest,” Freya said, glancing back. “Don’t let it lull you. The whole place is enchanted. Your ancestors were fond of mentalists, and their gifts are laced into every chamber.”

“Yummy.”

She whipped her head around and stabbed me with a glare. I smiled. Irritated, she turned back. “There are trap doors everywhere. Touch nothing without my say-so. Once we hit the second chamber, you’ll see illusions. They get worse the deeper we go. They can’t hurt you—but they’ll make you wish they could. You’ll be shitting your pants before we hit the third layer.”

“Highly doubt that.”

“I’ll remind you of that when you’re changing your drawers. Until then, shut the fuck up and listen.”

“I don’t remember you being this bossy.”

“I don’t remember you having a death wish.”

“Valid point.” I gestured for her to go on before she knocked me the fuck out.

“These illusions show you your worst nightmares, Cyrus. Your darkest thoughts made real. I can’t see what you’re fighting—and you won’t see mine. But whatever you hear—screams, demon voices, pleas for help—it’s not real. Not unless you make it real.”

“Um. Come again?” Carr asked, for once too focused to sound like an asshole.

She sighed and turned to face us. “The second your fortitude cracks, the illusions solidify. What you believe becomes your reality. Staying alive means staying in control. I don’t care what language you need to say it in—your mantra for the next hour is: Not real.”

She held our eyes, her chin high. Firm.

“Carrson, I’m putting you on watch.”

“Excuse me?”

“I could be a goddamn tour guide at this point, but sure, let’s pretend I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I came to protect my Prince,” Carr snapped. “Not stand outside like a dog.”

Raising her hand like a soldier taking an oath, she recited, “Freya Porter will be the commanding rank and highest title for the duration of the operation.”

Then she turned and started climbing toward the church. “Carrson, you’re on watch. Jax is coming with me and Cyrus to hold the gate if we don’t get back in time—he’s got strength but no shadows. You’ve got shadows. I need someone I can trust to warn us if company shows up.”

Well. That sounded…promising.

“Cyrus comes with me,” she added, “because it’s his goddamn prize—and because I don’t trust him out of my sight for more than a heartbeat when I know what demons live in his mind.”