Page 167 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“Spectacularly partial?!” I balked, even as memory dredged up image after image of him across the board from me or Mags. It occurred to me then that this little ray of sunshine must know the bastard. Rich brown hair, fair complexion—she wasn’t a doppelgänger by any means, but I could see the likeness. She was too young to have many threads, and none were particularly charged aside from the one leading to her mother, who stepped into the room on anxious feet. “Now, how do you know Prince Adrastos?”

Coraline’s mother rushed forward, slapping a hand over her daughter’s mouth. “Don’t mind her, she’s skipped a week of etiquette classes, and it shows,” she said in a lilting Scottish accent that matched her mini-me’s. “Cora, we don’t speak about princes in such a manner. Have I taught you nothing?” To me, she added, “I’m a cousin, in a manner of speaking.”

“In a manner of speaking?” I pressed, curious now.

“Lord knows the generations between us. I think I’d be like his fifth or sixth on the Hadriana side.”

“You’re a descendant of Rhiannon?”

“Her sister’s line, actually.” She glanced around as though ensuring we were alone before extending a hand in greeting. “Cáit—well, Caitrìona, but that makes me sound even older than I am, and who wants to speed up that process?”

“Blythe,” I said simply. No point listing credentials here. “She should be good to go. Honestly, it was superficial—nothing that needed tending to—but I was happy to do it.”

“Thanks, Dr…”

Smirking, I said, “Briar.” She was kind—or at least good at playing it. I wasn’t so naïve as to think every soul in these halls was a monster like their masters, but it was still jarring to be treated so warmly up here in the daylight.

“My brother told us you’re wonderful—more sunlight than witch. I’m truly sorry for your circumstances.” Her words nearly stopped my heart, my body stilling as she added, “Either way, thanks for humoring her.”

“Cáit,” I breathed as she and Coraline headed for the door. She stopped on the threshold even as her little one tugged impatiently at her hand. “Brother?”

“Barry? Bartholomew. Is he not your friend?”

My brows arched involuntarily. “More like my keeper,” I muttered, relieved when sympathy—not judgment—slid into her expression.

“Yes, well. If it’s worth anything, he’s quite fond of you. Your sisters too.” She gave the doorframe a maternal pat before disappearing into the hallway, leaving my stomach hollow in her wake.

Had Coraline even fallen, or had one of these fuckers paid her off to scrape her knee and plant the idea that Barry could be trusted? I stepped into the hallway, desperately trying to sort their threads as they walked away.

I guessed I’d never know. Boots thundered through the hall, pained groans reaching me a beat before Cáit and Cora disappeared around the corner and an entire injured coven rushed the healing wing. It was about to be a very long afternoon. Healing the godsdamn enemy.

I’d never admit it to Bartholomew, but working in the healer’s wing was the closest I’d felt to normal since these bastards kidnapped me. My hands needed to stay busy, my mind was ravenous for basic interaction, and my gifts were desperate for room to breathe. Most days, it felt like this body was missing a pressure valve, and any minute the power might burst out of me like a busted fire hydrant.

He was quiet on the walk back to my room, evidently having learned I’d rather rip out my own tongue than talk to either man who stabbed us in the back. Still, the captain kept glancing at me in a way that made my skin tingle. Like he was seeing something he shouldn’t. Or knew something he shouldn’t.

Mostly, it was a day like any other—until he opened my chamber door and I froze on the threshold.

Adrastos was perched against my windowsill, a book in his hands as he watched the cliffside below.

“Thank you, Barry,” he said simply, not bothering to look at us.

He only looked up when I backed away, only for Bartholomew to plant a hand on my shoulder and shove me inside.

“Barry, stay!” I barked, whirling too late as the door closed in my face. Dread coiled low in my belly. I said nothing. Just watched as Adrastos let the book fall open in his hands and leisurely lowered his gaze to the page. It took every ounce of self-control not to glance at the tapestry glamoured only feet from him.

“Some things, it seems, truly never change,” he drawled.

“Excuse me?”

“Your taste in literature hasn’t improved.”

“Neither have your manners, so…”

He didn’t parry or laugh. Hell, only his eyes moved over the page. I shifted on my feet, one hand on the useless door handle behind me, fingers tracing the pattern etched into the brass.

“Get ready,” he said, his tone suggesting I’d somehow bored him.

“Why are you here?”