Page 206 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

Of all the people in this estate who could’ve patched him up yesterday, Adrastos had come to me. Knelt before me with more plea packed into that one syllable than I’d ever heard him use.

“Blythe.”

He’d said my name again. Apparently, the asshole reserved it for dire circumstances.

And I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I could analyze it, of course. Despite our enmity, maybe he trusted me. Maybe we both struggled to separate the past—the role he’d played as my friend—from what he was now. Or maybe everyone in these halls was exactly as rotten as I’d once suspected, and I was legitimately his only option.

After all, when he’d been injured in the Battle of Grayshell, he’d shown up on Magnolia’s porch. Once I’d had time to sleep on my current predicament, it hadn’t taken long to piece together what really happened.

He’d been injured fighting Aren’s people, and when he realized he’d lost, he’d either fled back to the one person he considered a friend…

Or he’d returned to figure out which of us was the reason our sisters were dying. Which one he needed to bring to Moros.

Somewhere along the way…

No. Nope. I couldn’t let myself justify—or rationalize—that maybe some incremental part of him regretted the decision. But that whipping… the way he’d hit his knees and breathed only my name…

Something about that vulnerability had broken the seal. Every memory of him rushed forward at once, impossible to suppress.

Healing was second nature—drilled into me by Nathara, but only after my mother had laid the groundwork when I was too young to understand.

“Do you remember your bio-mom?” Barry asked, his brows pinched in effort as we finished our tacos after a hellish shift. “I barely remember mine.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, swallowing painfully.

“She died when I was young, too.” Bear jerked his head toward his cousin. “This jackass raised me, for the most part. I owe him my life.”

Shoving the birria into my mouth, I looked at Bell, who smirked, shaking his head with rueful endearment.

“He exaggerates.”

“Not about this,” Bear muttered, his tone almost… irritated, like they’d had this conversation more times than he cared to recall.

My eyes flicked back and forth, and I didn’t need to envision their threads to remember how intricately theirs were intertwined.

“Anyway, I’m glad you have Nat. But. I know what it’s like to wonder, you know? What life would’ve been like? I remember my mother always smelled of roses. Sometimes I swear, I catch a whiff in my sleep.”

Chewing my lip, I looked between them before smiling. “Cookie dough.”

“You cannot still be hungry,” Bell growled.

“First, piss off. I didn’t eat during a twelve-hour shift from the seventh level of hell. I’ll enjoy however many tacos I damn well please. Second—my mother smelled like cookie dough. That or she just baked them a lot. I’m not sure which.”

“Oh,” he said, looking sheepish as he tugged at his neck.

“Yeah, oh.” Turning my attention to Barry, I shook my head, nostalgia tickling memories so distant it was nearly impossible to dredge them up. “Vanilla and chocolate, and the way she sang Fleetwood Mac. I remember the sound of her dancing on her bare feet, and the feeling of standing on them as she twirled me in circles. The way she would throw her head back when she laughed. We had little, but I didn’t realize that until… well, gosh, just a few years ago, I realized the cottage we lived in wasn’t tiny because small things are whimsical, but because they’re affordable. She made magic out of nothing. We had… lights, everywhere,” I said, smiling even as my eyes stung.

“She insisted on it. Tiny twinkling ones that I swear floated on thin air. Lights and plants and two cats—sometimes I wonder if Raven was one of them, and I just don’t remember her clearly. She kept flowers everywhere—every surface had a bouquet, and our garden always overflowed. I swear, they loved her as much as she loved them.”

I finally looked up and realized Bellamy had solidified in his seat, his brows pinched as he stared a hole in the table.

Swallowing, I was about to dismiss the topic, but Barry said, “She sounds wonderful, sunspot. What happened to her?”

Crushing black walls. A strip of light across my face. Biting into my hand to keep from screaming. Clearing my throat, I said, “I’m not sure. Men⁠—”

“We should be going,” Bell cut in, yanking me from the nightmare I didn’t care to relive anyway as he stood so abruptly his chair screeched. Barry’s brow furrowed, and he looked at us, clearly irritated on my behalf. “Now. We’re going home now. I’ve got a bad feeling, and I’m scheduled for a shift.”

“Rude,” I muttered, half debating whether to take my taco. “With the night you had, I’m sure the precinct is slammed. You got your tacos.” He turned to walk off, and my blood boiled as I gaped between the back of his head to his cousin. Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d let myself think about my mom, let alone tell bits of her story.