Page 260 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“Maybe?” I said, unable to suffocate the hope in my voice.

“Is this why he returned her to us in the first place?”

“I don’t follow,” I admitted, no longer able to keep the distance between us. Carefully, I perched on the arm, holding his gaze over my shoulder.

“Agamemnon captured Alvara when she was at the bottom of her well. Adrastos brought her back to us intact.”

“Only to impale her a few months later?”

He nodded silently. I stayed where I was as he straightened and paced the length of the library, finally leaning against the mantle like he could no longer carry the weight on his shoulders.

“Tell me the rest.”

So I did. I told him how the necromancers and Bellpost had settled centuries of conflict through an alliance.

“In the Middle,” he guessed, nodding to himself as he ran his fingers over the polished stone.

I told him about Koa, the cruel king. Rhiannon’s slow descent. Their children—the middle twins most prized: a warrior and a daughter known for her compassion. Aren nodded, fingers tracing the plant at the edge of the fireplace as though he might follow the vine all the way to its bloom.

Nausea rolled through my stomach. The room tilted with it, forcing me to pull in slow, steady breaths.

All this talk of Bellamy, no doubt.

But I kept going—kept weaving the tale the cousins had told us. Elizabeth’s demeanor, her fate as heiress, the humans’ distrust of power, and the deaths of Rhiannon and her daughter—allegedly struck down by mortals.

“Bullshit,” Aren muttered, running his finger over a lush leaf. “That’s bullshit.”

“I didn’t understand how humans would⁠—”

“They wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not with that kind of power in their veins. She was old enough to ascend. Unless…”

“Unless?” I prompted.

“Unless a reaper stood sentinel, robbing their defenses.”

“A reaper like Moros? Agamemnon?”

His nod became a jerk as Aren yanked his finger from the plant. “Fucker bit me.” Bewildered, he glanced down at his hand, where blood was already blooming.

I almost teased him for missing a thorn. Then my vision swam again. The room spun, and the flower began to glow—the pink blossom deepening to crimson, as rich as the blood on his skin.

And then the fireplace was glowing.

I blinked stars from my vision and steadied myself on the chair while Aren stared in open awe. The mantle glowed brighter, stretching and shifting until a tight spiral staircase appeared beyond it.

“Damn.” Aren dragged a palm over his face. The excitement in his eyes vanished when he turned to me, concern overtaking those beautiful features. “Mags?”

He was moving.

Moving before I understood how badly the room was spinning. Moving before my fingers slipped from the chair. Aren caught me before I hit the floor, and I still couldn’t understand how I’d gotten there.

“Mags!” he barked as he whisked me into his arms. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“I…” It was a breath. A plea I couldn’t finish. Strength drained from my body faster than water through a sieve. Aren’s horrified winter blues darted between my eyes, and then anger overtook him.

Anger I didn’t understand.

Couldn’t, not with the warmth emptying from my veins, my teeth chattering as tremors seized my muscles.