Page 267 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

The next was just as beautiful, though broader through the shoulders, his expression flat and eyes hollow. Caius Balaskas.

Beside him stood two equally beautiful women—both blondes, like Marlana—above the names Levana and Sirin. Both bore those signature Balaskas browns in varying shades. Then came familiar faces that tightened my throat: Marlana and Moros in perfect likeness.

And then I was staring at a face I’d know anywhere. Beautiful in his ruggedness—hair untamable even then, despite the pressure of a watching court—Adrastos stared down at us, the barest hint of a smile turning his lips. Beside him stood Elizabeth, just as beautiful but perfectly tamed in contrast to her brother, those striking emerald eyes impossible to miss. At last, a near-duplicate of Adrastos—rougher, broader—sat a boy called Agamemnon.

I’d heard the stories.

But the stories didn’t compute with this teenage depiction in his finery. He looked… playful, like he was two seconds from a laugh he wouldn’t be able to contain much longer, no matter the consequences.

“Aren,” Lana breathed, her voice brittle as lace—one tug from tearing.

I whirled for her, but Aren was saying, “Wait, come here.”

Torn between going to Lana and returning to Aren’s side, I hesitated. The assassin decided for me when she turned, eyes rounding.

“What is that?”

“I’ve only ever heard of them,” Aren confessed, sending curiosity dancing through my chest. I eagerly peered around his broad shoulders and landed on… a mirror?

A mirror that was not a mirror.

The polished obsidian reflected the library back at us… and didn’t.

Not this library. None of us were visible.

Though similar, the magic-rendered portraits were⁠—

“That’s different.” Aren pointed to the line of portraits—the notable absence of Moros and Marlana.

“So is that.” Lana gingerly traced the reflected shelves. Both were intricately designed, but ours were dark wood—nearly charred in their blackness. The mirror showed rich cherrywood instead. “What is this, Aren?”

“I think… I think we found a looking glass.”

A thud jerked all three of our heads toward Brody, who grimaced. He’d knocked a book free while pulling another from the shelf. But when he knelt to retrieve it, the tome vanished.

Blythe

Trying to control my breathing while descending Rhiannon’s mothercursed stairs was a lost cause. It felt like a mammoth snake had wrapped around my ribcage, each breath a serrated inhale as I pushed deeper into the dark.

A prickling sense of imminent demise swelled toward a scream, a bubble ready to burst from my throat when the passage forked again. Clutching the stone to my chest, I fought the tears burning the bridge of my nose.

For Magnolia.

This was for Magnolia.

If the magic thought I’d find answers in hell—in this tomb of a prison—it hadn’t left me many choices. It wasn’t like I could ask the betrayer to clarify the terms of their Bond.

Certainly not with the witch looking over his shoulder.

Certainly not if I intended to keep my sanity, for fuck’s sake. There wasn’t a thing he could say that I could afford to believe.

Deeper still, my hurried steps became a sprint as the darkness closed around me.

A sob cracked through the silence when my palms struck another dead end, scraping over unnaturally warm, rough stone. Right as I decided this was a bullshit idea and I should turn back, the ruby buzzed in protest. Forward, it seemed to say.

Cursing all Seven Sisters, I forged ahead.

“I swear to the gods, I will send you to the seventh level of hell if there aren’t answers down here, you psychotic fucking rock.”