Page 282 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“Bellamy?” Atreus prodded.

“Good friend? Really?”

“What?” I bit out.

“The name. It means ‘good friend.’”

“How would you possibly know that?”

“Vik’s a whore for the internet.”

“He’s not wrong. What was the last name? Purely for curiosity’s sake.”

We both knew it wasn’t. Names held power. If Adrastos designed an alias, there was intention behind it.

“Blackwell.”

The two exchanged a look.

“What?”

“That one’s more literal. Essentially, by the black well, black water, or a creek.”

An image flashed through my mind—water gurgling over black stones behind a dilapidated church, upright only because magic willed it so. Bellpost. The bastard had named himself a good friend at Bellpost.

My skin pebbled, a chill skating down my limbs. We were onto something. Something I very much needed to share with Cyrus, not these two.

“Thank you,” I breathed.

“And the other bond?” Atreus pressed, still aiming for jovial but missing the mark, something sharper in his eyes.

I closed my eyes, bouncing my leg as I dragged in enough oxygen to rally. “Um. No longer needed.”

Viktor’s expression softened.

“That was for you, wasn’t it?”

“Would you think less of me if it was?”

“Less? No.”

I sent my brows rising.

“Okay, maybe a little,” Atreus admitted sheepishly. His eyes dropped to the cup nestled against his thigh. “But only because I’d kill for my own.”

Nodding, I said, “Killing wasn’t ever the problem for me.”

“No, I don’t wager it was. Wanna talk about it?”

I shrugged. “Is what it is.”

“The son of your enemy?” he prodded.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re too damn nosy?”

“My father. Regularly. Sucks to suck.”

“But he’s right?” Viktor pressed, running a hand through his golden waves. I drew in a breath and nodded softly.