Page 345 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“Bullshit,” Smith said curtly. “Just because you’re uncomfortable with the consequences of the choices you wish to make doesn’t mean they’re not still yours to make.”

“So Adrastos chooses the slaughter after all? I’ve got to admit, I’m a little disappointed.”

Smith glowered in my direction as he yanked open the dresser drawer, fishing out a pair of scrubs and thrusting them at me. With a knot in my throat, I took them. Scrubs had to be a good sign, right?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shrugged, moving to step around him, but he reached out and snagged my arm, his haughty stare firmly locked on my face. My body went rigid, power flaring. Smith seemed to recognize the error as quickly as he made it—snapping his hand off my elbow and raising both in supplication.

“Answer me,” he demanded in the same callous tone his cousin wielded so well, but it lacked the conviction. Smith could kill me, certainly—but he didn’t have the gravitas of the Balaskas brothers, didn’t inspire terror simply with his presence. Maybe that was a grave misjudgment, but I’d always had the impression the blood on his hands was born of necessity, not pleasure.

Necessity…

I jammed my eyes closed, hand aching with the memory of sucking the life out of that man’s heart. It had been so fast—a thought, and I’d snuffed an entire soul out of existence. Worse yet, I could justify it. Enemy or not, he was a product of his experience—of the men and women who raised him, of the propaganda shoved down his throat, the religion touted by a heretical king who wore his crown like it gave him the authority of a god.

And maybe he would’ve been better in a different life, with different parents, in a hierarchy like Hazelharbor or Grayshell or, hell, even Bellaton. Maybe, under different circumstances, he wouldn’t have hunted Cora down on an order. But the world would never know if his redemption was attainable, because in a blink, I’d erased the possibility.

I’d killed him.

Shattered my vows and killed him without asking questions.

Without prodding back against what Adrastos had claimed.

Without understanding what he wanted with her and Fletcher.

And now I’d never know.

Nobody would.

Because I’d killed him.

The memory of blood splattering across my face as I cowered against the wall had me closing my eyes, attempting to count breaths.

“Briar?” Concern weighted the voice calling my name, and I forced my eyes open, panting like I’d just sprinted up the spiral staircase from the dungeons. Barry’s gaze flicked between them in desperate analysis. “You’re safe, Briar.”

A desperate squeak of laughter burst through my lips. He rolled his eyes, bobbing his head as if weighing the truth of it before saying, “Okay, you’re safe when you’re with us. Understand?”

“No,” I admitted on the breath that tore out of me.

“What did you mean before?” he pressed as Smith loomed like a statue behind him.

“What?”

“About Adrastos choosing the slaughter.”

“I just thought…” My words trailed off as I grappled with what I even wanted from this conversation. Why had I bothered to say it in the first place? As if there could be a productive conversation with these people—not a single fucking one of them could be trusted. Liars, all.

“Thought what?” Barry pressed, leaning back to sit on the arm of the nearest chair, as if sensing my need for distance. He crossed those tattooed arms over his chest, tilting his head in an assessment that was so painfully familiar that my stomach squirmed.

I shook my head. “Nothing. I just… when I healed him—when I healed Moros—it healed him. I can’t stop analyzing why.”

Barry gave a subtle nod before glancing over his shoulder toward Smith. The ragged sobs that tore up my throat the night the betrayer was dying on that desert floor echoed in my mind. They’d been there, distraught over his injuries, doing their best to help as Magnolia bound them irrevocably together.

“It seems to me that Mags isn’t the only Bonder the bastard is tethered to.”

Barry sucked down a breath that seemed to stall halfway up his chest. Just as forlornly, he said, “Briar, I’m going to need you to speak plainly.”

“They’re bonded. Moros and Adrastos are Blood Bound, aren’t they?”