Page 346 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

His Adam’s apple bobbed before Barry nodded. Smith hissed behind him, shattering his impression of a gargoyle when he began pacing.

“Barry,” he snapped, the irritation laced with a warning that sent goosebumps prickling over my arms.

“She can sense these things,” Barry said softly, his eyes locked on mine. Almost as though he could feel the fear his words drove through me, he added, “Healers have a way about them.”

Nodding, I wet my lips to keep them from trembling. “I could feel his magic flowing into Moros, preserving the king at the expense of his own life force.”

“Right,” Barry said, nodding. “Makes sense.”

“So, they are?”

“Evidence suggests it.”

Scowling, I accused, “You’re speaking like him.”

“And what reasons could there be for that? Beyond the obvious familial similarities?”

Holding his dark gaze, I let it all go—the pretense, the fear, the reality I found myself in—and dove into the depths of blood magic, into the tomes Nathara didn’t like us reading after we’d peppered Bellamy and Aren with questions. Add that element of control to Moros’ mentalist abilities and Adrastos’ ability to force his way into any of our minds, and…

Gods.

Nodding, I said, “Fair enough.” As Smith shifted on his feet, I shook my head with a derisive snort. “Not like I could believe a fucking thing any of you say anyway.”

“You don’t have to,” Smith said curtly. “That’s your prerogative. But if you’re determined to spin stories, at least get the facts straight. Fabricated evidence does nothing to lend credibility to your hatred anyway.” He stepped between the chairs and edged around Barry with entirely unnatural speed, moving in that predatory way his cousin was so fond of. “Above all things, Adrastos values loyalty and honor. We didn’t grow up with hugs and bedtime stories, Blythe. We grew up with duty and obligation. Given his gifts, it makes sense that Adrastos held a deeper conviction for truth than most of Koa’s generals. One day, Adrastos was in the village when he returned to a castle in chaos, screams announcing the death of the king. By the time he reached the throne room, the crown was on Moros’ head and Agamemnon was on his knees. The two of them were feathers of the same bird, inseparable in all the ways that mattered.”

“He’d killed the king, you see? Agamemnon rode home in a rage, used his reaper’s gifts against his father, and slew him right there in the throne room. Before anyone but Moros could understand his motives, the new king had ruled the regicide grounds for execution. By the time Adrastos arrived, Agamemnon was restrained between two guards and Moros’ blade was falling.”

“But he stopped it,” I guessed softly.

Smith nodded. “Legend says the prince blocked the fell blade with nothing but his gauntlet, raised overhead to stop the execution. Whatever caused the prince to murder the king was never revealed. But the record shows that Moros and Adrastos bore new markings. Runes.” He paused, irritated eyes cutting pointedly to mine. I dredged up the memory of Magnolia’s runes, more pieces clicking together like a jigsaw. The image just beginning to come to life.

“Adrastos’ power was noticeably diminished, his claim to the throne forfeit, and… his loyalty unwavering from that day onward.” Click. “Right until my mate was caught disparaging the king. He tried to stop it, but Moros ordered her death at his hand.”

Horror curdled my stomach, the memory of Bellamy throwing the atrocities committed against their loved ones in my face cutting through the noise in my skull.

Smith was pinned down and forced to watch as his mate was beaten to death.

“No,” I whispered, the word a broken attempt to shove back against a fate cast centuries ago.

Click.

His mouth opened, closed, then he wet his lips. Eyes downcast, he breathed, “I was apprehended and pinned beneath seven guards and forced to watch—my eyes held open—as my cousin, her most trusted companion, beat her into the grave.”

Click.

“And yet you serve him,” I breathed as horrified tears burned in my eyes.

“I serve the man who shackled his soul to save another. The man who fought for her in the first place—who attempted to take his own life next, only for the wounds to seal every time he inflicted them.” Click. “He is damned, Briar. Damned to serve the brother who revealed the truth of his parentage, ostracizing him from half his people.”

“He isn’t… he isn’t Koa’s son?”

Smith shook his head, my thoughts spinning as the pieces clicked into place.

Well, my cousin… Marlana had delivered those words like a blade between Adrastos and Barry. With the finesse of a scalpel, she drove the wedge deeper. Because…

Because Adrastos wasn’t a Balaskas.

Which meant Elizabeth wasn’t a Balaskas.