Page 424 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

I did believe him.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, cursing myself as my chin trembled, eyes burning, lips twisting to keep from crying.

“Show me,” he repeated.

“I don’t… I don’t know how.”

He lifted his hand between us. Skin bared, he flipped his palm up to me, his throat bobbing beneath the thick coat of stubble. A wall went up in Adrastos’ eyes as I staggered back a step, bumping into the corner of the open bookshelf. A muscle in his jaw ticked, but he nodded and wet his lips as he slipped his hand into his pocket.

“Then tell me what you see.”

“It… corrupted. I don’t even know how to describe it. Last I saw, it was a beautiful weave—almost finished—and now… the entire center is gone. Charred.”

“What else?” he asked, his eyes distant.

“It looks like blood… around the edges, it looks like blood.” When my words elicited a nod, I found myself wringing my fingers together.

“Let me read it?” The words bridged the gap between command and request as he held up his exposed palm. I knew the bastard could lie better than any soul I’d ever known. Knew he’d dumped a half-dead Alvara at Moros’ feet like trash and let him break her. Betrayed Mags in the most primal way. He was to blame for so much suffering.

I shifted uneasily on my feet, my back smarting with the movement—a stark reminder that the beating I took could’ve been so much worse. Could’ve been fatal. Could’ve resulted in more creative, barbaric punishments when I was too weak to defend myself. And he’d come for me.

Sniffling back the tears threatening to spill, I bit my lip. Reached for him—grabbing his wrist, shielded by his sleeve, and lifted my gaze back to his. A million unspoken things lived in those eyes—turbulent, haunted things I couldn’t begin to understand. But his threads calmed at my touch. Cautiously, I led him to the tapestry, setting his palm against the ropes and guiding him down the length of it as his eyes slid closed. A furrow pinched his brows. Something painful seemed to lodge in his throat as I guided him across it.

He jerked back so fast my breath hitched—his hand clenched into a tight fist against his chest as though I’d burned him.

“What is it?” I breathed.

“A spellbinding,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. On a sigh, he turned on his heel, pacing away, grumbling something that sounded like, “The one thread.” When he spun back to face me, he was palming his jaw, eyes distant. “You,” he said, almost an accusation, lit with something like anticipation as he closed the distance in three harsh strides. I backed up a step, eyes widening as I bumped into the narrow stone wall. “Brilliant,” he declared in a rush as he came up short, flexing his hands like he’d meant to touch me and thought better of it. “Thank you,” he sighed, leaving me stunned. “Thank you, Blythe.”

“W-what?” I stammered as he turned his back on me, running his hands through his hair.

Without another word, he left me alone, standing in the secret entrance.

And I just… stared at the threshold he vanished through.

Bell? It was there, on the tip of my tongue, haunting me with the past that had been an illusion anyway. Throat thick, I turned my back on the nightmare unfolding on that easel, and tentatively padded after him, grounding myself into the soft give of the lush carpet.

“Adrastos?” I hated that fucking name. Hated what it stood for. Hated that I couldn’t reconcile it with him any more than I could our history. Adrastos was the stuff of nightmares—the boogeyman of Bellpost, out to destroy my friends.

This man just kept fucking saving me, the keeper of the orphans.

Worse yet, some pathetic fragment of my soul—the healer in me, probably—hated that he flinched when I used it.

Which was imbecilic. It was ridiculous to care.

Softer this time, I breathed, “Draz?” as I closed the bookcase, stepped into the room, and stopped dead.

The man stood shirtless in front of his window, his feet as bare as his heavily inked torso. His eyes were distant as he pulled on an undershirt, muscles rippling.

It had officially been way too long since I’d been with a man if I was noticing Adrastos Balaskas’ bare fucking feet and muscle definition, but holy abdominals. Blinking, I turned to face the opposite wall as his thumbs hooked into his pants. Just a body. I was a professional for fuck’s sake. It’s not like I hadn’t thought the man was beautiful before… well, everything.

“Where are you going?” I asked tightly.

“To assist a mutual friend with a rather infuriating puzzle.”

“Mags?” Because who else could the man possibly consider a mutual friend?

“She’s unreachable, as far as I’m aware.”