Page 450 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

Had been for a while, if I was honest.

Begin with the outcome.

What had that been?

Me.

Me, alone in the dark.

Me, alone in the dark, cowering in my own urine, crying until my eyes ran dry as my mind replayed my mother’s screams. The monster in the mask.

Me, alone in that dark armoire, clinging to her scent on her clothes and trying to convince myself she’d escape—she’d come back for me—until Reyna Gwyne, wrath personified in silver armor, ripped the doors off the hinges, fell to her knees, and scooped me against her chest, sobbing into my hair.

He’d taken her body to Reyna. Cruelly. Sadistically. But…

When one considers motive, we must always begin with the outcome.

The outcome where Reyna had a history with the Commander who knew everyone. A Commander who knew a healer. A healer whose gifts looked a lot like sunlight. Who’d never turn down two little girls without mothers to raise them.

When had I started crying?

Angrily wiping a fist over my eyes, I sniffled, only to realize the air was rapidly thickening with smoke, heavy in my lungs.

Good. Let it burn. Burn the luxuries afforded by the blood of the innocent. By unspeakable pain. Burn everything. If only this hell wasn’t built of stone.

The palace had gone unnaturally quiet. The kind of quiet that promised horrors within.

Grudgingly, I flicked my palms open, dousing the flames in a wave that streamed off the windowsill and mantle. Close enough to the sea to draw from the air.

As if watching from above, I observed myself as I lifted my chin, and froze.

The sky had darkened. The birds had gone silent. All at once, the world exploded in a torrent of gold lightning as thunder roared angrily enough to rattle the enormous windows.

I straightened, breath hitching.

Impossible.

Any traces of hope I’d had were dashed against that whipping post. In that closet after.

As if summoned on a string, I was sucked out of the blue and into the room, bitter with the remnants of flame. I lunged off the chair, nearly colliding with the glass as the entire sky filled with so much lightning it could’ve been fireworks… if some idiot lit the entire show at once.

The castle trembled.

A sob flew up my throat as my hand slapped to my mouth.

Because between me and the cliffs, hundreds of ravens appeared, diving, snatching the sentinels and yanking them off the black rocks and into the sea. Their throaty screams became a cacophony that dwarfed the song I’d grown used to.

I sprinted across the space to the far window, a cry bubbling up my throat as I pressed into the glass, trying to glimpse the godsblessed army at the tree line.

My heart lurched forward, slamming against the confines of my ribs as I pressed myself into the cold pane. At their center—a man in Grayshell black and gold, his hand extended skyward as lightning rushed through him. He fucking glowed.

August.

August had finally come.

And he brought hell with him.

Cyrus