Page 454 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

The palace trembled from another impact of Fae’s geomancers. Stones, shards of earth, all hurled through the walls like bombs.

I couldn’t sustain the tornadoes for long, but it certainly made for one hell of an entrance—and an opening when they tore through the west side of the palace, allowing our forces to storm in.

We took the east.

After breaching beside Bellaton, we split ranks—Reyna and her people following Blythe’s familiar, unironically named Raven, and my team encircling Aphaea. In battle blacks, hair braided back, Fae looked every bit the avenging angel I knew she was. Hands raised, she closed her eyes, trusting my palm between her shoulders to guide her as she followed.

She didn’t open her eyes as the Paladins cut down a brutal path, painting the floor black and crimson.

I could feel her.

Terror.

Agony.

Cold.

My mate was here—breathing but battered beyond even my comprehension. Thanks to the shadows meeting Bellpost on their own turf, I hadn’t even raised my fucking blade when we hit the bottom of an infinite staircase.

Heart in my throat, stomach a ball of ice, I blinked, adjusting to the gloom as thunder rumbled overhead, a great impact sending the walls shuddering.

I was here for one thing and one thing only—to bring home my fucking mate.

What the others did to Moros’ people was not my fucking concern. Every soul on this mission had a bone to pick, and we’d dropped them in the belly of the beast. A chill brushed over my skin as green mist unfurled along the walls, snapping my spine straight.

“Did anyone call in Kade?”

Negative, came from all sides.

Sexy Beetlejuice? Nope, Freya thought, shaking her head.

“We agreed not to,” Montague signed as he materialized beside me, bruised and panting but in one piece.

Ally, I pressed down the line, pushing my magic out as it searched for her, scraping, prodding, desperate to latch onto any hint of her. Nothing. Still nothing. Ally, baby, we’re here. We’re coming.

Silence.

Come on, baby. Talk to me, Alvara.

My jaw clenched as the Paladins cut down two more. I’d owe Freya for her tenacity for the rest of our fucking lives. The line of Grayshellians behind them was just as swift but barely needed.

Ally, this is August. We’re here, baby.

Come on, second, Fae sent mind-to-mind, be strong for just a moment longer, honey. We’re here.

We’re here, Alec echoed from where he still painted the sky in flames Marcus colored like lightning. We never gave up, Al. Show us it wasn’t for nothing. Show us where you are. Give us something.

Every hierarchy. Every gift. Every skill set. They were all fucking needed for this to work.

Get loud, sweetie, please, Fae pleaded, even as her palms glowed and she led us down a narrow passageway that reeked of bleach, unable to mask the iron tang of blood.

Bile rose in my throat. I was gonna be sick. Hand still planted between Fae’s shoulders as combat broke out ahead, I glanced into the windows of… cells. Padded cells. The cushions stained with any number of substances. The occasional prisoner cowering in the corner of one. Blood. Shit. Piss. Sweat. Fear. Each scent was more revolting than the last.

I set a palm on the doors of the occupied cages—marking them with charred handprints for Bellaton and Grayshell at my back.

“August!” Cyrus. Snapping my head up, I locked onto Freya’s hard greens a beat before she whisked me through the molasses gray, to where her mate stood with a man on his knees before him—blond hair, blood seeping from a gash on his temple, green mist swirling around his fingers before flickering out. Cyrus must’ve dosed him.

The moment she released me, I barked, “Kade?”