Page 66 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

I tore my hand away and stumbled back, putting distance between myself and the betrayer. I wiped my palm against the plain cotton dress they’d left in my room, as though I could scrub his touch from my skin.

Erase whatever glimpses he’d stolen from my mind.

As if his cruelty were contagious—a disease capable of infecting only cowards.

Behind him, the guard stepped between me and his king.

The king who continued to scowl at me even as his knees buckled.

When Adrastos spoke, his voice was a cold, lethal rumble of displeasure. Even more menacing was the preternatural slowness with which he turned on the guard.

“Someone had better explain why a world-renowned Hazelharborian healer is standing mere feet from my brother while he bleeds out on the goddamned marble.”

“Another… healer,” Moros croaked as his blood pooled beneath him.

“That arrow pierced your artery,” I said with a clinician’s calm, attempting to sidestep the giant standing between us.

A lie.

Judging by the tension in Adrastos’ shoulders, he knew it.

But he said nothing.

The arrow had likely grazed tributaries of the king’s jugular. There was enough blood, however, that only a healer would recognize the difference.

Or… well, a mind reader.

This entire ploy depended on the man in front of me—the one I was struggling not to bring to his knees with a clench of my fist.

A perfect storm of Moros’ adrenaline and my magic created the visual I needed as dark, tar-like ichor poured over his shoulder, chest, and side.

I snapped my gaze toward the guard blocking my path.

“You will move unless you’re prepared to accept full responsibility for the death of your king. I’m sure his sister will understand that your prejudices cost her everything when a perfectly capable healer stood only feet away.”

Fear flickered through his eyes, but he didn’t move.

“I have less than sixty seconds to seal that wound, or he’s as good as dead.”

Another delicate pull on Moros’ blood sent it spurting through his fingers. His face paled as he swayed on his knees.

The guard moved.

I slid to a halt directly before the king, fighting the revulsion climbing my throat as I reached for him.

I could kill him.

I could use my magic to accelerate the hemorrhage.

But even as the thought formed, his lifeline lengthened.

Something—someone—would keep him breathing.

The king of Bellpost would not die today.

My best option was to ensure I received the credit for saving him.

Adrastos leaned nonchalantly against the table across from us, watching me work with an expression of utter boredom carved across his face. I could’ve sworn amusement glimmered in his eyes, but no one else would’ve noticed.