Page 356 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

At last, Alec lifted his gaze to me, and I nodded in encouragement. Then he turned to Reyna, looming at the head of the table.

“I stand with Commander Gwyne.”

I clenched my hands on the edge of my chair until my knuckles ached in protest. Only when Reyna straightened in surprise did Alec meet my eyes, apology written in the brokenhearted slump of his shoulders.

“She’s gone, rookie.”

SEVENTY-ONE

THE NET

AUGUST

Five months, two weeks, four days, seven minutes since they took my wife…

“So, hear me out. I’ve been marinating on this for a minute,” Freya said as we marched down the bunker hallway after the delegation voted in Reyna’s favor.

“Thank fuck,” Cyrus breathed, his boots a steady rhythm across the concrete. “Because Reyna isn’t gonna hesitate. If she catches wind of something, she’ll be all over it.”

“Like white on rice,” Carrson agreed.

“Moros might be powerful, but he’s the least creative opponent we’ve faced down.”

I cleared my throat, swallowing the agony that had lived in my chest for nearly six months while the psychopath dug his claws deeper into my mate. Nothing we’d done had made a dent.

Absentmindedly, I thumbed the screw top off the pain meds Kenna gave me. “You’re gonna have to clarify what you mean.”

She shoved her dorm room door open, all of us filing inside like sardines. I took another dose as Freya made a beeline for the chest against the wall, muttering, “Psychopath? Yes. But I’d wager we’ve been playing Adrastos’ cleverness, not his brother’s.” She threw open the lid and started rummaging. “Adrastos thinks like Ally. Two sides of one brilliant—mind you, diabolical—coin. He acts out of sincere care for his people, and even though he bitches about mortals like Ally does, I think his motivations—however misguided—come from a genuine belief that he can make a difference. It’s not humanity itself he’s raging against; it’s the sickness and cruelty within it. He cared for those girls. Whether he meant to or not, he gave himself away—both in his confrontation with Alvara in Aren’s house and by coming back for Mags.” She chucked items over her shoulder one by one. A silver cup. A tin bowl. Books—all of which Cyrus’ shadows lashed out to catch and gently deposit on the bed. A hole-ridden sock. “He saved Ally’s life on the field⁠—”

“He cares for the power they give him.”

“Tomato, potato.”

“No, no. Not potato. He manipulates to garner favor with his king.”

“Maybe,” she allowed, shaking her head as the next objects flew over her shoulder faster. A quiver. Gauntlets. A mask with the mouth torn apart. “But I think against his better judgment, he gets invested in people. He did with me.”

Cyrus cleared his throat, staring down at a tattered monolith of a book I recognized as Freya’s favorite copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. “Ma moitié, you’re gonna have’ta give us more backstory.”

But Freya was already shaking her head. “No time. Just… trust me when I say he didn’t have to protect me and did. On more than one occasion.”

“Again, the power you⁠—”

“No,” she snapped. “Prior to knowing who or what I was, he interceded on my behalf, knowing full well I was a thief. Guilty of the charges they presented.”

“He’s—”

She cut me off again. “Clairvoyant—I know. But just… Do you trust me, August?” Freya whirled to face me, jaw set, hazel-green eyes drilling into mine with absolute certainty.

“With my life.”

“Then trust me now. Ciaran had a vision of New York City on fire. They were there hunting for something.”

“New York is Sire’s territory. We only got to operate in Manhattan last year because he approved those missions.”

“Leave Sire to my father,” Tessa said firmly. “He’ll see reason. He always does.”

My faith in anyone’s integrity was fucking feeble at best, but I kept that to myself. “Did Ciaran have a timeline?”