Page 35 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

It wasn’t enough.

Wasn’t strong enough to withstand the agonized glimmer of hope in her eyes.

Hope for what was beyond me. That he would come for her? That he would win this war and justify her agony?

Even so, within this dank pit of stone and mold and pain, she held true—Aren’s well-chosen second. Grayshell’s guardian to her dying breath.

August wouldn’t want this. Whatever he was—whatever this half-baked plan of theirs was—I didn’t need to speak to the man to know he would never justify her pain to preserve his life. There wasn’t a prize in any known world that could convince August Porter to stand by while she was ripped apart.

He’d find her again.

Faster next time.

“We will find another way,” I vowed.

Hell, if there was one.

But this had to stop. This torment. This hell.

I might’ve known the woman before me for only a few weeks before we landed in this darkness, but that was long enough to know with absolute conviction that she was… good.

To her core.

Beautiful, kind, and fiercely protective.

If the only mercy I had to offer a good soul was an end to the pain this world continued doling out, so be it.

“Just… one,” she rasped, the words sealing my decision in agonized resignation. She must’ve read the resolution across my face, as some twisted mockery of relief settled in her eyes and she slumped against the operating table.

Nodding, I released a breath, gently closed her eyes, sent her mind into the depths with my magic, and began my work.

By the time my power hit bottom, my body was shaking, my skin slick with sweat. Mercifully, her vital organs were repaired, and I’d eliminated the most significant risks of infection. The bruises and minor scrapes would have to wait.

I drew a healing rune across her forehead before turning to glare at Bartholomew⁠—

And coming face-to-face with Adrastos instead.

Heat flared through my chest, feeding the anger that always simmered just beneath the surface. I balled my fists, willing more magic into my emptied limbs so I could reach out and crush his heart inside its cage. Begging the seven sisters for one open window where my magic flowed strongly enough to repay his betrayals.

I barely saw the bastard within these godsforsaken walls. Usually only across a crowded space where his death would become a spectacle I couldn’t survive. Always surrounded by women so liberal with their affection that I’d caught myself fantasizing about carving out their eyes more than once.

Sadists—all of them.

But there he stood, looming outside the doorway with only the captain behind him. Jaw set, haunted brown eyes trained on me, heavy with the weight he always seemed to carry. When his gaze flicked toward a now-sleeping Alvara, I sidestepped to block his view.

His eyes snapped back to mine.

One slow nod.

That was all he gave before releasing a harsh breath and stalking down the hallway.

Not a sound in his wake.

Justice would come for Prince Adrastos Balaskas—or whatever moniker he was peddling now—and I only prayed I could concoct a plan that allowed the woman at my back to deliver it.

SEVEN

THE GRAYSHELL PARTY