Page 113 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“The truth doesn’t need straightening,” I snapped, barely keeping my temper leashed. “What happens if something happens to you and Ma? Calypso and I are just supposed to clean up your messes with no idea who we’re even dealing with? Mysterious debtors show up and we just pay without proof? A royal family unprepared to defend the throne. This shit doesn’t make sense.”

Dad stared at me for a long moment. His chocolate eyes had always been darker than mine—but tonight, they were just as tired.

Finally, he gave a short nod. “Five minutes, Cy.”

Needing no further prompting, I said, “Tell me about Valora Lamb.”

Long seconds passed. He didn’t tell me to fuck off—but the way his eyes stayed locked on mine, hard and assessing, made the silence drag.

“She saved your mother’s life on the wrong side of the river. A tentative alliance became more. They were inseparable—for years. She just…fit, Cy. Fit here with us. Just as ruthless. Just as scrupulous. Hell, her fighting style would put the Northern assassins to shame.”

“She was like a sister to your mother, Cy. Became her second-in-command.”

That brought me up short. An ache pressed behind my eyes and I itched for another cigarette.

“Outsiders can’t claim rank,” I snapped. My gut told me there was more to this than he was saying.

“Right. Outsiders.”

“She was no Paladin.”

“Not in the beginning.”

My brows winged up and I took a step back. Perplexed didn’t begin to cover it.

Dad huffed, pacing a tight circle before slumping onto a hay bale with a long sigh.

“You telling me she survived the Crucible?”

“First in a century⁠—”

“And no souls have survived since,” I finished for him, turning to pace the opposite direction as the pieces began to click.

Paladin law was murky to outsiders but blunt in execution: all could be forgiven, save for treason against your own. If a leader wasn’t fit or if blood had been spilled without cause, there were trials and duels for that. No one was untouchable, but no Paladin was to be harmed without consequence. The balance came first—but harming your own? Execution.

There were only three ways for an outsider to be protected under the Knight’s Accord:

Mated to a Paladin.

Sired by a Wing.

Or brave enough to petition for the Crucible and survive the ensuing series of trials testing both their allegiance and skill set. It culminated in a brutal initiation ceremony—a duel with a trained Wing. Most weren’t daft enough to attempt it, and even fewer survived. It took most souls at least a year to complete. Which brought me to my next question.

“Where was she from?” i.e., what hierarchy created a thief or assassin so fierce she not only left—but survived the Crucible?

“She never knew,” Dad said, sorrow mixing with something like fondness in his eyes. “Ascended alone—no known sire. Stumbled into a battle with the demonic Renown, saving your mother by fate alone.”

“I don’t⁠—”

“Believe in fate,” he finished. “I know. But you do believe in time. And you’re running out of that before your mother comes looking for us.”

“Did she kill her?”

The recoil to that question had me reassessing everything. His scowl carved a deep V between his brows.

“God, Cyrus, no. Your mother loved Valora. More than I was comfortable with.”

Coming from a man who shared his mate with six goddamn Guardians, that actually surprised me.