Page 183 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“I am what he needs me to be,” I said coolly.

“And why is that?”

I thought of Freya. Of Ally. Of that fierce promise of violence always simmering beneath the surface, and smiled wryly. “Even witches know how to survive, my lord.”

He grinned, nodding knowingly. “That you do.”

A throat cleared. We turned to find Bartholomew with one hand extended. “May I cut in?”

“Of course, Captain.” The man bowed low before passing my hand to the newcomer. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Briar.”

I accepted my new partner, then immediately glared up at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“You looked as though you needed saving.”

“On the contrary. I hadn’t even gotten anywhere with him.”

“That might be. But I don’t trust him with you.”

“Well, Captain, that’s frankly none of your business.”

“I promised to keep you safe, Briar.”

“Afraid he was going to tear my throat out on the dance floor?”

“Afraid he has a taste for… resistant women.”

My blood went cold, stomach clenching as the captain held my gaze, pointed enough that no explanation was necessary. We danced in silence until another man approached. This time, I checked Barry’s face first and accepted only when he nodded.

“Thank you… for the dance,” I managed as Bartholomew dipped his chin.

My next partner served proudly in the king’s direct guard and thanked me for saving the true king. Interesting. Beyond discovering that my skin apparently wanted to crawl off my body, he offered nothing useful and no threads worth pulling.

After him came one of Marlana’s male sex workers—Yanic—undoubtedly the most entertaining of the lot. We danced—like, actually danced—and laughed, and he kept his hands respectfully high, which was more than I could say for the others. By the end of the song, he drew me close and whispered, “Should you need anything while you are here, seek me out. Discretion is my first language.”

“Thank you.” I mimicked the others’ formality with a dipped head and my best approximation of a curtsy. If time could be trapped in a bottle, I was standing inside it.

After Yanic came two more captains and a self-proclaimed assassin from Adrastos’ personal coven. So far, I’d learned three useful things: the rebels had reclaimed Asheville on the back of the lightning wielder; no one knew the status of Grayshell’s cobbled-together leadership; and far too many members of the Bellpost host were available for a ‘good time’ should I seek ‘entertainment.’ Gross.

Even the assassin’s tactless advances were preferable to the low voice—like hell frozen solid—that sent my heart hammering. “I believe it’s my turn for a dance.”

We both froze. I swallowed against the terror climbing my throat as I came face-to-face with none other than Moros Balaskas.

THIRTY-SIX

ASSURANCES

FREYA

133:07:57:17

The door slammed behind Cyrus, and for a beat all I could do was stare after him and drag in steadying breaths.

He’s not wrong, Carr said into my mind. I don’t like this, Freya. Something about it doesn’t settle right.

No. It doesn’t. Vesper, give me a headcount.

On it, she purred, her voice edged like a knife.