Page 193 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“I know.” Someone was yelling; a crash of metal and shattering glass suggested someone flipped a table. “Run, Briar. Now.”

With one sweep of his hand, the passage sealed and left me alone in the dark.

The king will require a target for his fury, and most often it’s his brother.

The warning looped through my head while I stood frozen in the flickering black. A band tightened around my ribs with every forced breath. My pulse grew louder. Louder with every echo of a woman screaming and monsters laughing. Louder still when a body seemed to block the only strip of light cutting through the gray.

I blinked and forced down a steadying breath. If a patient’s vitals flew off the handle like mine had, I’d tell them they were safe. That their body was having a stress response. That it was intense, but temporary, and it would pass.

Except I wasn’t safe.

It hadn’t been okay.

“Stop it,” I panted, squeezing my eyes shut and counting my breath. In for four. Hold for five. Out for six. Again.

The king will require a target for his fury, and most often it’s his brother.

What the hell did that mean? I knew the brothers were bound beyond kinship, but Smith’s wording felt too deliberate to dismiss.

Footsteps sounded beyond the stone wall, and I stopped breathing. I tentatively padded forward, blood thrumming through every inch of my skin. Goosebumps rolled down my arms, and I made the mistake of looking up. Black spiders skittered along the wall overhead. I strangled the scream in my throat, yanked off my heels to quiet my steps, and ran with one hand raised to clear any webs at face level until the passage split three ways.

Steady, Blythe. In for four. Hold for five. Out for six.

Three hallways fanned out from the intersection. Every one of them looked equally horrifying.

I shifted uselessly between them until the stone clutched in my palm seemed to purr, warming against my skin. The certainty that followed was bizarre and immediate: left.

Four. Five. Six.

“Fuck it.” I turned left and sprinted away from whatever hell Smith had sensed coming.

Great. I was taking directions from a rock.

Yes, crystals could be conduits. Energetic channels. Tools. They were not supposed to have opinions like sapient creatures.

Minutes later, the passage narrowed into a spiral staircase so slender I could barely fit. Anyone with broader shoulders would’ve had to turn sideways.

In for four. Hold for five. Out for six. I was panting anyway, silent tears streaking my face by the time the stairs ended at a solid wall. Clutching the hairpiece, I slapped my free palm against the stone—and barked out a frantic laugh when it swung open into my room.

I showered quickly, scrubbing away the oily sensation Moros’ touch had left on my skin and checking twice to make sure I hadn’t brought any eight-legged hitchhikers with me.

Insane.

This entire thing was insane.

But Smith’s warning kept ticking through my head like a metronome.

The king will require a target for his fury, and most often it’s his brother...

My cousin does nothing without intent.

I dragged the armchair in front of the door and tried to read. My eyes moved over the page, but my mind failed to absorb a word—trapped circling Smith’s words, worrying at what they meant and whether any of them could be trusted.

They couldn’t. Obviously. None of them could be trusted. Not really.

But the stone had led me back to my room.

With a groan, I tried again to focus on the love story the bastard had mocked only hours earlier. No use. My body refused to settle.