Page 236 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“Will you stop that?” I demanded, finishing my braid and marching to within a few feet of him. I wanted to rage against that wall of indifference cemented in place. Wanted to hit and claw and tear him to pieces. But as I neared, he took a step back, dipping his chin as though… bowing? Incrementally, but still.

“I apologize, Blythe.”

Eyes narrowed, chest heaving, hands clenched so tightly my knuckles ached against my skin, I seethed at the bastard as he finally lifted his face to mine. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and I tracked the movement, trying to steady my vitals—to control the shaking creeping down my limbs.

“For the slaughtering of innocents?”

“Define innocent.”

“Baah,” a breath shredded out of me, heavy with incredulity. “Are you seriously playing semantics? What you’re describing is genocide.”

“I agree.”

That brought me up short, and I blinked, scowling as he nodded. “And yet, you’re sorry?”

“Not for that. We are all but victims of this inevitability. This world breaks everyone, Briar; it’s just a matter of how. As for you… I presume you meant the words you said in my quarters.”

Well, damn, Skippy, we said quite a few things in the heat of the moment.

Seeming to weigh my silence as agreement, he nodded softly, more to himself than me. “Well. In that case, I’m sorry for my part in earning the title of master.” There. Just a flicker—but beneath that wall, something like pain lingered in those dark eyes. The eyes I’d memorized. The eyes I’d seen weeks before that day on the sidewalk. “You were right. I am many wicked things, but loyalty to the crimes of my kin was never the goal. Your space shall remain yours unless I deem it prudent to your well-being. Out there, I will always be your enemy—meet the expectations set for me. Here… I have no excuses for it.”

I just stood there, too stunned to speak.

“In one week’s time, a faction of the bloodline will join us for dinner. Moros will expect you there. I’ll have a dress sent up. Learn what you can. I will do the same. The deal holds.”

And with that, Adrastos dipped his chin and left… his hands still in his pockets.

I was still standing there, staring at the door he’d vanished through, when Barry came to get me what might’ve been an hour later.

“Witchling? You alright?”

I couldn’t answer. My brain was trapped in a loop, trying to sort through words like tangled wire—bent, distorted, clamped, knotted—impossible to decipher fully. Why couldn’t the son of a bitch just say what he meant?

“Briar,” the captain pushed, more firmly this time as his hands came down on my upper arms, squeezing them as he lowered to catch my gaze. “Hey. You okay?”

“No,” I breathed. It was probably my first honest answer.

“What do you need?”

“Clarity.”

Those dark brows furrowed, and my eyes snapped to the ink along his neck and jaw—the intricate images interwoven with knots and swirls. Bellpost patterns. “What kind of clarity?”

I just shook my head, lifting my chin and wetting my lips in one desperate attempt to at least play the role. “Dinner?”

Concern slanted his brows. “Yeah, witchling. Dinner.”

I nodded, more enthusiastically this time, and let him lead me out and down the hallway. It wasn’t until he pulled out a chair for me in the dining hall that I fully refocused on anything besides his hand between my shoulder blades.

Because Alvara was sitting at the table.

My heart stopped short, breath whooshing into my lungs in a violent stab as she lifted those foggy emeralds to me. “Hi,” she breathed, extending a gaunt hand. “I’m El. I’m told we’ve met.”

I jerked my gaze to Bartholomew, whose lips thinned, even as he dipped his chin. “This is Dr. Briar, ma’am. She worked on you while you healed.”

“Oh,” she said dazedly. “Well, thank you, then.”

Fire. I was on fire, and it had nothing to do with the pyro sitting feet in front of me. The air, my blood, my ribs all seemed to squeeze tight with an inferno that threatened to sear through my skin and consume everything around us.