Page 257 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“Balance,” I bit out.

“And truth.” Anticipation lit his features as he watched me like a lion sizing prey. “That blade is a symbol of truth. Enlightenment. I find it no small coincidence that you took it from someone, then used it to fight your way into the trial of illumination. You wear it in every battle. Reach for it naturally when you need reassurance navigating the politics of it all.”

“What’s your point?”

“I have a theory.”

“Do share.”

“But I still need more answers, and it seems I’ve exhausted your patience.”

“Ask. I’ll decide if I’m answering.”

“You won it?”

“Yes.”

“From the royals prior to your duel.” Not a question.

Jaw tight, I repeated, “Yes.”

He nodded as if that confirmation was all he needed. “And after? Did it leave your body?”

“I’m not a fan of sleeping in armor.”

He chuckled. “I know you don’t trust me. I stopped craving validation long ago. But you told me you trust your brother—trust his judgment. He assigned me the impossible: bring Ally home to him. I have a theory, but I won’t stir his hope without certainty.”

“And this has to do with Cyrus’ blade?”

“It’s your blade.”

“Now,” I countered, seeing his smirk and raising him a vicious smile. He just nodded.

“When exactly did you pluck it off your counterpart?”

I scowled, shaking my head. “Months ago.”

“Before the war?”

“Just before, but yes. Does August entertain your antics, because⁠—”

“How many saw it on you?” he cut in. If not for the gleam in his eyes, I might have been irritated. He looked like August when we started clicking pieces into place.

I thought for a long beat. The simple answer? Everyone. Grayshell. Hazelharbor. Bellpost. Paladin. I hadn’t taken it off after stealing it from Cyrus that first night. The men in the vault got a one-way ticket to meet Jesus at the end of it, among others.

Curious what he was assembling, I said, “I’d assume anyone watching closely.”

“Good,” he said, satisfaction broadening his grin. “That’s good.”

“You’re an odd man,” I observed, sending his wolfish smile sideways.

“An odd man with a death wish, apparently.”

“Ironic.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Freya?” Kenna’s voice turned us both. Apprehension sharpened it. But it wasn’t Kenna’s eyes I found—it was a pair of bleary emerald greens.