Page 265 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

If the king died quickly, would they be set free? Apparently, killing him with magic wasn’t fast enough. Like his system could detect the threat, sound an alarm, and draw down the Bonds to reinforce whatever protection wrapped his heart.

A shooting pain slammed through my foot, jolting up my ankle, shin, knee, then hip, and I muttered a curse at the offending table leg.

“Mother!” I snarled, hopping like a drunken stork as I grabbed the toe I’d jammed. Funneling healing magic into something so minor probably wasn’t my smartest move, but instinct won. My mind was still rifling through the endless filing cabinets in my brain, searching for everything I’d ever read about the Bonds.

Everything he’d told us about them.

Oh, my gods.

Oh. My. Gods.

He’d been so agitated by our questions that night. So solemn when he described the permanence—the inescapability—of a Blood Bond.

Insisted it ended with nothing short of the final beat of one of their hearts.

And then he’d said something about the subject needing distance to be free of the will of their master…

Something about…

But then he’d told us a Blood Bond could force a body to live when death was imminent. Had he been baiting her? Planting seeds like some omniscient puppet master, arranging the pieces until she landed exactly where he wanted her on his massive chessboard—a pawn waiting to be discarded? The man was Machiavellian in his brilliance. I wasn’t entirely convinced one of them wasn’t the devil himself. Centuries of scheming certainly lent credibility to the theory.

And if he’d manipulated her into it, he’d known he would need it.

Knew we’d end up here.

Godsdamn seers.

With a hiss of irritation, I returned to my pacing.

I needed answers. I needed the Hazelharbor library and all its tomes. There had to be something. Had to be⁠—

Click.

My heart dropped. Skin chilled. Spine snapped straight as I glared at the passageway entrance and watched the bookshelf swing forward.

Nope.

Nope, nope, nope. Once was enough, thank you very much. What idiot voluntarily dove into a dark hole in the ground?

Not this idiot.

A pulse of magic emanated from the comb tucked safely into my hair. It carried the distinct impression of a nudge forward—the same way I’d feel Raven’s guidance. Longing displaced my irritation in an instant.

She’d be hunting for me.

Probably with nearly the same aggression August was using to hunt Ally.

The bond between witch and familiar was sacred. Being separated like this was horrid. The wards, no doubt, kept Raven from sensing me the way she would’ve without them.

Another pulse of magic—this one irritated—snapped my focus back to the gaping chasm in the wall as the torches flickered to life, beckoning me forward.

“Nope. No, thank you.” Pulse. “Piss off. Wasn’t there enough excitement for one day?” Pulse, pulse. “You go, then.” Pulse. This one was definitely pissed.

Could a stone be condescending? Because this one certainly tried. It delivered the distinct impression of a parent scolding a particularly dense child.

With a huff, I marched across the room. The stone seemed to purr with satisfaction—right up until I grabbed the bookshelf frame and shoved. It swung inward with a livid screech, then struck some invisible force, as if a hand had shot out to hold it open.

Eyes wide, my mouth fell open. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”