Page 449 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

The screaming was what finally stirred me enough to move, dread settling like a leaden ball in my belly. Whatever happened in that ring hadn’t been… planned.

I slipped into the passageway, where… that thing still sat in the corner.

Down and down, I plunged into the blue, as cold and silent as snowfall. I finally found the voice—that woman’s voice—as I pressed my hands against the corrupted ropes and closed my eyes. Reached inward and drew up the full might of that healer’s light. A healer’s light that… wasn’t.

The acrid smell of smoke had my power retreating into the glacier to warm my own chest.

When my eyes peeled open, the entire thing was aflame.

The palace had gone silent. Too silent. Not even the birds kept up their relentless calls.

Or maybe that was just me, trapped in the cage of my own making.

Numbly, I wandered to the chair, sitting down to watch months of work devoured.

My elbow bumped into something cold. Hard. Glancing down, I found an odd collection. A cup of water, its sides coated in condensation. An envelope of aged parchment. A hastily scrawled note tied to…

I plucked up the paper, dangling an antique ring with a glimmering ruby.

Scowling, I was vaguely aware of turning it over in my hand. Setting it in my palm. Running my thumb over the faint hint of a shimmering rune.

Like Rhiannon’s stone in my hair.

Some distant part of my brain slammed against the ice as I plucked the paper free. Turned it.

Hastily scrawled words stood in harsh contrast to the linen, soft against my fingers.

It smelled like him.

My least favorite thread requires you wear this. Left ring finger. It will buy you time until they find you. Keep your promise and you won’t need it.

Huffing my irritation, I tossed the scrap into the growing fire as it lapped up that hideous black and crimson. Watched as it faded into nothing, the ashes joining the others.

Like a stranger inside my own body, I looked down to the envelope.

Read me.

I set it down on the table as shouts and footsteps filled the hallways below.

Later. I’d gather the courage to read it later.

Stared at the tapestry.

Months of love, hope, and labor now painting the ceiling gray.

Ravenous flames licking at the curtains.

Guilt.

Disloyalty.

Revulsion.

Each took a turn assaulting my mind as I ran my thumb around and around that gold ring.

When one considers motive, we must always begin with the outcome.

Try as I might, the only voice to break through the blue was his.