Page 80 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

But Mags felt responsible because of her connection to our enemy. She blamed herself for my father’s death. For the fall of her city.

Of course she was clinging to anything that felt solid.

The least I could offer was compassion.

“We know what he is,” Cyrus said firmly. “Paris. Lonan. Bellamy. The prince has many names, and none of them are true. Didn’t he have y’all believing he admired Aren? That Aren was some kind of childhood hero?”

“This is different,” she insisted, those piercing aqua eyes cutting toward him.

Something dark unfurled through the room—her power rearing and coiling like a snake poised to strike.

Shadows, yes. But something stronger always hovered beneath her skin.

Something my gifts couldn’t identify if my life depended on it.

And I had to give her credit. For a healer staring down an entire table of warriors, she remained steady in the eye of the storm.

I studied her for what might have been an eternity before nodding.

“I believe you,” I said simply.

Well.

At least I believed she believed what she was saying.

“But I’m sorry. I have to side with the delegation on this.”

“I made Aren a promise,” she breathed, her voice a barely restrained rasp. “I swore that no matter what happened to him⁠—”

Her voice broke.

“—to us—I would look after his people. And contrary to popular belief, I am no one’s godsdamned subject.”

My shadows retreated.

Almost… kneeling.

Cowering beneath the weight of her power as it swelled throughout the room.

My gaze flicked toward Portia, whose dark eyes were trained on the ceiling as though she expected a physical manifestation there.

Slowly, I looked back at the healer.

“Running headlong into a potential trap is a fool’s errand, not the fulfillment of a vow. Aren would never want you to fling yourself into a suicide mission.”

“Well, Aren isn’t here to give a shit, is he?” she snapped, surging to her feet.

The rest of us rose with her.

Hands hovered over weapons.

Shadows misted to life around limbs and shoulders.

Only the silver lining Magnolia’s eyes betrayed her anger.

“And I’m not asking,” she snarled. “I didn’t come here for your validation, Freya. And I am certainly not some helpless bird in need of a cage.”

Carr took a not-so-subtle step in front of me, but Cyrus was the one who slowly reached out and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder.