Page 186 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

He was cruel enough. Vindictive enough.

The room softened, voices lowering to murmurs. The witches numbed beneath the weight of trauma, their hands still moving on autopilot.

And I kept returning to her.

Petite. Blonde. Blue eyes fixed on the marble floor like she could see straight through it. Through three rounds of healer check-ins, she hadn’t moved. Not even to cry. Even the woman who’d been wailing to the gilded golden ceiling had calmed long enough for her sisters to sedate her.

But not the little blonde.

Had anyone even checked on her? I had little time to dwell on it, because a familiar, enormous frame blocked my view. Aren’s eyes landed on me, heavy with a burden I didn’t recognize.

“You okay, kid?”

Nodding, I swallowed thickly. “Yeah. You, Commander?”

“I’m alright. Did Ally talk to you?”

“No,” I breathed, eyes scanning the broken souls around us. But it was the black-haired witch moving between the huddled clusters of survivors who held my attention. She moved like the eye of a dark vortex, the grief curling inward around her as if she pulled it in—absorbed it. Commanded it.

A strange instinct surged, fight-or-flight kicking hard in my chest. Something about her…A scent? A flicker in the air? It tugged at a memory I couldn’t reach.

“She’s magnificent, isn’t she?”

I blinked and looked back at Aren. “What is she?”

“Their heiress. Or…she will be, soon. She’s a shadow walker.”

I opened my mouth to say ‘that’s no shadow walker’, but he cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Look, Freya, I know Reyna’s had you busy…”

For a second, I nearly told him. That Reyna was helping us. That maybe the weight on his shoulders didn’t need to be carried alone. But I couldn’t. If he knew, he’d pull me out—reposition me. And with Cyrus now aware of who I was, it was only a matter of time before he figured out why. I couldn’t risk losing time. The window was already shrinking.

So I stayed quiet.

“I hate to add more to your plate,” he said instead.

“Aren,” I chided gently. “Anything, old man.”

His lip twitched, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Fitting, given the circumstances—but disheartening all the same.

“I need you to take over the hunt for the diadem. Magnolia—the heiress—got us intel, including a few possible locations. It’s in the possession of one of The Six. I’ve never met him.”

“You want me to ask for it?” I asked dryly, though my attention was snagged by the statuesque woman alone in the corner. She wasn’t even blinking. Was she breathing?

“Magnolia will get a feel for the council’s stance at their next meeting. Alvara thinks The Six are riding with Adrastos. Minus Nat, obviously.”

And hopefully not the Paladins, if I had any say in the matter.

“I was thinking it’s more of an ‘acquire it first and beg forgiveness after we win’ scenario.”

I nodded, eyes still locked on the silent woman. “Get me the details. I’ll have it to you before the Equinox.” Or die trying.

“Her friends say the thing belonged to Rhiannon Hadriana. The last Bellpost queen.”

I blinked, stunned. A diadem. That diadem. Whether Aren knew it or not, he’d just handed me my final Crucible trial. And I knew where to begin. I just had to find a way to right a wrong in the process—maybe trace the bloodline, reunite it.

A fresh wave of despair cut through the room, prickling along my skin. My hands itched for something to do.