Page 280 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“What happened to clear communication?” I snapped.

“When it matters, I deliver. For example, a Queen afraid of losing her crown is more dangerous than any warrior.” He smirked. “Ask Jeanne d’Albret how far a mother will go to protect her daughter’s reign—oh…wait, you can’t.”

Jeanne d’Albret. Queen of Navarre. Died right before the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre. “Catherine de' Medici’s involvement was rumor. Jeanne died of tuberculosis.”

He backed away, shadows rising like mist around his boots. My own bristled in response.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “Rather convenient, how that plays out, don’t you think? While I’d love to hash out semantics, I’ve somewhere to be, and so do you.”

“What’s happening?” I called as the shadows rose.

“Nothing I’m at liberty to discuss.” He scratched his face—just below his eye—and my blood ran cold.

Freya.

“I’d be heading east, if I were you.”

FIFTY-TWO

THE THIRD

FREYA

As far as I was concerned, there were four levels of tired. Level one—everyday, ‘need a reset’ tired. Level two—’pulled an all-nighter for midterms and six shots of espresso in Irish cream might help’ tired. Level three—’I might puke, pass out, burst into uncontrollable laughter, or punch you in the face, and fuck you for asking’ tired. Level four—I am dead to the world after battling to save my people.

Today was firmly a three-point-two-five.

Staying up all night watching over a sleeping Cyrus after training all day might’ve been a mistake, but I wouldn’t have been able to sleep if I tried. Big, insane idiot. What the fuck was he thinking?

My eyes, mouth, and throat were all perpetually dry no matter how much water I chugged or how many bottles of saline I rained into my eyeballs. Blaz’s relentless optimism made me want to throttle him. And the schematics Cyrus had gotten me were as frustrating to read as humanly possible—intentionally, no doubt. Still, I was fairly certain I’d mapped at least three ways in and out of the vault.

So when Montague burst into the library, wide-eyed and out of breath, all I could do was glare at him.

“What?”

“Reyna…needs you,” he panted, a broad hand on his hip. “Attack…in broad daylight.”

“What?” Blaz and I barked in unison, flying from our chairs.

“Demons maybe? Dunno. Some kind of dark magic.”

“Where is she?” I demanded as the three of us ran into the hallway.

“The Andrews farm.”

“Stay here!” I barked at Blaz, who snarled something in protest as G and I bolted into the yard and past the wards. His hand engulfed mine, and then we were jumping.

When our boots hit the dirt, my heart stuttered.

Horses galloped past us at breakneck speed, the reason obvious as my eyes scanned the burning red barn and white farmhouse. Ranch hands scrambled to free the animals while others tried to contain the blaze—no sign of help on the horizon.

But my attention pulled behind them.

To the wall of black drifting through the air like ash.

Wrong, my magic screamed. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

“What is that?” I breathed as we both started running toward the darkness.