Her mind is warning her to back off, to calm down and think rationally before she says or does something that she’ll regret later. Scylla can’t do it, though; she can’t admit that Evren is telling the truth because that would mean that she’s back at square one. She’d been struggling to find her purpose on the islands when she’d found Orhan, and had been so looking forward to actually feeling like she belongs here.

Her glare is so fierce that she’s almost surprised that her eyes aren’t on fire. Her black tail snaps against her flank and she shifts her weight in what could end up being either a preparation to attack or flee. Even she is not so far gone in her anger that she would lash out without provocation.

”He’s the only family I’ve got left,” she says through gritted teeth, trying to keep her tone steady. She’s always thought yelling to be childish, although she has nothing against raising her voice when she feels it’s warranted, a point that Evren seems to have reached first. ”How do I know you’re not some usurper who’s got him held captive somewhere?”

A traitorous part of her brain is telling her that she should force this young presuming figure into submission and force her to lead the way to Orhan. Another part of her, sounding like a whisper in her ear, reminds her that if Evren is telling the truth, Scylla won’t want to see whatever the bay and white mare would show her.

Her nostrils flare as her lips curl into a sneer. ”This is where I came from. If we’re being specific, I have more of a right to be here than you do.” Her conscience warns her not to let this devolve into a petty, childish argument about who was here first. The important thing is finding out the truth about her brother. ”And if you’re too weak to deal with me, you’ll never be able to sustain this fiction of being in charge.”