Page 25 of Court of Wolves

What…?

“Ark, take this, drive it into Kheir’s shoulder.”

Kheir whipped around and jolted at the knife in Vawn’s hand, slender and made of the same metal as the cuffs, as Jaromir’s collar. He shot Ark a look, pleading, and knew Vawn would see him pleading not to do this. Ark read his true plea, took the dagger from Vawn, and buried it in Kheir’s shoulder.

“That should do the trick,” Vawn remarked, but not with glee. With something like resignation. “Your power’s blocked, I’m sure you’ve noticed, but you can use it as long as you’re stabbed with this metal. Fuck knows how. It’s something the saints brought with them.”

Kheir ground his teeth, panting through the pain. He would have missed the sudden clarity in Ark’s eyes if he hadn’t been looking at the ex-guard. He’d figured something out. Or… had Vawn told them? Kheir was in too much pain to figure out which was true.

“How does that help with a flame?” Ark demanded.

Vawn reached for the dagger’s handle and twisted it, shouldering Ark aside when he leapt to intervene. “There’s fire in you, Archer. The flame of devotion and desire, the burning wrath of scorned lovers. Use it to melt the wax.”

Kheir gasped as pain tore through his shoulder, his hands shooting up to grab Vawn’s wrists, tearing them away but—he felt it. Like a spark, a failed attempt to light a campfire. Sputtering and temporary. But Kheir never felt that before.Not once.He hadn’t even known it was there.

“Again,” Vawn commanded, but Kheir didn’t need mind control to try another attempt. He was already reaching for that spark, cupping it in his hands, encouraging it to an ember, then a flame. Vawn’s voice was low when he said, “Don’t fight or force it; let it flow and call it to your hand.”

Kheir took a slow breath, ignoring their eyes on him as he focused on that ember, encouraging its rush and flow until heat pooled in his hand. It was black at its core and glowed unnatural pink at the edges. Kheir grabbed the wax and held it over the envelope, his heart hammering so hard it rattled his ribcage.

“Good.” Vawn squeezed his uninjured shoulder, thumb sliding against the old silk and bringing a frown to Kheir’s face that only deepened when he let go. “Don’t make it obvious, prince.”

Kheir’s breath caved in; he shot the smirking, haunted-eyed man a stunned look as he backed up, ripping the knife from Kheir’s shoulder and ignoring the grunt he couldn’t hold back.

“Get away from him,” Ark warned, shouldering Vawn away from Kheir as he slammed a hand to his bleeding shoulder, unable to hide his pain.

“I’m going,” Vawn said, shaking his head in something like amusement. He snatched up the finished letter and tucked it away. “Enjoy your meal, prince.”

Kheir stayed very still until Vawn left, using the key from a chain around his neck to unlock the door. Was there a chance Kheir and Ark could overpower him and get it from around his neck? He wanted to try, and clearly so did Ark becausehe tensed, ready to strike. Kheir held out his hand in a subtle gesture, halting him.

“Next time,” Vawn said with what was probably the most genuine amusement Kheir had seen him wear since he entered. It vanished like a slate wiped clean a moment before he opened the door, leaving Kheir more to ponder than he’d expected.

“We could have at least tried to get that key,” Ark growled under his breath the second Vawn was gone. “Why did you stop me?”

“The saint power in me,” Kheir said quietly, barely more than a whisper. “Did you hear what he said? The room blocks all our power, but the metal in that dagger gives me the ability to use it.”

“How does that help us?” Ark sighed, dropping onto the end of the bed and glancing at the door like he was contemplating running through the wood.

Kheir reached up to his uninjured shoulder and felt for what Vawn had slid into the silk. He pulled out a long needle and met Ark’s eyes.

“I don’t think I need to seduce him,” Kheir whispered.

Vawn wasn’t a traitor, wasn’t in bed with the saints at all. He was helping Kheir and Ark. And he’d just given Kheir a way to access his power.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Healing broken bones was fucking miserable. Isak allowed himself to brood as he stalked around the high crystal walls that ringed the ancient city of Saintsgarde, nursing his wrist to his chest as his fucked-up magic worked on mending the break.

“You might have told me we’d need fucking papers,” he grumbled under his breath, trampling the cool grasses that swayed in the light wind, the sky above him a deep midnight blue speckled with stars. He kept checking they were there, reassuring himself with the sight of the thin crescent moon above him, a sharp sickle of silver looking down on him, keeping the saints at bay.

Shame they couldn’t shut up the saint in his head.

How was I supposed to know?She demanded.

“You’re a saint,” he snapped, the pain shortening his temper. “You’re supposed to be all-knowing.”

Don’t be a fool, Isak.

“She says to the reincarnated saint of mistakes and general tomfoolery,” he muttered, scuffing the grass as he followed the wall, searching for a place to sleep for the night. It couldn’t all be exposed grassland around here; there had to besomeshelter.

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