Page 31 of Court of Wolves

The world rocked under Azrail, a sudden lurch that had him springing to his feet before he’d even woken. He lifted his fists, reaching for his magic, before his eyes focused on the—on theshipthat stretched out ahead of him, tall, powerful masts climbing into the starless sky, dark sails hanging almost invisible in the night. A horrible, rotten miasma hung in the air, the smell of bodies left to decay, of poisoned meat and death.

The ship was made of a kind of wood he’d never seen, rich black and covered in a patina of gold and turquoise like it had rusted. That strangeness sent a shiver down Azrail’s spine before he even realised the crew were ghostly and silver around him, spectral hands hauling on ropes, even the captain who stood at the wheel utterly see-through.

“Shit,” Az hissed, scrambling away until his spine slammed into the railing. The wood waswarmlike the ship was a living, breathing thing. A living breathing thing piloted by the dead.

“Good, you’re awake,” Samlyn’s droning voice made Az jump. He snapped his head around to find the saint standing at the prow of the ship, watching a landmass just visible beyond the craggy rocks they were sheltering behind.

“How the hell…?” Az stared from the saint to the ghosts.

“Impressive, aren’t they? Some of your finest work, I have to admit.”

“My work?” Az echoed, his voice a whisper stolen by the wind that churned the ocean under them. Where the fuck were they? How did they get onto a ship? The last thing he remembered was hearing Maia scream. “What did you do to my mate?” he snarled, launching across the ship.

“Stop there,” Samlyn ordered with a sigh, and Az’s feet planted on the wood, refusing to budge even when he hauled on his legs. “You and the Dagger are mine to command. What the others do with their pets is none of my concern.”

“She is not apet,”Az snarled, the sound coming from deep in his throat. Maia had been screaming, terrified, in pain.

Samlyn’s answering laugh was a soft exhale. “You are all pets. Never mind that. See the armada waiting for us?”

He extended a hand, and Az realised what he’d been watching: in the distance, a town rose from a shore cast in darkness, a few lamps in windows showing him the scale of it. Not a metropolis like Vassalaer but certainly as large as Eosantha. Judging by the blocky shape he could make out around the lights, it was a fortress town, reinforced by ramparts and walls. Probably defended by cannons and firepower. It flowed right to the beach where their enemies would be crushed against the walls or pushed out to sea. And speaking of the sea… at least fifty ships stretched out along the shore, as if they knew Samlyn was here. Four huge tall ships sat at the front of the formation, much bigger than the ship that had carried Az and the saint to fuck knows where this was.

“You can’t fight an armada of that size with a single ship,” Azrail breathed, cold wind reaching through his skin into his bones, until the ice in his blood grew sharper, colder.

“I’m not fighting anyone,” Samlyn replied with a little smile, glancing at Azrail. “You’ve already proven very useful with the spirits. I want to see what else that power over death can do.”

Azrail jerked, a flinch moving through his whole body. “I didn’t make these ghosts. I don’t command them.”

“You don’tremember,”Samlyn countered with a dark curl of sadism. “But I have no power over the dead, forsaken one. That’s all you.”

“Where the fuck are we?” Az demanded, a voice in the back of his head whispering to be cautious. But he could speak freely for the first time in chasm knew how long, and he feltstrongdespite that black stuff still in his system, so he would be damned if he didn’t use it to get answers.

“Jakahr,” Samlyn replied. The easy answer made Az pause. But why wouldn’t the dark saint tell him? He’d just said Azrail raised these spirits to man his ship and didn’t remember; he could just make Az forget whatever he didn’t want him to know. “A sad excuse for a town on the edge of the Massac Bay. Kraeva.”

Az had never been to Jakahr before, had never been this far north, this far from home. When his parents were executed, he thought of fleeing Vassal almost every day, but he’d never gone through with it. And now here he was, not even in a neighbouring kingdom. Empires away.

“Kraeva,” he echoed, trying to remember why that was familiar, where he’d heard that before. “Fuck,” he said when the knowledge drifted to him. “Kraeva was built to protect the sacred stones on the hill above the beach.”

Samlyn smiled. Az’s blood chilled.

“There’s a saints' circle here.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Azrail’s heart quickened as he searched the peak above the fortress town, his skin itching and hot even as his insides remained cold. And there it was, stabbing the dark sky like the broken teeth of a giant, blotting out the stars watching over Kraeva. The saints' circle.

“Why are we here?” he breathed, panic spreading through him so rapidly that his voice shook. He wished he could hold onto his rage but he was too cold, too afraid. “You couldn’t break the last circle without hundreds of beastkind and fae to sacrifice.”

“True,” Samlyn agreed, as if they were commenting on the weather and not mass murder. “But magic runs deep in the veins of Jakahrans. Even the lowest born have enough to contribute.”

“Contribute,” Az repeated with derision. With disgust. “You’re speaking of murdering—”

“I don’t require a moral commentary, thank you, forsaken one.”

Az’s mouth snapped shut.

“And the time for chit-chat has ended. They’ve finally spotted us, so command your spirits to sail. We’ll meet this armada head on.”

It would never work. One ship against that many? They didn’t stand a chance.

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