Page 61 of Court of Wolves

He wasn’t sure how much time passed like that, Jaro’s eyes closed as he focused on stretching a single drop of power into a thread, into a needle.

Yes!Kaial hissed when the needle pierced the pewter of the collar. Jaro focused on the flow of his magic, couldfeelthe sharp edges of it as dagger-sharp power cut metal, widening the existing fracture.Keep going, pull from the lake, but do it—

Slowly,Jaro finished, well used to this lecture now. His fur was stifling, and if he’d been in human form his face would have been drenched in sweat, but if Kaial wasn’t lecturing him about burning out no damn chance was he stopping now. He ground his teeth as he pulled another shard of magic from the lake, careful not to let it grow into the ice dagger he used to kill the valkor. One false move and he’d slit his own throat. But controlling it was a lot harder than letting it rampage.

Heat flashed through his skin so suddenly that a groan escaped his clenched jaws, fighting even the collar’s control and Samlyn’s command over him.

I can’t,he panted, about to release the drop.

No!Kaial yelled.You’re almost there, keep pushing. Don’t rush; persevere.

Jaro gritted his teeth, sharp canines slicing through his lip as he tightened his grip on the sharp drop of magic, panting as he formed it, excruciatingly slowly, into a needle-thin strand. He was so hot it hurt, but he directed the needle towards the collar, and sagged in relief the moment it pierced the collar.

He was so surprised by the movement, by the freedom of controlling his own body again, that his jaw hit stone hard and he moaned.

Don’t stay down long,Kaial warned.They’ll realise you’re free. Keep the collar around your throat and they’ll never guess until it’s too late.

You’re free. Those words echoed around Jaro’s head, over and over, until his breathing quickened into ragged gasps, his head spinning. He really was free. The collar had lost its command over him. He was still locked up, still captive, but he could fight the commands. He wouldn’t have to kill another friend.

Jaro allowed himself another moment and then pulled himself off the floor, flattening his back into the corner where he’d sat for days, face pointed at the door.

What do we do now?He asked Kaial, staring unblinkingly at the solid wood separating him from the rest of the palace.

Bide our time,the saint replied.And plan their downfall.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Isak didn’t find out what the ice bear had meant by ‘ships’ until a day later when he and Anzhelika overheard gossip on their way to the library to meet Harth. Sunny would have been with them, but someone had to be the breadwinner of the family. Well, bread maker; Sunny, it turned out, had a bakery on a cute little street in the artisan quarter. That explained the lavender biscuits Isak couldn’t stop thinking about. He’d miss them when he had to leave the capital. He’d miss Anzhelika and Sunny, too.

He’d been in a black mood last night when their first search of the mammoth library that towered above the learning quarter of Saintsgarde turned up nothing, not even a hint at a gold box. The mated couple had stayed up late telling jokes and bawdry tales until he couldn’t help but laugh, passing a bottle of strong honey whiskey between them until Isak felt almost optimistic. They were good people. Good friends. He’d never had good friends before.

“Great,” Isak muttered as they passed three men loudly discussing huge ships that had been spotted close to Sainsa’s border. “Now we’ve got to worry about ships invading as well as Vassalian soldiers.”

“Vassal only has a small number of ships, though,” Anzhelika replied with a frown, tucking closer to him when a woman stormed past, lugging a cart full of freshly bound books behind her. “Everyone knows that. The ships can’t be theirs.”

“Orthey’re the saints’ ships,” Isak muttered. “Did you hear what those guys said?”

“I heard a lot of superstitious bullshit,” she dismissed, flicking a pale hand. “Dark ships made of living wood that bleeds when stabbed? That’s complete shit.”

Isak would have agreed except… “He said they sailed up the Crooked Finger. That’s where the Venhausian saints' circle is, and I highly doubt it’s a coincidence.”

“So—what? You think the saints broughtshipsthrough the stones? I’m not an expert, but aren’t those things ten feet tall? Hardly big enough to fit a ship through, Isak.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, but the fact that Olek had told Harth to ask his father about them was unsettling. What did the ice bear know?

“Come on,” Anzhelika sighed, nudging him when his mind wandered. She elbowed him so hard that Isak wavered off the pavement and nearly ended up in the road. “Less talk about invading ships and more focus on finding that gold box so you can rescue your mate.”

“It’s hard to stay focused with the end of the world drawing closer,” he replied dryly, leaning on his stick as he regained his balance beside her. “We still don’t know if the saints' circle near Marszton is intact.”

There was no information coming from that side of Lower Aether at all. Darkness had fallen across most of Venhaus and the silence from the other side hardly inspired confidence that Isak and co. could beat the saints. Two weeks and the saints had swept across most of the fucking continent, and Isak was nocloser to getting his brother, mate, and their friends out of their clutches.

“Oh look, it’s His Scowling Highness,” Anzhelika drawled quietly, a smirk crossing her face as she gave a sardonic little wave at Harth, already waiting with a continent of three guards on the steps of the library. Her flirty interest in him had worn off after a single day, where she'd seemed Harth too serious and unimaginative to join Sunny in bed.

“You’re late,” Harth snapped, looking even more surly and pissed off than yesterday. Isak was immediately annoyed by how gallant and princely he looked. “I’ve been waiting for minutes.”

As if the universe liked him, a nearby clocktower brightly chimed the hour. Isak grinned. “Looks like we’re right on time, general.”

Harth’s expression darkened, and Isak might have felt some sympathy for the shadows around his gold eyes and the obvious stress lining his bearded face, but he was too anxious himself. He’d never been particularly nice when he was worked up.

---