Page 73 of Court of Wolves

“It doesn’t say where it is now?”

“When this book was written, it was in the Nysavion Hold. But Vis—I’d be able to sense it if it was still here.” Anzhelika’s eyes narrowed. “Questions later,” he promised again, rubbing his jaw, panic mounting until his whole chest hurt. The darkness fed on his panic, writhing and hungry in his gut.

How the fuck do we find it?He demanded of Viskae.We can’t get this close and lose track of it now.

Aboveground, the bells clanged faster, a low roar of warning pealing through the whole city. A similar warning itched underIsak’s skin, the dark thing that lived inside him raising its hackles. Others like Isak were here, in the city. Which meant Isak wasn’t just running out of time; he’d run out.

“Time to go,” Isak said, carefully closing the half-bound book and clutching it to his chest. His gaze strayed across the floor and paused. For a moment he asked himself if he was a good man or tainted with selfishness and evil.

The latter, it turned out, as he released Anzhelika long enough to grab Tynenn’s walking stick where it had rolled to the floor. Now he had a stolen walking stick, a stolen sword, and whatever this book was. Definitely not a good man. But he was the man who would wage war on saints and rescue his brother and mate and their strange, ragtag family.

“Nine, thirteen, six,” Anzhelika blurted, clutching Isak’s bicep. “That’s what Tynenn said, right? Nine, thirteen, six. Is it a code?”

Grumpy glanced across at them, his expression tense with alarm but light flashing through clever eyes. Behind him, Harth and Grumpiest were pulling Rushkar down the aisle toward the steps. “A code or a marker. What if he was telling us where to find a book? Every bookcase in this place has a gold plaque with a number on it.”

Isak’s heart knocked into his ribs, chambers pumping red, beastkind blood and dark, viscous power. He was already moving, his walk uneven, his leg buckling. If he hadn’t stolen Tynenn’s stick he’d be on the floor right now. He dragged a deep breath into his lungs and power shuddered through him, rousing the darkness. The moment strength poured into his muscles and bones, Isak broke into a run. He gasped down air but tried not to take too much magic. The last thing he wanted was to give the darkness control over him.

He scanned the gold plates on each bookcase as he ran, out of breath by the time he found row nine. He went right,scanning the shelves, his heart skipping when he saw these were numbered too. It was easy from there to find case thirteen, then to count the sixth shelf down.

“Shit,” Isak hissed, staring at what had to be fifteen books at least. How was he supposed to know which was the right one? He couldn’t think straight. His memories were too fucking loud, and his imagination had decided to get involved by putting Jaro in his place, showing him images of his brother chained to the wall, cut to pieces, screaming until his voice broke. “Shit, which fucking one?”

Breathe,Viskae ordered.

Are you drawn to any of these?

No,she replied, swiftly killing that hope.

“Fuck!” he snarled and began pulling books out one after another, frantically paging through them. Grumpy and Anzhelika arrived, dropping to the old floor beside him and wordlessly searching through the books.

“There must be a record of where it was moved to in one of these,” Grumpy, whose name Isak would learn the second he could think straight, muttered under his breath, dark fingers paging through a huge burgundy tome with a nimbleness Isak envied. He was too desperate, too clumsy, paper ripping under his care or lack thereof.

“It was bought in an auction,” Isak said, sharper than he meant, his instincts scraping any patience he had to shreds. The clanging bells didn’t help; he swore he felt them rattle his skull with every peal. “Maybe it was later sold at one? Tynenn must have known something. He wanted us to search here.”

“Or we’re completely off and it really was a secret code,” Anzhelika murmured.

“Great, thanks for that,” Isak grumbled, his fingers frenetic as he reached the end of one book, discarded it, and flipped through another. No drawings of the box, not even a sword.

“These are history books,” Grumpy murmured, running a hand over his head and over the looped knot of his hair. “Both of these are about the fall of Valsyre. This one’s about Nasar.”

Isak frowned, forcing himself to slow, to breathe, just for a moment. “They’re not just history books; they’re about places that have been lost. Sacked.” He blinked, processing that tidbit. “Nice catch, Grumpy.”

“My name is Rassicus.”

“Good to know, Rassicus,” Isak replied, scanning the titles of the books. Every single one was about a city or town or village that had been reduced to rubble and ruins, either by Sainsa’s failed rebel militias, Vassal’s armies, or the feud with Felis. Were they still feuding? Isak had lost track, probably when he was being tortured for the saints. “So the box was sent to a city that was sacked. There’s a chance the sword was destroyed, too.”

“And a chance it’s still in the ruins,” Anzhelika pointed out, holding up the book she’d been skimming through, a familiar sketch sprawled across both pages, this time inked in colour, with the shards of the sword picked out in bright silver against the rich, golden box.

“Where?” he breathed, lunging for the book and dragging it closer. For a split second he was glad the bastard who’d owned him made sure he had a thorough education, because his whole life had led to this moment—being able to read a book in the language of a land he’d never even visited before last week.

Above, the bells clanged faster, indicating worsening danger. A little chill went down Isak’s spine. His head snapped up when Harth and Grumpiest arrived, sweaty and breathless. Where they’d dragged Rush to, Isak didn’t ask.

His heart struggled to beat as he closed the book Anzhelika had found and held it up for them to see the title. “It’s in Wylnarren.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Enryr was… gloating. Maia hugged her arms tighter around herself, casting a glance at Bryon who walked stiffly at her side. The saint had contemplated killing her when she fought for Bryon to come with them. She’d seen her death flash through his eyes, seen it in the way her nostrils flared. But after what she’d witnessed happen to Az, and after the growls and whines she’d heard from Jaro, no way in the dark chasm would she leave Bryon alone. Getting backhanded across the face was a small price to pay to have her mate by her side, where she could keep him safe.

Enryr ought to still be irritated at her, at having Bryon tag along, but… he was gloating, and it began to unsettle her.

---