Page 79 of Court of Wolves

“Livingcorpses, walking and groaning like any living fae,” the king consort growled.

Well.

Shit. Now they had the living dead to contend with? Where were the king and queen of the chasm when Isak bloody needed them?

“The first ships,” Harth repeated, gripping the edge of the wooden cart when it jumped over a pockmark in the road. “There was more than one wave?”

Kaladeir sighed, and for a split second Isak felt sorry for him, but then he reminded himself this guy swapped his daughter for his niece to cement a peace treaty. “The second seemed to come from Jakahr, full of gold-armoured fae, but we hadn’t confirmed that before I left. Strange reports came too from Lisille but—”

“What kind of reports?” Isak demanded, sitting straighter.

Kaladeir clearly didn’t like Isak’s tone, because he didn’t bother answering. He opened his mouth to continue conversing with Harth, but Isak wasn’t having it.

“In case you’ve forgotten, this whole fucking continent is overrun with saints, their twisted magic, and their monsters. I know more about that than anyone else in this cart.” Rassicus startled like he’d been struck, giving Isak a panicked glance. Right, the guards hadn’t known what was threatening them. Well, someone had to tell them. “So I’ll ask again.What kindof reports?”

Kaladeir ground his jaw, but he must have realised Isak was right because he answered, “Shapes in the water. Shadows.”

Isak groaned, sitting back. He gritted his teeth at the jolt of the cart, impact shooting up his fucked leg, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. “I don’t know what they’re called, but I know what they are. Huge, dark scaly things, usually in water but they can cross land, too. They’re vicious, love to shred people to bits, and any scratch or bite is usually fatal because of their venom. If you’ve heard reports of them, people need to be warned to barricade their doors and windows, especially if they live on thecoast. They kill indiscriminately, but the saints can control their movements, guide them to their desired target.”

“How do you know all this?” Kaladeir asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Isak gave him his most unhinged smile. “Because I was the captive of saints, and I was tortured by them in every possible way you can imagine. I fought those monsters and survived.”

Kaladeir didn’t show his surprise, but the sharp assessment in his eyes shifted. Isak couldn’t read what it shiftedtoand that pissed him off. He wasn’t sure what to think when the king consort reached into his sturdy pack and drew out a sheaf of paper and a pen.

“I’ll hold that for you, your highness,” Rassicus offered, taking the pot of ink so the king consort could scrawl a hasty letter. When Isak realised he’d taken his advice to warn the border towns, his eyebrows scaled his forehead.

A shitty father but a decent-ish leader,Viskae commented.

Well, aren’t people just full of surprises?he drawled.Can you feel anything from those ships?

Wrongness. Black, leaking poison to warp and corrupt the world.

That sounds familiar.

Indeed.

“How can they be killed?” Kaladeir asked, lifting his head to give all his attention to Isak.

“Only two ways I’ve found,” he replied, keeping the memories away with grit and brute effort, though images broke free—black blood, vicious teeth, a powerful tail. “By ripping off their head or doing the same to their tail. An arrow wouldn’t be enough, but decapitation would do it. Magic probably would too if it’s combative enough. Not a clue about fire—never got a chance to try it.”

“What about a bolt or cannon?” Arna asked, looking, if it was possible, even grumpier than she had before. Wrinkles bracketed her extreme frown, her brow sitting heavily over deep brown eyes. “Some of the border towns have defences against ships, designed to shred sails and rudders.”

“That would work,” Isak agreed. “Their tail’s the ultimate weakness, so aim for that.” He would have died if Viskae hadn’t been in his head, telling him exactly how to kill the damn things.

“Any insight on the ships and the dead?” Kaladeir asked, dipping his pen—made of the same crystal as the wall—into the pot Rassicus held.

Isak shrugged tightly. “Never seen them before; those must be new.” He rubbed his thumb over his stick’s gold handle, missing the familiar grooves of his old one. “But there are old stories, legends really, about ships manned by the dead. They were the fleet of the Wolven Lord.”

“I don’t believe in this nonsense about saints being real,” Kaladeir huffed, scribbling something on his paper. Isak stifled a snort; Viskae did not. “Let’s stick to facts and experience, not children’s tales.”

“Even if we’re living in one?”

Kaladeir’s dark brown eyes rose, meeting Isak’s for a long moment. “We’re not. Creatures made by dark magic and twisted experiments, I believe. The second coming of saints that likely never existed in the first place, I do not.”

“Suit yourself,” Isak replied with a shrug and a little smirk, glancing up when they reached the gate in the pearly wall. The driver was already jumping down, displaying a scroll emblazoned with a golden Nysavion seal to the gatekeepers. Unlike Isak’s last trip, they were allowed through without issue.

He drew a deep breath into his lungs, unsurprised when the tight grip of anxiety refused to let them fill more than halfway. It would take a handful of hours and then they’d be in Wylnarren,and this whole thing could be over. Jaro would be safe, Maia would be free, and the others would be out of the grasp of the saints. It would be over.

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