Page 85 of Court of Wolves

“A militia,” Kaladeir Nysavion spat, his expression sending a little shiver down Isak’s spine. The king consort didn’t take his eyes off the soldiers, themilitia,waiting for him under a washed-out silver sky, and Isak wondered if he was even seeing them or if he was remembering the day Wylnarren fell. When, as rumour went, the queen of Sainsa’s own sister tried to have her and Kaladeir assassinated.

It wouldn’t surprise Isak. Ismene Delakore was a raging bitch with evil in her veins. Killing her own sister was hardly a stretch for someone like that. But the queen and her consort had never been here, and they’d survived. The rest of the town wasn’t so lucky. Twenty thousand were slaughtered in a single day.

“We crushed the militia years ago,” Harth said in that authoritative voice that had commanded countless troops. A voice Isak stood straighter and took notice of even if it pissed him off. “And none of those uniforms are Sainsan. So whose militia is it?”

“Does it matter?” Isak muttered, giving both royals a stern look, pretending to be braver than he actually felt. He wanted to tuck his tail and run, but they’d made it this far, and the legendary sword capable of killing a saint was somewhere in these ruins. “They’re in our way, so let’s go make some friends, shall we?”

Harth’s golden hand shot out and grabbed Isak’s arm as he took a step. “What the chasm do you think you’re doing? They’ll shoot you. Look, there are archers in the back, and the ones in the front are likely magic wielders.”

Isak bared his teeth in a smile and crooked a finger at the darkness that writhed in his veins, letting a little out to play. “Don’t worry, general, I can handle myself.”

“You’re not going alone to face unknown enemies,” Harth said firmly, like a foregone conclusion, an order no one would dare to defy.

Isak patted his hand and removed it from his arm, flexing his other hand on his stick. The sword he took from Rushkar was sheathed down his spine; he had a weapon if he really needed one. But since leaving the army—well, since fleeing for his life—he’d yet to find a situation he couldn’t talk or seduce his way out of. And at the front of the many-uniformed militia, two women had broken away from the ranks.

“This ismyassignment,” he said, cutting off Harth when he began to speak. “It started with me, and it ismyresponsibility to end it. Plus, you and dick consort here look too fancy and official; you’re just going to threaten them.”

“Or they’ll be insulted we sent a commoner to deal with them,” Kaladeir argued, already taking a step.

Fuck that.“This is about saving my brother andyourdaughter, unless you’ve forgotten. And since you haven’t shown yourself to give two fucks about her before now, forgive me if I want to handle this personally. You can’t speak passionately in defence of someone you haven’t met in thirteen years.”

And with that parting shot, Isak shook Harth off and strode across the sloped land towards the militia and the two women walking out to meet him.

“I like him,” Arna commented. “He’s got nerve, that’s for sure.”

“Harth,” Kaladeir barked in a clear order. Isak caught a glimpse of the prince following from the corner of his eye, but he stopped at his father’s command. “Not until we know who we’re dealing with.”

Real classy. Kaladeir wouldn’t risk his precious son even to save his daughter from psychotic saints. Or psychotic whatever he thought had actually kidnapped her, since he was in denial about the saints.

Asshole,Viskae spat.I’m surprised you haven’t kneed him in the dick yet.

I doubt he’s got one.

Typical man,Viskae scoffed at his remark.Thinking bravery and goodness are tied to having a penis.

Yeah, yeah, let’s have a chat about problematic shit I say when we’re not walking across a scarily open field towards an unknown army.

Militia,she reminded him airily.

Isak ignored her and put his game face on, keeping his grip loose and easy on his stick as he walked, his muscles loose and ready, the dark magic that swirled through his blood alert and waiting. It would drain every bit of life left in this town if he gave it permission. Not that there was much left in the razed buildings. Even the grassy slope he descended was brown and dry, scarred by the massacre that took place here.

The closer Isak got, the clearer the uniformed soldiers became, confirming his suspicions about their clothing choices. At least four different armies were represented here, maybe more in the back where he couldn’t quite see. Were these all supplied by those armies to guard Wylnarren—or more likely this damn gold box—or were the uniforms stolen? Militias weren’t known for rolling in coin, so pilfered clothes would make sense. They seemed to be holding whatever weapons they’d found, which backed up that theory—everything from half-rusted swords, pikes, spears, long daggers, plus the archers in the back, and even a mace.

“Been a long time since I’ve seen a mace,” he remarked when he was close enough to the two spokeswomen to hear.

The woman on the left was tall, although dwarfed by the other, and didn’t have the typical build of a warrior, willowy and graceful instead of muscular. Long black hair had been braided back from her warm bronze face, the twisted hair slapping her shoulder as she strode closer. She was younger than he’d expected, maybe twenty, maybe younger, but the sharp slash of black eyebrows above her narrowed eyes assured Isak she was anything but harmless. So did the thin swords crossed on her back, the golden hilts poking above the shoulders of her black leather jacket. Neither of these women wore uniforms, dressed instead in solid black.

A little shudder went down Isak’s spine, but he ignored it and pressed on, walking so his limp was more pronounced,needing every advantage he could get. Although the eagle eyes of the other woman, the obvious warrior, probably already had his number.

“Any closer and you’ll be seeing that mace up close,” she replied, her voice carrying across the distance with ease.

Isak paused where he was, not glancing back to see if anyone had decided to come after him. He gave the women all his focus, most of his attention on the warrior. She washuge,literally packed with muscle from her thick brown neck to her shoulders, her biceps, and the powerful thighs that promised she’d be fast. Maybe faster than Isak could move.

Not if you let your magic out,Viskae disagreed, her voice tense like she too was ready for a fight.

Two against one wasn’t the best odds when that warrior reminded him of the gatekeeper who’d snapped his wrist, and the other woman was glaring so hard Isak was surprised she hadn’t seared a hole in his forehead.

He tensed when the warrior’s dark hand drifted to the sword at her hip, the threat landing effectively. If he made one false move, she’d split him in two. He fiercely missed Anzhelika and Sunny; it hit him all of a sudden. But Anzhelika had run into the chaos of Saintsgarde to find her mate instead of joining him, and Isak could hardly begrudge her that. He hoped they were alright. Worry burned behind his breastbone, joining his panic about Jaro and Maia.

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