Page 9 of Court of Wolves

Maia’s breath caught in her throat when the dark magic that had swept around her in Enryr’s office dropped them on a grassy knoll, a city she knew because she’d been here so recently. The truth of it, the alarm of them both being here, adark saintbeing here, slammed into her heart like a stake.

“That’s Eosantha,” she breathed, acid clawing up her throat. The uniform streets, the perfectly polished stone, the tallest spire in all Venhaus. This was the city they’d left to journey to the saints' circle. The city where they’d found Isak. “What are we doing here?”

She expected the dark-eyed children to guide her from her cell, leaving Bryon knocked out on the cold floor, to a plush boudoir. She expected a bedroom decked out in silk cushions and velvet blankets, frills and bows and all that fake shit pillow rooms went wild for. Instead, the kids had taken her to an office. She hadn’t been taken from the cell for sexual favours, and even with Eosantha spread out before them, the fourth most populous city in Venhaus at risk from Enryr, relief had her shoulders slumping and tension leaving her back.

“Why do you care about Eosantha?” she asked when Enryr only gazed out at the pale city, his head tilted as canny brown eyes assessed the tree-lined avenues and the gleaming houses that sat on either side of them. The dark saint looked the same as he had the last time she saw him; stout and broad, with a square, unfriendly face and psychopath’s eyes. Even standing he was hunched over, his back rounded at the top, but Maia would have been a fool to think that was any disadvantage. She was the prey in this situation. One false move and she was dead; they both knew it.

“I don’t particularly,” he replied with amiable ease. “Other than its proximity to the stones, this hovel is of no interest.”

Hovel. Maia choked back a laugh of disbelief. It was one of the nicest, tidiest places she’d ever visited, and sure she hated those pristine streets and the judgy people who lived on them, but it was no hovel. Even the shitty street where Isak lived in his apothecary had its own charm. Maia couldn’t shake the creeping sense that it wouldn’t survive the night. Or the next hour.

She’d been unable to track time in the cell, but the sun was bright overhead now, baking her dark wings, her shoulders, the top of her sore head. She would have killed for a glass of water. Or a barrel of fucking ale. Or a hat.

Apparently, the saints were so powerful they didn’t need the cover of darkness. This crime would be committed under broad daylight.

“It’s of no interest but…?” Maia prompted, trying to ignore the pressure bowing her bones, clanging against the inside of her skull. Enryr’s presence was enough to weaken her knees and she didn’t think he was even using it against her. Yet.

“Butyou have a very important job to do soon, and I want to make sure your skills are up to scratch.”

Maia’s skin tightened over her bones, the force of his presence like a clamp pressing around her chest. “What kind of job?”

“You’ll know when we get there,” Enryr replied, not even trying to hide his sick satisfaction. Maia felt his slimy eyes on the side of her face, no doubt cataloguing her horror. What would he make her do? With the power she’d unlocked just last week in Eosantha, with the rush of soul magic and her magic from the saint of all life, the capacity for devastation was too high. Breathing became difficult, a knot trapped in her throat.

“Is Lisille…still standing?” she asked haltingly, scrambling for anything to halt this.

“Hm. Unfortunately. The bloodshed was glorious but short.” He took great pleasure in saying, “The indentures are exceptionally useful in controlling people like your mates, but without cuffing everyone in the Saintlands, they’re limited.”

A gasp choked off her throat. She whipped around to stare at the cruel bastard before she could stop herself. Her mates…he’d indenturedthem all?“But only Jaro is beastkind,” she forced out, panic like a tentacled beast wrapping its limbs around her, cinching tighter with every moment. “How can you indenture a fae?”

Like they indentured Bryon.How?

Enryr’s smile was deep, his brown eyes glittering as he flicked a glance her way and then returned to staring at Eosantha. “How indeed. Don’t worry, that knowledge is for true saints to know. False saints like you need not concern themselves, Iron Dove.”

Maia tried to force calm, to stop the tremble running from her hands, weakening her knees. What did he want? What was he goingto do?Why was she here? The threat of their presence here on the knoll above a city full of people wrapped tighteraround her. All these people would die, and she’d be forced to watch.

“Your aunt is very fond of your power,” he remarked so casually that she flinched before she could stop it. “She’s constantly talking to the Eversky of your talents. All the wickedness you’re capable of.”

Maia choked down bile. She’d fought hard to bury memories, to forget what she’d done and who for. The memories were like wasps buzzing around her now, every person she’d ever snared, every mind she’d ever twisted and manipulated andbrokena sting buried in her flesh.

“She overestimates my ability,” she managed to rasp, already tasting the scorch of burned buildings and fae on her tongue. Eosantha wasn’t even burning but she couldtasteit. She should run into the pale streets and scream a warning. She should be selfless, be a good person for once in her monstrous life. But fear and self-preservation kept her feet locked in the grass, her body not even shifting an inch.

“If anything she underestimates it,” Enryr replied with a chuckle that raised every hair on Maia’s arms. “You forget I know what Sephanae is capable of, and that every drop that remains of her power now flows through you. I knowexactlywhat you can do. Your magic is still settling, but I bet you could sense every soul in that city if you tried.”

Maia shook her head. Not because she couldn’t; when she’d soulspeared from Eosantha all the way to the saints' circle, she’d seen every soul she passed as a bright, shining beacon. She’d seen every single person, but that wasallshe’d done. Seen. Sensed. A stone formed in her gut, and she knew Enryr would push for more.

“I don’t know how,” she whispered, and that at least was true. She didn’t know how it had happened before, didn’t know what triggered the magic.

“Heightened emotion plays a large factor in your motivation according to Ismene,” Enryr remarked with brutal casualness. He turned from the city to Maia, his gaze penetrating. Terrifying. Her most primal instinct screamed at her to run. Her common sense said she’d never make it further than a step, and the consequences would be unbearable. And deep down, beneath everything, she was a coward. She called it survival, but she wasafraid,nowhere near brave enough for this.

“All that’s really required to trigger your magic is a strong enough motivator. Trigger your fight or flight instincts—or,for example, your mate instincts—and power will burst free.”

“Don’t you hurt them,”Maia snarled, fangs bared and her voice a low, ragged thing as she spun and grabbed the lapel of Enryr’s black brocade coat before she could think better of it.

“Case in point,” he said with a little grin, meeting her eyes until she was forced to look away, her heart missing a beat. “You sense the threat in me, but despite opposing instincts, your protectiveness wins. Reach into your soul magic, Maia.”

Everything she’d done, every time she’d called on saint magic was because she was angry and—he was right—protective.

She swallowed, forcing her fingers to releasing him one by one, her bones aching, bent. His scent choked her until she couldn’t breathe—mint and tobacco. “I can’t do it on command.”

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