Page 90 of Court of Wolves

Jaro feinted left, then dove around the man’s back as he staggered, a blade of silvery crystal protruding from his chest.It didn’t drop him instantly like some of the others, but he was a good few feet away, so Jaro pretended to stagger, losing his footing among the sand, as if the trial of using his magic was so severe and painful he couldn’t stand. Samlyn laughed from the steps; the facade worked. That laughter grated Jaro’s nerves, grinding his temper to a wafer-thin bandage of patience over a sea of rage. The rage would escape, and soon, but not yet, not until—

Samlyn’s laugh cut off so abruptly that Jaro turned towards the saints and Azrail, terrified they’d finally tired of playing with Az, torturing him, and decided to end him. But Azrail remained sitting on the steps, while the saints leapt to their feet, and then Jaro felt it—the ground rumbled, vibrations shifting the sand beneath his paws.

“What the fuck is that?” the man with the cleaver demanded.

The saints exchanged a swift glance. “It may be time to visit the old seat of the Wolven Lord,” Samlyn said calmly, too fucking calmly with the ground quaking beneath them. “Before anyone thinks to make a nuisance of themselves.”

The woman’s mouth pressed thin, something like exasperation on her fair face. “I told Karmen keeping this many of them locked in one place wasn’t a good idea. What’s this now? Someone with earth magic?”

Jaro’s eyes went to Azrail, hope like a balloon in his chest, making him fly. Was Azrail doing this, encouraging the ground itself to rebel with his earth magic?

“I said, what the fuck was that?” Jaro’s opponent yelled with the self-importance of a man used to being answered.

Samlyn spared him a dry glance. “Not your concern.” His bored eyes slid to Jaro. “End him quickly. I have more exciting quarry for you.”

Who? Was it the others? Not Azrail, but then who else could make the ground quake? They didn’t know what magic Kheirhad been given from the saint of love, nor the true extent of Ark’s power. And what about Bryon? Could it be air shaking the palace or—

Or Maia. With the saint of spring’s magic, she could call on any natural, living thing. Jaro’s jaw parted, teeth bared in as close to a smile as he could get. He was terrified to see her again, his shame so constant he wore it like its own collar, but not even shame would stop his pride if that was his mate.

“That was an order,” Samlyn said, keeping on his feet. Jaro’s stomach flipped when he saw the intent, hunter’s stare the saint wore. “End your prey.”

Shit. Jaro hadn’t immediately obeyed. Before Samlyn could grow suspicious, he leapt at the man’s legs, sinking sharp canines into muscle and flesh and tearing it out. He wavered but was stronger than Jaro expected. The cleaver swung, light gleaming on the wicked edge, and Jaro’s breath tangled in his throat as he threw himself aside. Fur sheared off on that razor edge.

His heart in his throat, Jaro leapt upon the man’s back, riding him all the way to the ground, sand spraying around them. It still trembled beneath them, but rhythmically, like the world was rattling, settling, rattling, settling.

“Very dramatic,” Samlyn remarked to the other saint, a smile in his voice. “Should we—”

A piercing shriek of a roar cut through the palace, so loud and bestial that Jaro froze in the act of ripping out the man’s throat. He scrambled away but Jaro turned towards the opening to the arena, less concerned with a meat cleaver than whatever the chasm that had been.

“What was that…?” Samlyn asked his companion, speaking Jaro’s thoughts exactly.“Thatwas not any of our playthings.”

“No,” she agreed, taking a step away from the steps, the world seeming to freeze, to hold its breath, as she spoke.Who was she? She wasn’t a lesser saint, not with the way she held herself, the power that throbbed around her, and the way Samlyn kept deferring to her. She might have been as powerful as Karmen. Jaro backed up a step, letting his opponent make a distraction of himself by running towards the saints. Bad idea.

“That’s not any beastkind,” he shouted at them. “Killing a beast is one thing, but that… that sounds enormous. I’m not fighting that. You can take your deal and shove it up your—”

Samlyn sighed. He didn’t speak, simply turned to look at the man, and the fae clutched his chest, staggering back. Jaro didn’t expect it to happen so fast. He knew Samlyn was a saint, knew he was the saint of food and survival, knew he could kill as easily as Jaro blinked. But watching the life bleed from Jaro’s opponent, his broad shoulders shrivelling, skin sucked dry, face gaunt, eyes hollow until he looked like a corpse… Jaro shuddered hard.

I’m going to die.

You are not, Kaial growled.

But Samlyn had just killed that man so quickly, and if Jaro gave even the tiniest inkling that he’d stopped being useful to him, he could drain the life from Jaro or Azrail in a blink. He wouldn’t have time to fight, it would happen too fast.

“I suppose we should find out what’s making that racket,” Samlyn sighed to the red-haired saint.

“An ancient one,” she replied in a voice like power, resonant and rich, deeper than Karmen’s voice but every bit as dangerous. “I can’t see which element it harbours, but it will be—what was the word you used?”

“A nuisance,” Samlyn provided, following her when she walked around the bloodied, corpse-strewn arena floor. Samlyn clicked his fingers and Azrail leapt to his feet to follow, his bronze face empty and still, his eyes dead. Jaro hurried to catch up, nudging his snout against Az’s left the second the saints’ backs were turned, trying to ignore the horrible, crushingpressure of the saints’ power on his bones. Az didn’t even flinch, and any hope that he was only pretending to be controlled died. “Drakes are annoyingly resistant to our magic. This could pose a problem, Scylla.”

Scylla? Jaro’s heart dropped to his paws as he walked, and only panic kept his body locked instead of betraying his fractured collar. Scylla was the Heart-Mother, twin of the Star-Heart, sister tothe queen of saints.She was only beaten in power by Karmen and, if his suspicion was correct, Siofra. But Siofra was a baby, a teenager, too delicate and precious to be involved in any of this. He wondered what the saint who’d given her power would think about her twin being here, conquering the Saintlands. He wondered if the Star-Heart had spoken to Siofra while they were gone.

But shit, that was who the redheaded saint was. Scylla. The third-most powerful of the entire pantheon. Jaro shot a quick look to Azrail, panicking, his breathing coming faster, whining through his nose. How were they going to survive this? Not only Scylla and Samlyn and the awful, endless press of their power buta drake?

They needed to break away, to get the chasm away from them, but Jaro couldn’t do it alone. Short of clamping his jaws around Az’s leg and dragging him off, he had no ideas.

Use your magic, Kaial said in a tense tone, but you’ll have to wait for the exact right moment. This could all go wrong so quickly.

I know. He could feel it, a tightness in the air around them, warnings in the shaking of the ground—shaking caused by the huge, powerful steps of a drake. Destiny was balanced on a knife edge and any sudden movements could send it falling to either side. Either Jaro could wake Az, find Maia and her mates, and they’d escape—or they’d all be killed here today and the last chance of resistance in the Saintlands would be wiped out.

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