Page 97 of Court of Wolves

“The sword is inside here?” Rassicus asked, his face a little paler than it was a minute ago, the guard leaning over Isak’s shoulder to look. Isak and Rassicus, on the other hand, had become quick buddies. Because of that Isak didn’t elbow him in the gut to get him out of his personal space.

“Yes.”

“And then we have to fix it with our magic,” Evrille added, warily eyeing the box. “What if it’s made of the same goldiron stuff?”

“It isn’t,” Isak said, parroting Viskae’s words inside his head.

I remember it when it was wielded,she added.It was never gold.

That didn’t necessarily mean it wasn’t now, but they’d soon find out. The sky was a bleak grey, clouds threatening to drop rain on them; Isak hoped it wasn’t an omen.

“Here goes nothing,” he murmured, and prised the lid from the box, exposing a carved, elaborate interior with three pieces of a broken sword sitting inside—the tip, the jagged-edged middle, and the silver hilt, wrapped in a frayed red fabric with matching rivers of red gemstones following the contours of the cross-guard and pommel.

“So this is Sintrylla,” Isak murmured, reaching for the handle of the sword and ignoring the exasperated tsk Arna gave him. The seasoned warrior seemed to think he was a dumbass.

You are,Viskae pointed out.

Well, yeah, but she doesn’t have to roll her eyes so much.

You’re eye-roll worthy.

Can we focus on the world-saving sword, please?

Do you really think it will work?She asked with breathless hope. Isak went a little cold.

You’re the saint. You dragged me halfway across the world to find this. You tell me if it’ll work.

It’s important. You said so—the dark ones want it. And I was pulled all this way, to this very moment. It’s pivotal. The whole of our fate rests on this moment.

You could say itpivotson it.

Now is not the time for jokes,she huffed, as if she hadn’t been teasing him just moments ago.

“Isak,” Evrille said, jerking him back to reality and out of his mind. “It’s safe to touch?”

“Seems it,” he agreed, lifting the fragment of the sword out of the box. He thought of Jaro striding into the circle, thought of Maia fighting like a wild cat, thought of her bleak, hopeless voice in his dream.

I just want to be free.

It was worth trekking across the world, worth dangerous passages through Venhaus and the treacherous journey across the Silver Sea, worth being hauled to Harth for breaking into the Nysavion Hold. It was worth every minute of every day reminding him of nightmares he’d prefer to outrun. Dark, bloody liquid shoved down his throat, skin cut from his body to let the poison soak deeper, his bones and muscle and skin torn and shattered and damaged beyond repair.

He’d have died without the darkness, without the vicious creature that lurked within him now. Ironically, a product of that torture. And it was worth all that just to be here, kneeling in the mud as the clouds unburdened themselves of rain, holding part of an ancient sword.

Zamanya waited a moment, presumably for his head to explode or for a dark spirit to possess him, and when neither happened she picked up the wicked tip of the sword, holding it delicately as she peered at the quote etched down the fuller.“Careful,” she warned when Evrille reached for the middle piece of the shattered sword.

“Now what?” Evrille asked, holding it carefully in her hand, the edges still razor sharp after centuries buried in a box in the ground.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Arna said, edging closer and giving the box—and the sword—a shifty look. “It’s making my skin crawl, and not just because of the iron. Millicyn women have always had a preternatural sense.”

She received four blank looks—Isak, Zamanya, Evrille, and the dick consort. “That’s my name,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and managing to look even more physically intimidating. Isak was very glad they were allies; she was firmly in the snap-him-like-a-twig camp. “Arna Millicyn. We can sense things.”

“It’s a sword as old as dirt in a box that’s made out of foul metal and fae bones,” Zamanya pointed out with a scowl. “I’d be surprised if you had positive, fluffy feelings about it.”

“Maybe we should listen to her,” Rassicus said with a frown, shifting until he knelt beside Isak. “This feels… big.”

It did. Isak knew exactly what he meant but— “My brother and mate and their friends are suffering every minute we hesitate, everysecondwe kneel here in the dirt deliberating. This is the only way to save them.”

“Repair the sword, save my daughter, andthenwe’ll deal with any consequences,” Kaladeir said with a graveness thatalmostmade Isak think he had a conscience. When he glanced to the king consort, he found him watching Harth. Right, Maia’s brother would probably deck their dad if he told them to walk away now. He could get right in line, being Isak.

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