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“Isak,” she said, her voice frosting over, her whole body stiffening. “Explain yourself, honey.”

“I thought I was dickhead?” he asked genuinely.

“Explain yourself, dickhead,” she snapped, giving him a hard look.

He sighed, ruffling his hair and looking sheepish. “I didn’t know who else would help me. Are you angry?”

Was she angry? Her stomach had plummeted, and she wanted to throw up. Violently. Kaladeir Nysavion stood only a few feet away, his stare fixed in her direction. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her since he dismounted the drake. Her father. The bastard who’d created her, abandoned her, and allowed her to be shipped off to Ismene’s court. Her father. Maia swallowed hard.

“I think,” she said, pitching her voice lower, “I’d like to run away, maybe forever.”

“Oh, excellent choice,” Isak praised. “I myself am a big fan of a run away.”

She snorted. “Come on, let’s go join the cuddle pile. Fuck my father.”

“He’s not my type. Can I pass?”

Maia groaned, grabbing his arm—avoiding the sword—and tugging him over to where her family knelt in the grass. Her real family, who had never once giving her up like an insignificant piece of trash.

“Wait, you should meet Harth,” Isak blurted. “He’s not a dick like your father. He’s noble and actually good, and entirely too serious, but he’s a good guy. He’s given the dick consort hell more than once on your behalf.”

A furrow formed between her brow and she paused a few feet from the cuddle pile. “Harth…?”

“Your brother,” Isak said very gently.

Brother. Her brother. Harth. Right. Okay.

“I don’t have the mental space for that right now,” she confessed to Isak, then caughther brotherwatching her. “Hey,” she said with a little wave.

He glanced down, a smile dimpling his cheeks and curving his eyes. Golden eyes, like hers. “Hey,” he said back. “Go spend time with your mates. We can talk later.”

Maia was glad for both his kindness and perceptiveness. It was awkward. Maia didn’t know what to say. She was glad to be spared, at least for a few hours.

“You’ll come back to Saintsgarde with us while we assess the damage the saints have caused,” Harth said. Herbrothersaid. She was still reeling from the fight against the dark saints, let alone this. She didn’t want to go to Saintsgarde, she wanted to go home, but home was a sensation, not a place, and she’d rather her toenails pulled out than go anywhere near Vassalaer. So Maia just shrugged. It didn’t sound up for debate anyway, judging by his steely tone.

“Fine,” she agreed, accepting the offer for all her mates. Because it was an offer. A promise of safety and protection, for however long it lasted. From her brother. A whole fuckingbrother.

“Is your mind exploding?” Isak asked, nudging her shoulder with his. “Should I be worried?”

Her mind was unsettlingly quiet and weightless. No Sephanae. No drakes. Only a hollow, light sort of quiet. Maybe she was in shock. She was glad to finally reach her family, to collapse into the grass and let herself be pulled into too-strong, squeezing arms (Zamanya) and a careful, warm hug (Evrille.)

Isak slumped to the ground at her back, as graceful as ever, and Bryon and Vawn were there too, all of them huddled together—Maia, Azrail, Jaro, Isak, Ark, Kheir, Bryon, Vawn, Ev, and Zamanya.

That power she’d felt earlier rippled through her, like there was magic in their unity, and Maia let the tension fall from her shoulders, let the sigh leave her lungs, the tears leave her eyes. It didn’t matter that they were going to a city she couldn’t remember, or that her blood family would be there. Her real family would be too. And as long as they were all around her, she would be home.

“Not to ruin the moment,” Vawn said, glancing around at everyone, “but what the fuck do we do next?”

Behind her, Isak sighed, one arm slung over Jaro’s furry back. “Now we plan for war. And hope we win.”