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Isak ignored Viskae’s dubious murmur, refusing to let that negativity pierce his mind. For once, he’d decided to be optimistic.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Wolves howled inside the bone cavern of Maia’s skull as her fury erupted. The rage slammed through her soul into her body until she tasted blood and magic—and it was like no magic she’d had access to since the saints' circle. It was the same limitless power she’d felt in Eosantha. She was everywhere, in everything. She was life and death and everything in between. She was the plants that grew rebelliously through cracks in the walls. She was the wind and the rain that lashed through the sky outside. She was the ancient forest that wrapped around the palace, the perilous cliff at its back. She was the foundation the court had been built upon and the stone it had been fashioned of and the sand that had melted to make its windows.

Gradually, slowly, she settled back into her body, still aware of every bit of life and power around her. It was a shock to find Enryr on his knees, stems of flowers wound around his throat, thorns piercing his skin. A rose had thrust through one of the wounds in his back, punching out through his chest where it bloomed bright, blood red. And he was at her mercy.

A little shudder went through her soul. Maia didn’thavemercy. Not anymore. They’d ripped that from her—Ismene and Karmen and Enryr. They made her into this.

The second she realised she had full control of her magic, she dropped into her core and grabbed all of it—soul and spring and song. She didn’t stop to question if it would work. Instinct guided her, so fast she didn’t slow down long enough to question it.

“Who?”she demanded, the full weight of her power in that single word. She bore down on Enryr, pressing her magic against him like a battering ram.“Who hurt my mate?”

She watched realisation hit him. His eyes flared. His breathing sped up. She threw her magic harder against him, let the thorns around his throat tighten, and was gratified to watch him shrink against the floor, a hand shaking as he raised it. She wasn’t going to stop until he was dead and they both knew it.

“Who?”she roared, the walls shaking around her, the ground trembling. Bryon gave her a look of mingled shock and pride.

“Ever…sky,” Enryr croaked, his eyes bulging at the pressure of her magic, his vile face full of desperation. His magic surged, a weak dagger to her broadsword. She knocked it aside. She was full of it—full offuryjust like in the saints' circle, and it made her lethal. Enryr was driven by selfishness, by greed. He would always be weak compared to her.

“Where is she?” Maia asked with icy rage, taking a step closer, watching him flinch and shake his head.

He kept shaking his head.

“Where are the rest of my mates?”

More head shaking and frantic, gasping breaths. She pushed harder, ruthless,wantinghim to hurt. She had her magic back and she wouldn’t waste a single fucking second, a single drop.

“Where are they?”she screamed, her voice echoing off the stone all around them.

The desperation was sharper in his eyes—true panic for his life. Good.

“You don’t know? That’s a shame.” Maia crouched in front of him, her fingers raised. “That was the only thing keeping you alive.”

A single finger pressed to his forehead, a single note sung at her highest pitch. She used the magic she’d used to snap bones to split the saint’s skull right down the middle. And then for spite, she broke the rest of him piece by piece, bone by bone, for the pain that blurred her vision, for Kheir’s suffering.

“He’s dead, princess,” Bryon said softly, fingers sifting through her hair. “There’s nothing left of him.”

Maia inhaled a jagged breath and closed her fingers into a fist, forcing herself away from the mangled corpse of a saint.

“The shields are gone,” Bryon murmured, hooking his arm around her waist and pulling her close. His lips pressed hard to her forehead. “You’re remarkable.”

Ordinarily, the compliment would have warmed her soul but she was in too much pain.Kheirwas in too much pain. Enryr didn’t know where her mates were, but she could follow the bond, the pain.

“Are you okay?” Bryon’s warm hands framed her face; she barely felt them.

“Kheir. He’s in agony. I need—need to find him.”

Another kiss found her forehead. “Then we’ll find him.”

But this place was full of saints, and Maia had always had the sense that Enryr was one of the least powerful. She might have killed him, but she knew she didn’t stand a chance against the Eversky, the king of saints.

“We’ll find him,” Bryon repeated, and took her hand, guiding her deeper into the saints’ palace.

But the pain shattering Kheir’s soul was unbearable. What if there was nothing left of him when they found him?

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Kheir dug his heels into the carpet, his teeth gritted as the Eversky’s fingers hooked in his hair. No matter how much he fought, he couldn’t stop her dragging him around a corner in the hallway and away from Ark. She’d hammerednailsinto Ark’s hands, into his feet. Another growl tore its way up Kheir’s throat, his own pain barely registering with the horror of Ark’s injuries so fresh in his mind. He’d seen people killed before, but never something so viscerally cruel. It wasn’t the messy, blunt bloodshed of battle. It was intentional and precise and Kheir was going to be sick.