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“I have magic, I can—” he began, but Maia shook her head hard, hair whipping her shoulders.

“Stay behind us. I won’t risk you getting hurt again.” The drake had healed the open wound on his back and his wing, but it was still detached at the top. Vulnerable.

“Maia—” he began to argue, but she was already running, sinking deep into the core of her magic, making the ground rumble as she reached for the life all around them. She was the marble veined with gold and cracks, standing even aftercenturies of decay. She was the unfurling petals of an orchid expected to die years ago. She was the reaching arms of a vine that shouldn’t have existed in this abandoned space, the water trickling down from clouds gathering above the palace, breathing life into everything it touched. She was—

Dying. No, not Maia. The leaves, the vines, the defiant flowers, the spores, the mould—life leeched from it, sucked up by a parasite, and Maia felt itall.She staggered with a gasp, stumbling into Bryon, yanking herself out of the pool of her magic in a rush.

“The flowers,” Kheir breathed, stepping up on her right, fully ignoring her fear of losing him to stand beside her. “They all just…”

“Died,” Maia finished with a nod, slowing her pace, her rage cooling in the face of so much decay. “I canfeelthe life all around us, and it’s—”

The whole world went black.

Maia ground to a halt, her breathing a rasp. Someone walked into her from behind and swore soundly. Vawn. The drake let out a shrieking roar, making them all jump; she felt the flinch move through Vawn’s body into hers.

“It’sher,”Maia said in a hiss, grappling on her left to make sure Bryon was still there. “The other saint. The redhead. She’s killing everything.”

“And what about us?” Vawn asked with a nervous laugh. “‘Cause I can’t help but think we’re next…”

“We are,” Maia agreed. She lowered her voice. “Bryon, get your air ready. Break her neck, scratch her eyes out, I don’t care what you have to do, but take her down. Vawn, what power do you have?”

“I don’t,” he replied, panic making his reply fast.

“Kheir,” she breathed.

“I need to be close enough to touch her for mine to work.”

Which left them with Bryon’s air, her soul magic, and the inky hawk swooping through the air. She sensed it above their heads, waiting to peck out more eyes like it did to the Eversky. It was a tattoo, nothing but ink from Ark’s skin, but snaresong and saint magic had given it life. What else could she breathe life into?

“On two,” she whispered, so quiet only Bryon heard.

“Why two?”

“In case they’re listening. One—” She pushed away the spring magic calling to her, not wanting to feel that rush of decay again, not wanting to feel the life beingdrained. Instead she hauled up every bit of soul magic she had, tapping into the ability Sephanae had taught her how to master. “Two,” she breathed, and let it erupt.

Her skin glowed with bright starlight, lighting up the corridor enough for them to see, for Bryon to unleash his air without striking Jaro or Azrail. And, apparently, for her jaguar to leap up and latch his fangs in Samlyn’s throat, knocking him to the ground. He was fighting, and it was a beautiful sight. A smile began to form on her face when Bryon sliced an arc of barbed air into the redhead, sending her back a stumbling step. Her eyes widened but with rage, not shock. Good. Now it was Maia’s turn.

Samlyn was injured by whatever had pierced him with dozens of pieces of glass-sharp magic, so Maia aimed for him, driving her soul at his hard enough to bruise herself. It hurt like a bitch, but then she was inside him, alive with pain from even more places than she’d realised. Fuck, it hurt. And he was furious, cold seething rage pumping his heart. Maia encouraged it and turned him towards the female saint. His long, knobbled fingers snarled in her red hair and Maia used Samlyn’s body to rip out a hunk.

“What are you doing?” the saint hissed, a cold, icy fury in her poreless face.

Because she was piloting Samlyn’s body, Maia knew the woman was Scylla, saint of the earth. A natural counterpart to Sephanae. Scylla should have been an ally—her and Sephanae presided over all life, Scylla keeping the ground fertile and thriving while Sephanae brought life with spring. Instead, she was a dark saint. An enemy.

What was she capable of? How much damage could she wreak?

No time to dwell on that,Maia reminded herself absent of Sephanae’s voice. She needed to handle her own pep talks now.

Scylla was still puzzling over Samlyn's betrayal, so Maia had a few seconds to reach for his power of survival and pestilence and send a blunt strike of it into her chest. It wasn’t a rapid strike, but a slow creep like fog, like poison spilling through a drink. Scylla’s shock turned to rage when she realised it had slithered over the dark burgundy skirt of her dress and sank into her skin. Maia couldfeelit piercing the saint’s skin, pulling at her vitality, her health, until Scylla stumbled back with a snarl. It was working.

Maia had always known she couldn’t kill a full-blooded saint. But one saint could kill another, and Samlyn had all thispower.

She encouraged it to creep further, to reach past sinew and skin into her blood, to scrape her bones of all its marrow and—

Pain speared her chest—herbody—so suddenly that she was ripped away. When she jolted back into her own skin, Kheir had a firm grip of her arm, keeping her upright, and a bone arrow protruded from her chest, just above her heart. Oh, shit. It had missed byinches,and something told Maia it was supposed to be a direct hit.

“Youdare,”Bryon growled, deep and seething with dominance as he stalked past where Maia slumped into the wall, “to hurt my mate?”

“I dare,” Scylla responded. Maia snapped her head up in time to see her shove Samlyn aside and stride towards them. Cold—it filled Maia so completely that she thought it was another magical attack until she realised it wasfear.