Page 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“ Y ou know, I really didn’t have meeting the in-laws on my list for today,” Isak whispered to Anzhelika as they were led through the busy hallways of the palace.

“It’s only one in-law,” she replied, nudging him with a grin. “What are your first words gonna be? Hey, I’m banging your daughter?”

Isak groaned. “I’m technically not.”

“Hey, I’m technically not banging your daughter but I want to,” she suggested.

“How about hello, your highness, nice to meet you?” Sunny said pointedly, not batting an eyelid at the fae who streamed past them on important business. Some were the fae Isak was used to seeing, but others had leaves for hair, or tree branches rising from their shoulders, or thorns and roses where Isak had hands. A strapping young man came towards them with a tray in his hands, spiralling horns rising from his deep brown forehead covered in moss. Isak had seen a lot in his life but nothing like the fae of Sainsa. He’d glimpsed a couple fae like this back in Bevhyre but here they were everywhere. A woman walked past with an honest to saints horn in the middle of her head, the tip stained blood.

“Badass,” Isak whispered. If he wasn’t mistaken the woman smiled.

“Natural fae like these were hunted to extinction in other kingdoms,” Anzhelika explained, anger narrowing her eyes. “Probably something to do with those saints you just told Harth all about.”

They’d all be severely warned against calling him the prince or your highness or anything that suggested he was anything but a general enforcer of the Sainsan military. Why he was hidden in plain sight, Isak didn’t know. But they were to call him Harth, general, and nothing else.

“That’s… a white bear,” Isak breathed when they rounded a corner in the Hold, tasting the sharp peppery scent of power with every inhale. Magic was dense all around them, the palace full of powerful fae and, apparently, huge white-furred bears.

“An ice bear,” Sunny whispered, leaning closer with excitement in her eyes. “They originally lived on the ice plains of Venhaus, but they moved here centuries ago. There aren’t many left, though. They’re noble creatures, more caring even than fae.”

“And possessed of impeccable hearing,” the bear rumbled as it—he, judging by the voice—walked closer, huge and powerful but almost graceful. He didn’t sound angry, more amused. “Morning, pup. Who are your friends?”

“I’m not sure friends is the correct term,” Harth replied, a smile softening his serious face as their path drew them closer to the massive ice bear. “But that one—” He pointed at Isak. “Is my sister’s mate.”

Isak’s heart jerked. The bear knew who Harth was…?

The prince’s smile settled deeper. “Olek is the most trustworthy person in the Hold. He’s the keeper of every secret spilled within these walls.”

“Hm,” Olek said, slowing his pace as he eyed Isak, seeming to look through his eyes into the dark, twisted thing he’d become. Isak quickly looked away. “Interesting that fate chose you as her match. I wonder what sort of person she’s become in her absence.”

“She became what she needed to survive,” Isak said, a little biting. How had he come from denying their bond to defending her to ice bears in the space of days? No, he knew the answer. That damn dream.

I want to be free.

“Didn’t we all,” Olek said in a voice wiped of amusement. “I wish you luck, Isak Sintali.”

“Thanks. I’ll need it.” He took another step and froze, whipping his head up to stare at the bear’s white, furred face. Olek’s azure eyes were deep with wisdom and age—and knowledge. What else did the damn creature know? “I didn’t tell you my name.”

“You didn’t have to,” Olek said with a little laugh, glancing past Isak to Harth. “You can trust this one. His heart is good and true, even if he doesn’t realise it.”

Isak ignored that, ignored the way it made his ears burn and his stomach squirm, and he kept walking until they were past Olek. Anzhelika let out a low whistle. She did that a lot.

“I think he likes you,” she said, her eyes on Isak. “Do you know how rare it is for an ice bear to like someone?”

“About as rare as meeting a King Consort,” Isak replied, his nerves slamming his heart into his ribs. It didn’t help that Viskae had been silent all morning, as if she was tuned into something else or concocting her own plans.

“Ask the consort about the ships,” Olek said as he strode away, the comment aimed at Harth.

“What does that mean?” Harth asked with a sigh, already sounding tired. Probably because Isak had just spent an hour explaining, in detail, the suffering his estranged sister had been through. Harth genuinely cared about Maia, even if Isak wasn’t sure he’d ever met her. He had a feeling Maia didn’t know about his existence at all. Why?

And was the prince so genuinely good that he’d care about someone he didn’t know at all, just because they shared blood? Isak frowned, but family was his own highest priority, so why was he surprised? If he discovered he had a secret sibling and they were in danger… well, he didn’t know what he’d do. He wasn’t gallant or heroic or—

Says the man who travelled across realms to save his brother and mate, Viskae drawled. Face it, Isak, you’re at least a little bit valiant.

That doesn’t seem like me at all, he remarked.

Wonders will never cease. She sobered. It’s alright to want your family, to want somewhere to belong. To want a bond with your mate. Just because you’ve never had those things before, it doesn’t make it wrong to want them now.

“The ships,” Harth muttered under his breath as he strode ahead, leading the way again, the crystal lamps hanging from the ceiling above them making the gold on his teal jacket glitter. Now Harth was gallant. Very princely.

Stop self-loathing and pay attention, Viskae huffed. You’re about to meet a power player.

Another reborn saint?

Not in that sense. Power in the mortal, fae kind. Don’t piss him off.

Shit, Harth had already lifted his hand to knock on a door covered in golden scrollwork and an excessive number of filigrees. There was no name or marker on the door, but this had to be the King Consort’s office. Shit became real very quickly. If Isak messed this up, that would be his one shot at freeing Jaro, Maia, and the others gone.

He didn’t breathe at all when a resounding male voice called for them to enter. It reminded Isak of generals who’d roared on battlefields, their voices so loud they reached even the front lines. A voice made for giving orders, a voice that was, without fail, listened to.

Isak sucked in a breath when Anzhelika smacked him on the back, and he followed Harth into a grand office every bit as golden as the door, with accents of crystal everywhere in the same opalescent stone as the wall around Saintsgarde. A sweet smell filled his lungs, like vanilla and sugar and jam all rolled into one cloying scent. It was a strange scent for the man who waited at the desk at the far end of the room, looming in front of a huge stained-glass window. Isak was momentarily distracted by the images, the story it told—the same origin story of the Nysavion family as he’d told Maia, with the star and drakes.

Harth closed the door soundly behind them and Isak let his attention fall on the king consort. Thick dark hair spilled over the shoulders of his opulently embroidered jacket and framed a face nearly identical to Harth’s. Same rugged features, same jaw and straight nose and high cheekbones, but with black hair where Harth was blonde. So this was the bastard who gave up his daughter to her psychotic aunt.

“It’s a wonder no one knows you’re related,” Isak said, turning to Harth. “You have the exact same face.”

Kaladeir Nysavion, king consort of Sainsa, stiffened, his broad shoulders flexing as his hands twitched, no doubt reaching for a weapon.

“It’s fine,” Harth said quickly, giving Isak a warning look as he strode past, standing behind a chair opposite his father. “We can trust them.”

“Can we indeed?” Kaladeir asked, his voice lower, rough and unfriendly. Searing brown eyes raked over Isak, then Sunny, then Anzhelika.

Sunny gasped and grabbed Anzhelika’s arm. “It’s the king. Look, it’s really him. The actual king.”

“I see that, babe,” her wife agreed with a little laugh.

“Who, exactly, are all you people?” the King Consort demanded, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He was less than impressed with them. As far as Isak was concerned, the feeling was mutual.

“Olek said to ask you about the ships,” Harth spoke before any of them could. He gripped the back of the chair so hard his knuckles whitened. Clearly, he’d broken some unwritten rule by bringing them here.

Kaladeir’s eyes flicked back to them. “Is that who they are? Did they come off a ship?”

“Oh, no, these two are locals,” Isak said, with the sharp brand of humour that poured from him whenever he was truly angry. Viskae didn’t warn him to be careful so he continued. “And me? Well, I’m originally from Vasalaer. Then I got kidnapped and forced into an indenture for a rich, entitled family who lived in a house that looks a lot like this. Joined the army against my will; got experimented on by commanders I now know obeyed dark, evil creatures; witnessed hundreds of people marched to their deaths to break open the saints' circle at Venhaus, allowing the most fucked up saints you could ever imagine to come through. Fled for my life. Met a girl. You know how it goes.”

Kaladeir had gone still, his eyes fixed on Isak with something like urgency, like desperation. “You know what the darkness approaching is.”

“The darkness approaching,” Isak repeated, that sharp edge still in his voice. “I like that. Sounds like one of those bands who write songs about the end of the world. Yes, I know what it is. I saw what came from the circle. I saw the monsters made there, and the saints who broke out of their prison through the cracked stones. I watched them kidnap your daughter. They’re experimenting on her as we speak. Torturing her. Twisting her blood and bones until all she knows is pain.” Isak smiled, baring his teeth. “Not that you’d care about that, as the father who discarded her like she was nothing.”

“Mind your tone,” Harth warned, turning to pin Isak with a dark glare.

“I don’t think I will,” Isak laughed, not taking his eyes off the king consort, letting some of his darkness out to play. “I respect people who’ve earned it, and shitty fathers don’t deserve it.”

“You know nothing,” Kaladeir hissed, his hands coiling into fists on the desk.

Look at his eyes, Viskae said. Use that.

Brown eyes had turned from hardened anger to pain. Torture. Isak straightened his back, driving the end of his walking stick into the pretty carpet underfoot as he took several steps.

“I know what she’s been through. I know she flinches at being called Maia Nysavion because that’s how much you abandoning her hurts. You know nothing. You don’t know a damn thing about her, or the way she suffered in that palace, or anything she’s been through since she escaped it.”

Kaladeir bared sharp fae canines.

Isak just laughed. “You’ve got no comeback, have you? Because you know you failed her. You let them take her into a court of wolves, and they ripped her apart.” But she pulled the shredded pieces of herself back together every time. Isak barely knew her and he knew that. Maia had been broken, but reforged, over and over, until she was a wolf, too.

“I don’t owe you anything,” Kaladeir spat, adjusting a row of pens on his desk with agitated motions. His knuckles knocked into an ink pot and purple bled across the stacked paper in front of him. A muscle feathered in his bearded jaw as he glared down at the mess. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Isak Sintali,” Isak said with pride. “Maia’s mate.”

Kaladeir blinked, his rage snuffed out in an instant, and Isak reared back in surprise. Uh, what the fuck?

I’m not sure, Viskae replied.

“So you’re family,” Kaladeir sighed, dragging a hand through his dark hair, glancing at Harth. “That’s why you brought him.”

“Did you think I’d hauled him in here so he could shout at you?” Harth sighed, his broad shoulders heaving with the expulsion. Saints, these Nysavion men were huge. Isak would develop a complex if he spent much more time around them.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Kaladeir muttered under his breath. Interesting.

It wouldn’t be the first time Harth has lectured him about Maia, Viskae said.

“This feels awkward,” Sunny whispered. “Should we leave?”

“We’re Isak’s emotional support,” Anzhelika whispered back. “We can’t just leave.”

Against all odds Isak smiled, some of the lethal rage softened to mere fury. “Do you care about her?” he asked the king consort. “Even a little?” He did have a point, and it depended on Kaladeir’s response, but it was a nice bonus to watch him stiffen and snarl.

“She’s my daughter. Of course I do.”

“Good.” Isak strode across the room and dropped into one of the gold-cushioned seats before the king consort’s desk, unable to stifle his groan at taking the weight off his throbbing leg. “She needs your help.”

“You said she was taken,” Kaladeir remembered, his throat bobbing with a harsh swallow. “Are her captives any worse than the Delakore Queen?”

Isak growled, his darkness surging to give volume and threat to the sound. “If I say no, will you suggest leaving her there?”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” the king consort replied in a matching growl. Well, Isak wouldn’t be invited to any family dinners that was for sure. They’d be lucky to avoid killing each other. “I need to know how bad it is.”

“Do you know of the war between saints and fae?” Kaladeir paled; Isak smiled sharply. “Good. That saves me time explaining it. They were imprisoned in another realm when they tried to subjugate the entire fae race, and now they’ve opened gateways to come back. Everything that was locked away is spilling out—darkness, poison, monsters, armies, the saints themselves. The Eversky. The Provider. The Hunchback Saint. Those are the bastards who have your daughter. And in case you missed it the first time, they are torturing Maia. Twisting her, forcing her magic to obey them, not her, no matter how hard she fights, even if it’s agony, even if it kills her.”

“The saints aren’t real.”

Isak laughed harshly. “I’ll enjoy your wakeup call immensely.”

“You didn’t come here just to tell me this,” Kaladeir surmised, watching Isak now, seeing the monster just under the surface.

“No, I came for a box. When I was in the military—a military working for Vassal under the Eversky’s orders, by the way—my superiors were desperate to find a box. All I know is it’s covered in carvings, made of gold, and important to the saints, so it’s no doubt powerful as shit. We need to find it before they do, or it’s game over. They’ll rule this entire world. And if we get the box, we can use whatever power is inside to take them out long enough to get Maia and everyone else they’ve taken captive to safety. The box is here, in Sainsa. Give it to me, and I’ll get out of your hair asap.”

Kaladeir glanced at the spilled ink on his desk. “I’ve never heard of a box like that here, but if it’s been in Sainsa since the first war, there’ll be records. You can search the library. Harth will help you.”

“And oversee us with his sword as a lingering threat, no doubt,” Isak replied with a vicious smile.

“You’re strangers in my kingdom,” the king consort replied, matching Isak’s sharpness. “Family or not, I don’t trust you even if Harth does.”

“I’m curious,” Isak purred, leaning forward in his chair. “Have you ever once referred to him as your son? Or does your shitty parenting extend to him, too?”

“Get out,” Kaladeir barked, his voice hitting Isak with force.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Isak laughed, gripping the handle of his stick so hard the wood might warp, standing abruptly. “You’re a piece of shit. If she dies, it will be your fault. And if she does perish,” he breathed, leaning closer, his voice a whisper, “I will end you and your entire family line.”

Kaladeir began to stand, but Isak was already turning, flexing his hand on his stick, swallowing back the darkness that rose like hot, burning poison. He didn’t look at either Nysavion as he strode for the door, his canines sharp, eyes no doubt pitch black, and power roiling through him like a curse.

“That was badass,” Sunny whispered, squeezing Isak’s arm as he passed.

“Thanks, Sunny,” he murmured.

He opened the door, stalking out into the palace without waiting to be dismissed.

Isak fucking hated royals.