Page 6

CHAPTER SIX

M aia’s breath caught in her throat when the dark magic that had swept around her in Enryr’s office dropped them on a grassy knoll, a city she knew because she’d been here so recently. The truth of it, the alarm of them both being here, a dark saint being here, slammed into her heart like a stake.

“That’s Eosantha,” she breathed, acid clawing up her throat. The uniform streets, the perfectly polished stone, the tallest spire in all Venhaus. This was the city they’d left to journey to the saints' circle. The city where they’d found Isak. “What are we doing here?”

She expected the dark-eyed children to guide her from her cell, leaving Bryon knocked out on the cold floor, to a plush boudoir. She expected a bedroom decked out in silk cushions and velvet blankets, frills and bows and all that fake shit pillow rooms went wild for. Instead, the kids had taken her to an office. She hadn’t been taken from the cell for sexual favours, and even with Eosantha spread out before them, the fourth most populous city in Venhaus at risk from Enryr, relief had her shoulders slumping and tension leaving her back.

“Why do you care about Eosantha?” she asked when Enryr only gazed out at the pale city, his head tilted as canny brown eyes assessed the tree-lined avenues and the gleaming houses that sat on either side of them. The dark saint looked the same as he had the last time she saw him; stout and broad, with a square, unfriendly face and psychopath’s eyes. Even standing he was hunched over, his back rounded at the top, but Maia would have been a fool to think that was any disadvantage. She was the prey in this situation. One false move and she was dead; they both knew it.

“I don’t particularly,” he replied with amiable ease. “Other than its proximity to the stones, this hovel is of no interest.”

Hovel. Maia choked back a laugh of disbelief. It was one of the nicest, tidiest places she’d ever visited, and sure she hated those pristine streets and the judgy people who lived on them, but it was no hovel. Even the shitty street where Isak lived in his apothecary had its own charm. Maia couldn’t shake the creeping sense that it wouldn’t survive the night. Or the next hour.

She’d been unable to track time in the cell, but the sun was bright overhead now, baking her dark wings, her shoulders, the top of her sore head. She would have killed for a glass of water. Or a barrel of fucking ale. Or a hat.

Apparently, the saints were so powerful they didn’t need the cover of darkness. This crime would be committed under broad daylight.

“It’s of no interest but…?” Maia prompted, trying to ignore the pressure bowing her bones, clanging against the inside of her skull. Enryr’s presence was enough to weaken her knees and she didn’t think he was even using it against her. Yet.

“But you have a very important job to do soon, and I want to make sure your skills are up to scratch.”

Maia’s skin tightened over her bones, the force of his presence like a clamp pressing around her chest. “What kind of job?”

“You’ll know when we get there,” Enryr replied, not even trying to hide his sick satisfaction. Maia felt his slimy eyes on the side of her face, no doubt cataloguing her horror. What would he make her do? With the power she’d unlocked just last week in Eosantha, with the rush of soul magic and her magic from the saint of all life, the capacity for devastation was too high. Breathing became difficult, a knot trapped in her throat.

“Is Lisille…still standing?” she asked haltingly, scrambling for anything to halt this.

“Hm. Unfortunately. The bloodshed was glorious but short.” He took great pleasure in saying, “The indentures are exceptionally useful in controlling people like your mates, but without cuffing everyone in the Saintlands, they’re limited.”

A gasp choked off her throat. She whipped around to stare at the cruel bastard before she could stop herself. Her mates…he’d indentured them all? “But only Jaro is beastkind,” she forced out, panic like a tentacled beast wrapping its limbs around her, cinching tighter with every moment. “How can you indenture a fae?”

Like they indentured Bryon. How?

Enryr’s smile was deep, his brown eyes glittering as he flicked a glance her way and then returned to staring at Eosantha. “How indeed. Don’t worry, that knowledge is for true saints to know. False saints like you need not concern themselves, Iron Dove.”

Maia tried to force calm, to stop the tremble running from her hands, weakening her knees. What did he want? What was he going to do? Why was she here? The threat of their presence here on the knoll above a city full of people wrapped tighter around her. All these people would die, and she’d be forced to watch.

“Your aunt is very fond of your power,” he remarked so casually that she flinched before she could stop it. “She’s constantly talking to the Eversky of your talents. All the wickedness you’re capable of.”

Maia choked down bile. She’d fought hard to bury memories, to forget what she’d done and who for. The memories were like wasps buzzing around her now, every person she’d ever snared, every mind she’d ever twisted and manipulated and broken a sting buried in her flesh.

“She overestimates my ability,” she managed to rasp, already tasting the scorch of burned buildings and fae on her tongue. Eosantha wasn’t even burning but she could taste it. She should run into the pale streets and scream a warning. She should be selfless, be a good person for once in her monstrous life. But fear and self-preservation kept her feet locked in the grass, her body not even shifting an inch.

“If anything she underestimates it,” Enryr replied with a chuckle that raised every hair on Maia’s arms. “You forget I know what Sephanae is capable of, and that every drop that remains of her power now flows through you. I know exactly what you can do. Your magic is still settling, but I bet you could sense every soul in that city if you tried.”

Maia shook her head. Not because she couldn’t; when she’d soulspeared from Eosantha all the way to the saints' circle, she’d seen every soul she passed as a bright, shining beacon. She’d seen every single person, but that was all she’d done. Seen. Sensed. A stone formed in her gut, and she knew Enryr would push for more.

“I don’t know how,” she whispered, and that at least was true. She didn’t know how it had happened before, didn’t know what triggered the magic.

“Heightened emotion plays a large factor in your motivation according to Ismene,” Enryr remarked with brutal casualness. He turned from the city to Maia, his gaze penetrating. Terrifying. Her most primal instinct screamed at her to run. Her common sense said she’d never make it further than a step, and the consequences would be unbearable. And deep down, beneath everything, she was a coward. She called it survival, but she was afraid, nowhere near brave enough for this.

“All that’s really required to trigger your magic is a strong enough motivator. Trigger your fight or flight instincts— or, for example, your mate instincts—and power will burst free.”

“Don’t you hurt them,” Maia snarled, fangs bared and her voice a low, ragged thing as she spun and grabbed the lapel of Enryr’s black brocade coat before she could think better of it.

“Case in point,” he said with a little grin, meeting her eyes until she was forced to look away, her heart missing a beat. “You sense the threat in me, but despite opposing instincts, your protectiveness wins. Reach into your soul magic, Maia.”

Everything she’d done, every time she’d called on saint magic was because she was angry and—he was right—protective.

She swallowed, forcing her fingers to releasing him one by one, her bones aching, bent. His scent choked her until she couldn’t breathe—mint and tobacco. “I can’t do it on command.”

“That’s disappointing,” he sighed. “If you can’t do it, there are other ways to achieve the same feat. Life magic and death magic are equally capable of mass destruction.”

Maia jolted, her breathing escalating. “No.”

“If you remain stubborn, maybe the Wolven Lord will be more amenable. He hasn’t embraced his saint magic like you have, but I’m sure there’s a way to bring it out of him. Ismene has a man she calls on for this sort of thing. Etziel is his name, I believe.”

Rage and power exploded from Maia. She shone as bright as a star, lunging at Enryr with enough magic to end him. She saw the bright streak of his soul, charcoal where everyone else burned as silver as the moon, and she reached into it, pouring her fury and violence and fear.

Enryr laughed. “Atta girl. Now turn that on the city, and you have my word I won’t raise a hand to the forsaken saint.”

Maia’s nostrils flared, driving her power into his soul like a battering ram, crushing out whatever pathetic bit of life was keeping him intact and—it wasn’t working. He was smiling. Laughing. Brown eyes gleaming like she’d given him a prize.

Maia backed up, her skin crawling, wings folding tight to her body, blackened all the way through. She was too easily provoked, the iron poisoning her soul. How long did she have until it killed her? If the only thing she could do before it took her was buy Az safety, she’d do it.

“Etziel goes nowhere near him or any of them,” she growled, her voice deep and full, casting across the grass and sky. She hoped every dark saint heard her demands. “You leave my mates alone. All of them. Swear it.”

Now he ground his teeth. He might have been a saint but he’d once been a faerie; they all had, according to the old lore. He was as bound by a vow as any fae. “Fine,” he spat, the true nastiness that lived in his soul on display as he sneered, a black sort of violence in his eyes when he glared. “You have my vow that Etziel will go nowhere near any of your mates, and I will not hurt any of them.”

Good. She could breathe again. Maia dragged air into her lungs, furious and terrified and trembling. She knew what came next. What she’d have to do to uphold her end of the bargain.

Enryr straightened the lapels of his brocade jacket and rose as much as he could, wiping away the rage and that slight flash of unease she now wondered if she’d imagined. “Now,” he said grandly, sweeping his arm at Eosantha, “this test is twofold. First—and this will be almost effortless for you—reach out and grasp every last soul in the city.”

Maia jolted like she’d been struck. “I can’t—”

“Oh, but you can. You have no choice.”

She had no cuff, no indenture like her other mates. She hoped he was lying about that, hoped the dark saints hadn’t really found a way to control fae as well as beastkind. Like they’d cuffed Bryon. His magic had been cut off and that was bad enough, but if her mates were shocked with excruciating pain whenever they dared to disobey, like beastkind were put in agony if they did the same… Maia didn’t think she could cope with that.

And Enryr was right. She had no choice. He didn’t need pewter to control her; he had her mates, and knew she’d do anything to protect them.

She took a slow, shuddering breath, trying to shut out memories both good and bad. They were equally torturous: all the times she’d snared people at Ismene’s command, everyone she’d ever hurt, twisted, broken… and every moment spent with her mates, every hug and kiss and soft-spoken word, every smile aimed her way, every casual touch that fed her affection-starved soul. She needed clarity right now, needed to focus on the bright silver glow of people in the city before them. So she emptied her mind.

“Good,” Enryr praised as if he was attuned to her magic, as if he could feel it. She shuddered. “Reach for all of them, let your magic move through every soul.”

Maia swallowed bitterness and bile and did just that, lifting her glowing hand in front of her, stretching her power out to the citizens of Eosantha. She flowed through families, through lovers wending through a well-tended garden, through enemies raising their fists in the middle of a bright market, feuding over a woman. She was everywhere, in everyone. Those with magic sensed her but welcomed the warmth of her power. They didn’t sense a threat.

“Now snare them,” Enryr murmured, his voice low and coaxing, closer to her ear. Maia shuddered, hatred for him, for herself poisoning her like toxins. “Hold onto their souls and convince them to kill themselves.”

She recoiled with a sharp breath. “What?”

That was the second part of his test. He never planned to kill them himself, he meant for Maia to do it.

“You heard me.”

“Who?”

Enryr paused, letting the anticipation, the torture, build. “Everyone.”

Maia’s stomach roiled; she choked down acid, forced back bile and revulsion. “There are children in that city. Elderly. Babies. Helpless people. They don’t need to die.”

“Ah.” Enryr moved out of her personal space, but Maia still failed to choke down a breath.

What he was asking… it wouldn’t just make her a monster. She’d be an abomination. A whole city wiped out. A whole population, murdered. The part that made her want to throw up was she could do it. All this magic in her core, shuddering through the glade of her soul, lighting up the trunks of those trees… she could do exactly what he was asking. Ordering.

“You’re right,” the saint said, and Maia finally drew air into her lungs. “The helpless won’t be able to end their own miserable lives. Best to adjust the wording of your song. That’s what you call this magic now, isn’t it? Snaresong. When I last walked this earth, we called them Ranaszha.”

“Hook,” Maia whispered.

“You know your languages,” Enryr said with pleasure. “Probably all that reading you did in the Library of Vennh, hmm? What a shame it perished.” His hand fell on her shoulder, fingers digging into her skin until her bones quailed and ached, an unbearable pressure in her chest. “Snare them. Sing your song until everyone in the city is dead, or I will find a way around this vow and exact my fury on your mates. I have to commend your taste, Iron Dove. Such pretty men you’ve chosen.”

The threat was like a lash on her soul. She flinched hard, and knew the motion travelled through his hand, knew he was aware of his power over her. He’d never needed a cuff.

So she closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and began to sing.