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9
Kheir watched Azrail exert his dominance with a flicker of amusement, the older fae soldier straight-backed in front of the Sapphire Knight but clearly wilting under his power. Bryon could have passed for a bear shifter; he was massive, like a blunt, obstinate weapon. All he was missing were fur and claws.
"He won't come," Maia murmured, drowsy despite the stranger in their personal space. It was so late it was practically morning, their entire day swallowed by this news that Vawn had been taken to one of the villages near the decimated Ilysen.
They were in the small sitting room next to the map room, a fire popping in a grate and sending up sparks of orange flame. This place was well used; furniture was worn bare in places, deep blue rugs were flattened by the tread of feet, and it had the cosy air of a private family space.
It didn't hurt that Kheir's mate was cuddled up to him on the long sofa, her legs tucked under her and her head resting on his shoulder, filling his lungs with her earthy scent. The weight of her against him was a comfort after nearly losing her, and he knew she felt a similar reassurance in the touch. He'd known she was tortured and in agony—crucified for saints' sakes—but she'd thought they'd all died in the fire of the River House.
He brushed his fingers through her long hair, his soul as settled as it ever got. Most days it felt like a tangle of arrows and deadly passion, but right now the ruthless edges weren't cutting him.
"He hates me," Maia said, but she sounded half asleep, not too bothered by the grizzled soldier arguing with Azrail across the room.
Tryingto argue, anyway. Bryon was clearly used to deferring to people with higher rank than him, but chafing against the Knight's authority. Kheir knew the type; there were a dozen of them in his father's army. He could have told Azrail not to push him with orders but inflated his sense of importance with a quest or task, but he was still pissed off at the man. Let him cut himself on his own knife.
Ark was apparently more noble than Kheir. "We could use your help," he said from where he leant against the back of the sofa facing Azrail and Bryon, but with his hand resting on Maia's arm.
"No one else knows the exact area Vawn was taken to," he went on, "and the scent will be too faded by now for us to track it."
Bryon snorted. "I can tell you where I lost his trail, but there's no way in."
"Let me guess," Maia drawled, readjusting against Kheir so she was sprawled in his lap, a languid queen worthy of worship. Kheir's pulse sped. He couldn't believe this brave, beautiful woman was his mate. "It's covered in magic and there's no way past it."
Bryon's grunt seemed to confirm it.
"Perfect," Azrail hissed. "Exactly like Nesslyn found."
Kheir slid his fingers through Maia's hair, keeping his panic about the mounting danger at bay by sinking into their bond, feeling Maia's bright soul brush against his. She felt like sunlight, light and warm and nourishing. And no wonder if she was the saint of souls and spring reborn.
Maia hissed when his fingers snagged a knot, and he stifled a laugh, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Sorry, my star."
"I can feel you trying not to laugh," she growled with faux-anger, prodding his stomach.
Jaro laughed too, sinking fluidly onto the end of the long sofa, and lifting Maia's feet into his lap. Kheir's blood caught fire at the intimacy of the three of them in such a small space. They'dallshared a bed for the week, squashed in as they were, but this was different.
"I want you with us," Azrail reiterated, reminding Kheir they weren't alone in the room. "Show us where you went, where you lost track of Vawn. After that, you can come back here."
"I can show you on the map," Bryon muttered.
"You're coming with us, and that's final," Azrail disagreed, his voice ringing with dominance.
Ark sighed. Kheir barely held back a smirk, hiding it in his mate's hair as he kissed the top of her head.
"I want to know everything you saw along the way, no matter how unimportant you might think it is," Azrail went on.
Maia groaned. "It's too late for this, Az. Let the man go; we'll have plenty of time to talk on the way to Calvo."
Kheir glanced over the back of the sofa and watched the intensity in Azrail's expression shift to fondness. He sighed and nodded. "Thanks, Bry. We'll get Vawn back, I promise."
He shouldn't be making those kinds of promises, but Azrail was a dreamer. Deluded and idealistic.
"Why do you care so much?" Bryon muttered, but not nearly low enough for a room full of beastkind and fae to miss. "He's one of thousands of soldiers to you."
"I care for the same reason you do," Azrail replied, his intensity returning. "I should have protected him, and he was lost while I was meant to have his back."
Bryon nodded stiffly. He'd lost someone—his posture and reticence practically screamed grief and the particular brand of rage that came with it.
"And," Azrail went on with a sigh, "my parents knew about the sale of those villages to Ismene. They wanted to shut it down, and I have a gut feeling that's why they were killed."
