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She shook her head, choking down air. Magic trembled through her stomach again—it hadn't returned to her core after all. It had spread throughout her, waiting, ready to be used. But Maia didn't know what to do with it, and none of her mates understood saint magic enough to teach her. Or even to teach themselves. Ark had said he'd train with them, but he was lost inside this house, hurting.
His pain screwed into her chest, sharper and fiercer the closer she got to the house. And the worse the pain got, the more power shook inside her. It wasn't the gentle growth of new shoots in spring; it was a messy, brutal birth with death's scythe hanging over her shoulder, waiting to see if the new life would even survive.
You don't need lessons,Sephanae's voice murmured in her ear, quiet but as sharp as a blade.You're the Iron Dove; this power is yours to command. Spring can be beautiful in the day, but cold nights can kill. Be the flower that grows even in the cold.
Maia nodded, and finally filled her lungs. She didn't hear what Kheir said next, or what the others shouted behind her. She lifted her hand and released the tight coil of her magic, letting it crash into the door of the house keeping her mate captive. The wood collapsed into icy petals and Maia allowed herself one blink of surprise before she stepped over them and into a tight hallway.
The place stank of cigarettes and stale air, and it was freezing. Maia didn't know if it had always been cold, or if her frozen spring had dropped the temperature. It didn't matter, not as she reached inside her for the place she and Ark were bound and found a knot of pain and stubbornness. He was here, in the next room.
Maia was distantly aware of bodies at her back, reassuring and familiar, as she stormed down the hallway, pink petals and white flowers tumbling from her shoulders like Azrail's smoke did from his. She left a carpet of blooms behind her, a gleam of beauty in this dirty, rundown house. She was aware of every single one as it landed on the stained hall, hairs standing on end down her arms.
"Arm yourselves," Azrail quietly commanded behind her, and Maia realised sound was filtering back to her ears, muffled but there all the same. "Remember this man is well trained and serves in an army."
"He's not the only one," Kheir replied. "I'll wrap him in an illusion. Old man, what magic do you have?"
"Air," Bryon muttered.
"Drug him like you did at the palace," Azrail suggested. "Then I'll hit him with everything I have."
"Keep him alive," Maia ordered in a dead voice that hurt even her own ears. All the emotion had been hollowed out of her voice, but power tingled on her tongue. "I want to know what he knows about the island, the monsters, and Vawn."
"We're not here to interrogate—" Azrail began.
Maia turned to him at the end of the hall, outside the room where her soul pulsed with Ark's pain. "He hurt my mate. I'll do whatever I want to him."
"Mai," Az replied, uneasy enough that he couldn't hide it.
Fair enough. He'd called her a monster, had hated her because of her snaresong. Maybe she'd give him a real reason to be disgusted with her today. Her bond with Jaro was damaged; how long before her other relationships fell apart?
"He hurt Ark," she repeated, holding his stare, then Kheir's, then Bryon's. Jaro's eyes were downcast, as if he couldn't meet her gaze. "I won't let him hurt you, too."
The door between her and Ark erupted into petals without her even lifting her hand, and the warm brush of Sephanae's hand on Maia's shoulder showed her approval. Maia didn't know what she could do with this power, had barely brushed the surface, but she knew there was more—so much more.
"Ark?" she called in that dead voice. No matter how much she hurt on the inside, it came out empty. "Ark?"
Please. Please be okay.
Azrail and Bryon rushed ahead of her into the room, black smoke uncurling from Az's hands and Bryon's deeply tanned palms raised too, ready to slice air magic across the room.
"Where are they?" Kheir demanded, following Maia into the ramshackle living room.
There was a single, moth-eaten sofa, curtains hanging from a broken rail, and photo frames and ornaments shattered on the ground near a fireplace.
"He's here," Maia said in a small voice, scanning the room over and over. "He's here, I can feel him. His pain—"
The deadness of her voice was broken by strangled fear, and she stumbled back. He had to be here. Hehadto be.
When her breathing broke, the soft pressure of a hand settled on her lower back and Maia had to trap her bottom lip to stop it quivering. Ark's pain gouged deeper into her soul; she pressed a hand to her chest, refusing to accept the empty room.
"He's not—" Bryon began, turning back to face Maia—and Jaro, who stood close behind her, neither of them acknowledging the touch. "Shit," Bryon grunted. "Princess, come here."
"What?" Azrail demanded, black smoke filling the room as he turned—and the blood drained from his face. "Mai." He held out his hand. "Jaro. Come here."
Maia spun instead, a shiver of apprehension racing down her spine. She expected blood, a warning, a threat, or her mate brutalised and hung from the wall behind her.
It was none of those. Maia wasn’t sure what she was seeing.
Jaro's arm flung across her body and he pulled her away from the huge mirror on the wall, speckled with age and framed with tarnished silver. Within its glass, they didn't see themselves reflected in this shabby living room. Maia's throat ached, swollen as she watched dark, cloaked figures fly like vultures through a pewter sky. Beneath it, cracked earth spread as far as she could see, and bleeding on the ground was a hunched shape. She knew that jacket, knew that golden head of hair.
