12
Kheir had only seen Maia like this once before: when the golden fae creatures took Jaromir from the palace steps. But this Maia was so much stronger, brimming with bright silver light. Was it saintslight, like Siofra possessed, or something else?
He tried to recall the old stories of the Iron Dove, to scan them for any clue about this power of Maia's, but he couldn't think straight with Maia's cold, burning rage clamouring in his chest, driving him to distraction.
She had her snaresong under control now—she wouldn't accidentally take control of any of them—and at least they knewwhather snaresong was. This silver glow covering her like a visible soul ... it could have been anything. It had shown a glimpse of itself last night when they made her come, but his was brighter, like the heart of a star.
Kheir called her his star because she shone in the darkest places, but was the name close to the truth? Did starlight burn in her veins, or was this her soul magic? The idea that they were looking at her fragile soul right now was terrifying. Protectiveness choked off his air.
"Take a breath, dearest," he murmured, catching up to her and entwining their fingers.
Maia's forceful steps didn't falter, but she did suck in a breath and squeeze his hand.
"What if something's killed him?" she asked, a raw vulnerability in her voice that made Kheir's chest ache fiercely. "Vawn got taken because he wanted to help me, and now Bryon—"
"You can't think like that, Maia," Kheir said, as gently as he could. "It's not your fault."
She shook her pale head, a muscle flaring in her jaw.
"Maia," he said sternly, drawing her panicked stare. "No matter what is happening to Bryon, itisn'tyour fault."
"But if I hadn't lost control, and you hadn't needed to calm me again—"
"Then whatever has him could have attackedallof us, and there'd be no one to rescue us."
She swallowed and forced a nod, her silver braid bobbing. "I'm glowing again," she pointed out, changing the subject.
"You're beautiful," he murmured, and meant it.
"I can't control this, either," she said sourly, her steps punishingly hard on the twig-strewn ground. "I don't know how Sephanae thinks I can do anything useful. I can't even keep my snaresong under control."
Kheir didn't have any comforting words. He certainly couldn't remark on the saint's intentions. "We'll get this iron poisoning healed," he said finally, a moment too late, "and you'll be fine. I promise."
"Thanks," she murmured. He got the sense she was thanking him for trying to raise her spirits rather than any success at it. But her back was straighter as she marched on, her silver glow brighter. Kheir had to shield his eyes with a hand, but he refused to look away from her. He'd sooner die than let her think he feared her.
"Over here!" Azrail called from behind them.
Maia spun so fast, Kheir had to steady her, her breathing fast and choppy again. She couldn't take all this guilt on herself; it wasn't healthy. Vawn had been there with all of them; they were all responsible. The same applied to Bryon.
Hairs rose on Kheir's arms at a low, distant howl. His eyes shot to Azrail, widening. It seemed it was time to put their saintly magic to the test; Azrail had called the dead from their graves at the palace, but he was the Wolven Lord, the Three-Headed Saint, the Master of Claws and Fangs. Kheir tried not to be bitter that the saint of the dead had more titles than Leovan, the Archer. At least Leovan had a name.
"What?" Azrail demanded, noticing their attention.
"There are tracks here," Ark said, distracting them. He gestured at the mud between trees. "Drag marks."
Maia needed no more convincing; guilt-fuelled, she raced down the muddy path, her braid slapping her back.
"You're the Wolven Lord," Kheir huffed at Azrail as he raced after Maia. "Those sound like wolf howls to me—so control them."
"Oh, that easily?" Azrail demanded.
Kheir threw up his arms in a shrug, running after his mate. The forest grew darker, the trees closing in around them and very little light reaching the ground where his feet were sucked into thick mud. Instead, he followed the glowing star of his mate.
A low snarl came from behind him, and Kheir spun with a gasp, reaching for his magic to spin an illusion. But it wasn't a wolf racing towards him; it was a sleek black jaguar, sharp teeth bared and gleaming in Maia's light.
Jaromir.
Kheir's heart had shot into his throat, and it stayed there as he faced forward again, his boots squelching in the mud and his breathing loud in his ears. Jaro ran ahead, catching up to Maia.