"Ahhh," Isak said, nodding his dark head. "The stolen princess."
Maia stiffened.
"Back off," Ark warned in a dangerously calm voice. "We didn't come here to talk about us. We came to talk about the island you were injured on, and what, exactly, is happening there."
Now Isak stiffened, pushing off the desk and grabbing his cane so he could limp to the opposite wall and inspect a dusty bottle with something floating in it. "No idea what you're talking about."
Azrail closed his mouth on what he'd been about to snap when Jaro said, "Isak.Please. A friend of ours was taken. Whatever's happening on this side of the world, he shouldn't be part of it."
"None of usshould be part of it," Isak growled, a hint of his beast shining through. Az peered at his ankle, but couldn't see if he had a cuff of indenture. Was his beast chained, or free like Jaro's jaguar?
Isak laughed and changed his tone, the joker back out to play. "You sure you really want to know what goes on out there?"
"Yes," Maia said fiercely, her golden eyes bright.
"I can tell you one thing for certain," Isak said, turning to face them with a bitter smile on his face. "Your friend’s gone, so don't waste your time looking for him."
Maia shook her head gently, swallowing.
"I'm not being a dick by saying this; it's the truth." Isak stalked for the desk and dragged out the wooden chair behind it, sinking heavily into the seat but keeping his bitterly amused expression in place. "I've seen enough of what's going on out there to tell you that confidently."
"We don't know for sure he's on the island," Ark said, watching Isak like the hawk inked on his neck. "We tracked his scent to Calvo, but there's been no trace of him since, and Calvo's—"
"A pancake," Isak finished nodding. "Yeah. That's a slight issue, since I was there two fucking weeks ago."
Azrail straightened, tilting his head and vaguely aware it was a predatory move. "You were in Ilysen, too, weren't you?"
Isak blew out a breath, leaning his chair back on two legs and looking at the ceiling. "A week before that, but I had a feeling they were getting close."
"They," Kheir echoed, twisting a gold ring around his little finger. "Who are they?"
"Did I say they?" Isak laughed, batting a hand. "Nah. I just had a feeling I should move on."
"Quit the bullshit," Azrail snapped, storming forward a step and ripping off the leash on his smoke magic. It unfurled from him like a cloud, harmless, purposeless, but it was enough to make Isak's face drain of all colour.
"You're ... you..." Isak stuttered, his brown eyes wide as he flung a stare from Azrail to Jaro. "Shit. I know,I know," he growled, rolling his eyes.
Nobody had said anything to warrant that response.
Ark understood fastest, his perceptiveness and quick mind helped by the wisdom and strategy of his saint magic. "Who's here with you? You're one of us, aren't you? A saint reborn?"
Isak winced. "Can we maybe ... not?"
"No," Azrail growled.
"And don't think we didn't notice you barely told us anything about the island," Kheir added.
"Viskae," Isak sighed. "Alright? The saint of mistakes. Fitting, right?" He flashed a charming grin that did nothing to break the serious scowls of everyone else; even Jaro had a furrow between his brows.
"And redemption," Jaro pointed out, but there was no hiding the worry in his voice.
Isak smirked, leaning even farther back in his chair. "I doubt that's in the cards for me, brother."
"So you're a saint. And you were on the island," Maia said, watching him with narrowed eyes. "Just tell us what happened there, and where to find it, and we'll leave you alone."
Azrail raised an eyebrow but she ignored him. Could she physically walk away from her mate? He supposed she'd done just that the night she'd been captured by Foxes. He forced his mind back to the present before he could fall down that slippery slope of grief and loathing.
"If you're so determined to know," Isak sighed, "it's a sacrificial site. There's nothing else on the island—just the sacrifices who are dragged there and bled. There's a saint's circle, with a giant stone in the middle of it. The vessels' throats are slit, and they're dumped there. We didn't—no one knewwhyfor months. No one knew they—we were feedingsaints."