Broken Souls and Bones (Broken Souls and Bones #1)

Chapter 6

6

Lyra

Rosewood bark was harmless unless it was boiled down to the green center. There was a pale berry in the Fernwood Kael and I nicknamed as venom fruit after we realized the juices caused blisters on our skin. Fire vine, a red-leafed ivy, reacted fiercely with whatever differences divided craft in the blood from folk without magic.

The red flakes in the captain’s palm could be any combination of toxic herbs.

Hatred filled me like flames. I wanted to drive the knife tethered to my calf through the softest point of the captain’s throat. I wanted to watch blood fountain over his lips the same as it had flowed from Vella.

I could hardly draw in a deep enough breath to fill my lungs.

Ashwood never looked away. The swirling gold of his eyes was harsh, like a rogue flame looking for a bit of skin to scorch.

He was the true fiend here. Whatever signal Ashwood gave, the captain merely reacted.

“See to them.” Baldur waved a hand toward nearby guards, and they scattered through the hall.

The Stav were swift as snakes in the grass and blocked anyone in the hall from reaching the four of us, bent and hunched on the floorboards.

Baldur took slow, deliberate steps in front of the hall. “Craft has been revered as a true gift of the gods. The choice to use it in the service of your king has always been yours. So, to be met with such indifference, such deceit, it is a slight in these tumultuous times our king cannot ignore.”

Edvin’s jaw ticked. “You say we are revered, yet now we must submit”—he glanced at Vella’s unmoving form—“or we die?”

Baldur chuckled. “The blood crafter was not truly one of you and brought her own fate. More than her lies, it is believed she used blood spells to weaken patrols, to bring disease to our Stav.”

“You murdered her.” The jagged words rolled over my lips before I could think better of it.

“Ly,” Kael rasped through his teeth, a flare of desperation in his eyes. “Shut up.”

“No, let her speak. I’m most interested in this one. You call me a murderer?” The captain hummed, then held out his hand toward a Stav. A stack of folded parchment tied in rough twine was placed in Baldur’s palm. Baldur flipped one edge of the stack and clicked his teeth. “Do not take my word for it. See her betrayal for yourself, then tell me if you think differently of her, woman.”

I jolted when the parchment slapped against the floor in front of me.

Baldur perched one hip on the edge of a table, taking a slow gulp from a horn.

My fingers trembled, but I opened one folded parchment and scanned the simple words. Locations of river routes, guard rotations, and bone crafters. A knot thickened in my throat like bile. Vella’s name was signed in blood.

“Look at that last one,” Baldur said, tilting his chin.

I didn’t look at the captain; I lifted my attention to Roark. The Sentry was as stalwart as stone save the small curl to his lip when I picked up the last missive.

I saw the scars in her eyes. When the patrols leave Skalfirth, I will see to it that you have her and corruption will die at long last .

I shook my head. “No. This is wrong—”

“The woman was here to find the missing melder.”

“A bloodline that is dead,” Edvin bit out through his teeth. No mistake, the cries of his young ones were grating down his spine, and soon enough the man would snap.

“Yes, the child was supposedly slaughtered when the Draven armies raided,” Baldur said. “Yet there never was a corpse laid at the feet of our king. There was enough reason to believe she was taken and hidden that your king placed blood crafters throughout the realm, searching for a glimpse of melder blood.” The captain lowered to a crouch in front of me, teeth bared. “It is fortunate we intervened, or you would have been turned over to the ravagers of Skul Drek, perhaps the assassin himself. I hear the Draven queen gives the bastard agency to torture as he pleases.”

“Lyra is no melder.” Kael twisted against the guards holding him.

Roark’s face contorted in disgust when he looked down at us.

Baldur took his Sentry’s lead and faced Kael with a bite of controlled rage in his every word. “You, Darkwin, shall have to answer for the secrets you’ve kept.”

I let out a shriek of horror when a Stav kicked Kael in the ribs. He coughed and curled over his knees, spitting bile.

“Stop this!” I made a move to reach for Kael, but my blood grew cold when Baldur’s long fingers curled around my jaw, forcing my gaze to his.

“I can almost see the silver in these eyes.” Baldur chuckled cruelly, then crumbled one of the missives in my face. “To me, you are as disloyal as the blood crafter. Gods, what might’ve been accomplished by now if you had not been such a coward and accepted your fate.”

I tried to wrench free of his grip, but the captain merely tightened his hold until I was certain my teeth would slice through my cheeks.

Only when Ashwood clapped his hands did Baldur release me. The Sentry wore a look of dark anger and moved his fingers swiftly, sharply. I did not need to hear his voice to sense the fury in his tone.

Baldur yanked me to my feet. His lips dragged over my ear, his breath hot on my skin. “Seems our Sentry does not care for me damaging your face. By the by, he wonders if you took note of his message. Something about a liar?”

Kael coughed, his shoulders rising in rough breaths, the truth of it a cruel lash.

Ashwood knew me. He’d been sent ahead of the guard to sniff me out like a hound on the hunt.

Like a blow to the back of the head, I understood—the Stav were here for me, not to secure borders for a royal wedding.

Jarl Jakobson knew it; his unease was clear. He’d planned to sell me to Stonegate, and now because of his offering, his blood son was at risk of the blade for keeping my secrets.

Tears stung when I let my trembling gaze fall on the jarl. His jaw pulsed and the coward did not have the spine to meet my glare.

I clenched my jaw and looked back to the captain. “You are mistaken about me. I am merely a servant.”

“No.” Baldur dragged one callused fingertip down the curve of my cheek. “You’re so much more. The time is long gone for you to submit your craft to Stonegate.”

“I’ve no craft to submit.”

Baldur laughed softly, a touch of venom buried in the sound. “This is how you desire our meet to go? Fine.”

With the snap of the captain’s fingers, Stav Guard moved like a storm rolling over the shore—fierce and unstoppable. In mere heartbeats, three guards had blades leveled at Kael.

“No!” I made a move to rush to their sides but a nearby Stav Guard gripped my wrist.

Kael paid little mind to the blade at his throat and looked at me. “No tears for me. We’ll meet in Salur, where there are no farewells.”

The sob burned in my chest, pain waiting to break free.

“You want to scream.” Baldur’s deep, slimy voice heated the curve of my ear. With slow steps, a true fox cornering a hare, the captain stepped around to face me. This close, it was simple enough to make out the sun-worn calluses of his skin, the slight freckles beneath the coarse hairs of his beard. “Tell us your story, how you came to be here, and perhaps he will greet the sunrise, Melder.”

Sweat beaded between my fingers as I curled my fists. The longer I insisted I was not the melder they sought, the more Kael would be put at risk of harm.

“If it is blood you seek,” I began, voice low and dark, “take it from me. Clearly, that is your aim. Leave the innocent alone.”

“Innocent? I see no innocent here. Darkwin has known about your craft, a man I thought was made of honor.”

Kael had never been one to recoil from a battle. Even as a child, unwanted and alone, he would stand firmly against drunkards in the hall who tried to harass servants, me, or Astra. He was unafraid to strike the jaw of cruel boys from nearby farms who’d taunt me for the nervous way I twitched my fingers, or the small gap between my teeth.

I’d always admired Kael Darkwin for his boldness, until this moment. My friend, my damn brother, sat back against his heels, spine straight, and a flare of rebellion in his eyes. “What do you want me to say, my lord ? As Lyra told you, if you’ve come for blood, get on with it.”

“Do you confess you know this woman is a melder and you willingly concealed her from Stonegate?”

“I see no silver in her eyes.” Kael wore a smug sort of look. “And if I did, I certainly would not admit such a thing to you.”

“ Kael .” Panic tightened my throat.

His pale eyes flicked my way, too swiftly for anyone to notice. He was afraid.

Two Stav took hold of Kael’s arms and pinned him facedown on the floorboards. They cut through his tunic, exposing the strong planes of his back. By the gods, they were going to flay him here; they’d peel the flesh off his bones, leave him to bleed out or rot with infection.

Jakobson looked pale, but did not protest. I could not say the same for Mikkal. Kael’s half brother shot to his feet, shouting loud enough his mother commanded the very Stav Guard invading her damn home to remove her son from the room.

Kael was stalwart. Calm as the morning sea. He did not cry out, he did not move.

The ability to hold steady was lost on me. When I fought to keep still, my knees bounced. When I forced my legs to lock, I cracked one knuckle, then two, by my sides. After I curled my fingers into tight fists, my teeth clenched and shifted until I gnawed on my bottom lip.

Ashwood tilted his head like he might whisper something to Baldur. Instead, two of his fingers pointed to the floorboards, followed by a closed fist, then a quick flick of his thumb and first finger.

My limbs twitched as though my body yearned to run from the great hall, while a darker part wanted to reach for the knife in my boot again and ram it through as many Stav bellies as possible before they sliced through my heart.

The captain prowled around Kael. “A noble bastard, revered by the Stav Guard, and a bone crafter by blood. They named you Bare-Hands in your training.”

The sting of tears collided with the heat of the dye in my eyes. In his missives while he was at Stonegate, Kael had sounded so damn proud to earn a name. Bare-Hands, all for his prowess for fighting without a blade, for taking down man after man with only his hands.

Baldur huffed when Kael said nothing. “Your father no longer claims you. A pity, for there is such potential in you. I assume you take after your mother’s line. A respected house, am I right? Wasn’t your mother the daughter of a warrior who slaughtered no less than two dozen Dravens before the gods took him to Salur?”

“Yes,” Kael said, voice rough. “My every strength will always be credited to the woman who gave me life. No one else.”

Jakobson dipped his chin, a wash of shame on his features.

Baldur’s teeth gleamed like the fangs of a beast searching for the best way to sink into flesh. “You are bonded with the melder, but I wonder how much you truly matter to her.”

The brawny Stav Guard holding me shoved a hand between my shoulders, nearly knocking me to the floorboards.

“Leave her alone!” Kael made a lunge for me, but was pinned facedown by two Stav.

“I’m beginning to think this village breeds liars.” Baldur stroked his braided beard. “We’ve no use for such folk in Jorvandal. Burn it all.”

Shouts bled to screams when the Stav moved as one, like their limbs were connected by a rod, and gathered torches from hanging lanterns and sconces on the walls.

“Captain Baldur,” Jarl Jakobson shouted, gathering a sobbing Astra into his arms. “This was not our agreement.”

“Plans change.”

Before the guard at my back could touch me again, I rushed for Ashwood, gripping his arm. “Leave them, gods, I beg of you. I confess. I-I submit my craft, but beg of you to stop.”

Roark looked at me with potent hatred; I could practically taste the sour burn of it. He stepped closer until our chests brushed. For a breath, two, I was frozen, locked in a spell.

“Stop this,” I whispered. “Take me.”

Ashwood pulled me into him. Shoulders to hips, I was pressed against the bastard who’d caused this. I thrashed and tried to pry myself free, but where I stepped, so did the Sentry, as though he were my broader reflection on a glass pond.

Ashwood’s eyes held a new fire, a touch of warning, and gooseflesh lifted on my arms beneath his grip.

Women hugged their children to their breasts, sobbing. Men had gone for anything they could swing—stokers, carving knives, platters. Mead stained the floors, and breads and iced cakes were crumbled and smashed along tables.

Roark held up a fist and the Stav ceased their fight, wrestling the last of their opponents to the floor until the commotion faded into eerie quiet.

“Ly,” Kael shouted. “Don’t you dare.”

Roark adjusted his hold, so my back was against his chest.

“You want them to live?” Baldur smirked. “Then impress us, and we leave Skalfirth with no more blood.”

“How?” My breaths were heavy against the Sentry’s body.

A woman materialized from the crowd. Clad in a fur cloak hemmed in red, the attire of Stonegate bone crafters. Her golden braids were styled in a crown around her head, and her mouth set in a taut line as she paused ten paces away. The flicker of lanterns in the hall glared over the shocking blue in her eyes.

She was Draven.

There were distinct markers of the Draven people—eyes in rich shades, so bright they practically glowed, and with her hair tied back I could make out a design of a double-headed raven on her neck, a ceremonial mark I’d once read was given to every Draven child by their third summer. For each household in Dravenmoor, different symbols might be added, much like the runes inked behind my ear.

Doubtless if Ashwood tossed back his hair, I would see his.

“You do not want your so-called brother to die, right?” Baldur tilted his head toward Kael.

Kael glared at me. I could nearly hear him demanding I shut my mouth and let him take the consequences. He was a stubborn bastard, but I could be even worse.

“I don’t want him to be killed,” I said firmly.

“Then save his life in a way only a melder can, and he’ll receive his wish to join the Stav Guard.” The captain unsheathed a dagger on his belt. “Fail to save him and we’ll be short another crafter, and the people of this village will have nothing but stars overhead tonight. Those who survive.”

The woman from Stonegate pressed her palms over Kael’s chest. She blinked, a look of remorse on her face as she whispered, “Hold steady, Darkwin. It will be swift, I swear to you.”

Gods, they knew each other.

A moment later and the hall filled with the cracks and snaps of bone.