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

Chapter 10

10

Lyra

“You cannot remain here, and must walk the deck.” Emi had rid her waist of her knives and the pouch with her herbs. Dressed down in a black tunic and simple hosen, the bone crafter seemed wholly unthreatening.

“Woman,” Kael grumbled when she nudged his leg with her toe. “You’ve already tried to kill me once—”

“I did not try to kill you,” she said in a huff. “For the last time, it was merely to spur her craft. I had it under control.”

“Forgive me, Stav Nightlark, but I find your methods rather cruel. Now let me be.”

Emi, at least two heads shorter than Kael, bent down and pressed a hand to his arm. For a moment, she didn’t move.

Then Kael cursed and wrenched his arm away. “Damn you. Going to snap my arm now?”

“I will bend all your bones if you keep resisting my command.” Emi grinned with a touch of smugness. “You need to walk. It helps the blood flow instead of pooling and hastens the healing in your wound.”

“That you caused.”

Emi pointed her face at the sky. “Get. Up.”

Kael’s protests and complaints faded once he was on his feet. His spine curved from the pain, but he was sturdier and had color in his cheeks again.

Dreary as our future seemed, Kael still managed to taunt and jest and brighten the journey. I did not wish this upon any of us, but was selfishly delighted I was here with him instead of facing it alone.

Hilda slept against Edvin’s shoulder while he kept watch on the distant seas. There was little I could say to ease his heartache. So I said nothing, and merely squeezed his shoulder before rounding the mast to find my place.

Golden ribbons of sunlight drifted beyond the horizon, and opposite were shades of gray and black—the hills of Stonegate. As Emi promised, by nightfall we would make land.

On the other side of the mast, one elbow propped on the rail, was Ashwood.

Unlike Emi, Roark kept his seax on his hip and a bearded ax tied to a sheath on the small of his back. He curled two fingers, signaling for me to join him, and when I hesitated it only drew out a wretchedly intriguing half grin on his mouth.

I folded my arms over my chest, let out a breath of annoyance, and went to the rail. “What can I do for you, Sentry Ashwood ? Come to thieve more plums?”

Gods, I was a damn fool. To provoke a man like Ashwood surely would end with my neck slit and my bones draped from the mast.

But Roark’s wild eyes brightened, as though he took delight in my petulance.

“It amuses you, doesn’t it?” I stepped closer, a mere pace away. “I know you marked my cart. You knew who I was from the beginning.”

Ashwood took a slow, sweeping inspection of me with his eyes, drinking me in from brow, to throat, down my chest to…

I folded my arms over my body.

Roark plucked a scrap of parchment from a pouch on his belt. With his opposite hand he made a gesture of writing, then tilted his head, brows arched like a query.

After a pause, he waved his palms.

“You want to know if I understand you or you need to write?”

He smirked. I hated when he smirked.

“I’m picking up your words rather quickly. Try me.”

Again, the Sentry paused. Not from any sort of satisfaction, more like he was displeased he hadn’t frightened me into submission.

With one hand, he spoke slowly, giving me time to catch the words. Have you ever had a decent meal?

Bastard. “I ate plenty before you tore innocent lives apart.”

For a breath, Roark seemed stunned I understood. There wasn’t time or desire to explain how his gestures resonated within me, as though the words were felt, not studied on his fingers.

I wanted to feel nothing for a man such as him, and certainly didn’t want him to know I was failing.

He went on. I was not the one who hid a melder.

“No,” I said, voice rough. “But you gave the orders to tear us from home. You ordered her to hurt Kael.”

If Ashwood held any remorse, he didn’t show it, merely nodded with a simple gesture. True .

Anger, fear, all of it was freeing my tongue. “Why did you not take me in the Fernwood? You find satisfaction in toying with the fears of others, is that it? How did you know it was me when we have never met?”

He didn’t respond with his hands. Instead, Ashwood took up the parchment again and a narrow charcoal stick from the pouch. He hurriedly wrote out a few words and slid the parchment along the rail, waiting for me to take hold before removing his hand.

Our fingers brushed. I recoiled at once. His touch should’ve been cold, unfeeling, not…warm.

Roark frowned and flexed his fingers before curling them back into a fist, nodding with irritation for me to read.

My methods are my own.

When I merely scowled and looked away from his response, Roark added to the parchment.

You may ask questions, but do not expect answers from me.

“I would never expect anything from a Stav who is trained to strike down the defenseless.”

Roark shifted abruptly, drawing closer, and I took a step back like a creature who spotted a trap. He paused, taking in the sudden stiffness of my stance. The Sentry dragged a hand through his loose hair and frowned, as though his patience for me was taxing.

With one hand he made small gestures, most motions Emi had taught me. Remain beside me.

He let the two fists he’d slid side by side fall when he finished.

I narrowed my gaze. “Where else am I to go?”

Roark patted his chest with more force, adding firmness to his words. Next, crossed wrists—danger—but I could not follow the rest.

“Wait.” I held out a hand. “Slow down.”

A low sort of growl rumbled in his throat. Flicking one hand in the air, Roark snatched back the parchment. Jaw tight, he penned his thoughts.

You are under my charge until you are securely within Stonegate and afforded the king’s protection. You already know there are many who despise melders and would see your head piked on a wall.

I read over his shoulder, interjecting like he was speaking the words out loud. “How would anyone even know we’ve arrived?”

The charcoal stick stilled in his hand for a breath. Word travels fast when tensions are high. Folk are always looking for a way to King Damir. With our prince’s betrothal, it is made worse. Stay close to me .

Once I finished reading, I leaned my elbows onto the rail. “Stonegate has now imprisoned the only person I consider my family. You think I trust that Kael will not be killed? I assure you, I might welcome Salur rather than take what the king calls protection.”

Roark frowned, flipped the parchment over, and added more to his missive.

If you think Darkwin’s fate is the worst that can happen, then you have never met the blades of the Draven Dark Watch or their assassin’s ravagers .

Sweat dampened my palms. “You say this, but you are Draven.”

Roark stiffened, but hurriedly added another line. All the more reason to trust what I say .

“I will never trust what you say.” The words came out soft, unintended, but there all the same. A poison between us.

With the charcoal still staining his fingers, Roark spoke with his hands, slow and direct, so I would catch each silent word. Then you will likely die .

I shrugged one shoulder and leaned onto my elbows on the rail. “The threat is meaningless, Sentry Ashwood. I’m certain, no matter what I do, it won’t be long until I die anyway.”