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

Chapter 11

11

Lyra

The ships docked on a curved, pebbled shore.

A high moon muted the light of the stars overhead, and all around were towering evergreens growing from rocky soil. After endless strolls around the deck of the ship, Kael stood upright, holding only one side with his palm. Hilda and Edvin clung to each other, but their faces, normally so lively, were like stone. Cold. Hard.

We formed a crooked line amid the Stav.

Here in the lands of the king, the air was sharp with spice from sap and spruce. Sea winds were still chilled, but didn’t cut to the bone. More subtle and briny.

Stav Guard shoved past me, took hold of the others, and pulled them away.

“Wait.” I reached for Kael, but was barred away from him by four guards who gathered in a line. “Wait, where are you taking them?”

One of the guards stepped in front of me. “Better not to travel with so many crafters in one camp. They’ll travel with Captain Baldur’s unit down the shore. You and Stav Nightlark will be the crafters in our camp.”

“I won’t be able to know if they’re safe.”

“They’ll be safe and fed.” The young Stav adjusted a leather strap over his shoulder that was lined in bronze throwing knives. “Until we reach the fortress, of course. After that, I think the Norns will have to decide their fate.”

My stomach twisted. The risk of entering the gates of the royal keep was Kael might lose his life. I had one night to decide if it was a risk we took, or if we ran. With him gone down the shore, I did not know how I’d reach him.

Before he disappeared around a bend in the shoreline, Kael flashed his wide grin, no mistake, attempting to ease my troubles.

Roark’s men maneuvered satchels, fur bedding rolls, and crates of water skins and dried meats in a tangle of lines for the journey.

“Melder.” Emi approached with a touch of caution. “You’d be wise to keep close, the wood is dangerous. These trees house bears and fara wolves.”

“Draven wolves?” The Draven folk were known to hunt their enemies not only with steel, but with beasts they bonded with from birth.

“Aye.” Emi looked to the trees. “But more than all that, blood casts have been set in the groves to disorient and confuse wanderers away from reaching the fortress.”

Gods. I knew Queen Ingir was born of Myrda and chosen to wed King Damir for her blood craft, but I studied so little of the three magical crafts, due to fear of my own, I did not realize she could cast such spells.

Perhaps there were many blood crafters in Stonegate.

Roark took a brisk step forward, shrouding his head in the dark hood, as though telling me he was to keep watch, but did not need to look at me.

The Sentry’s contempt for melding craft was clear, and I hated the subtle bite of curiosity to learn why. Had he been harmed by a melder? Was it to do with the raids so long ago?

As a Draven in the royal court of Jorvandal, doubtless Roark Ashwood had learned to keep secrets the way I’d kept them all this time.

I could not see his eyes beneath his cowl, but glared at the strong line of his mouth until we stood chest to chest again. Roark removed his ax from the sheath on his back and handed it to me.

One brow curved. “What—”

I was unaccustomed to being interrupted by a man who did not speak, but Roark used his hands to command an interaction as fiercely as Baldur used shouts to overpower.

He spoke one word, a gesture Emi had taught us on the ship— knowledge .

“Do I know how to use it? I’m not as skilled as a Stav, but I can throw one. Might even know how to slit a throat if you’d like to test it.”

Roark made a breathy sound.

Strange how his reputation painted him as a man of violence, yet he swallowed my sharp words with a hint of amusement. He never lifted a hand to strike any of us; he did not shove and prod like many of the Stav under his watch.

None of this eased the distrust. In a way, it left me wondering if Roark’s demeanor was like the lure of a hunter’s call. A ruse to get us to find a bit of composure around him, before he struck when we least expected.

Roark swept an arm, ushering me to take a step before him. My grip tightened around the ax, and I complied.

Through a narrow barrier of trees, a clearing gave way to a meager campsite. White wolf emblems marked the canvas sides of tents and bowers.

“There are several Stav camps in these woods,” Emi said, her shoulder knocking mine as she strode past. “These are also the finest, with a few moss mattresses. You’ll sleep better than on the longship.”

One brow arched. “Should I be glad for it?”

“You might try.” Emi flashed a tight grin and strode ahead of me.

I kept my pace aligned with Roark’s. Murmurs and a few simple gestures from the Stav and Sentry gave up we would camp until the first mists of dawn.

“Keep your eyes peeled for Dark Watchers,” a burly Stav passed down the line. “Those Draven sods know the wilds, they know how to blend, and are damn hard to see at night.”

“They could attack the camp.” The words slipped out in a whisper, and when Ashwood paused to glance at me, I wished I could snatch them back. I shook my head. “Never mind.”

The Sentry faced me, tossed back his hood, and made slow, even gestures at an angle that caught the cold moonlight. The blood crafter’s betrayal has already alerted Dravenmoor to believe the child melder is alive.

“But the missives were intercepted and—”

Roark interjected with a wave of his hand. Her Draven correspondence did not receive a response. They are no fools and will suspect their plans have been foiled.

The Sentry repeated his gestures three times before I nodded my understanding.

“I could’ve lived a quiet life.” My teeth ground together for a breath before I went on. “I wouldn’t have harmed anyone if you’d just left me alone. Now kingdoms are threatening kingdoms and you’ve torn innocent families apart. For what? What does the king want from me? Why is fusing bone to bone so damn coveted?”

Roark didn’t move his hands for a long pause. I did not want this either. If it were left to me, you would never have made it out of the raids. Now keep up .

The callousness of his silent words settled like sour venom on my tongue. He despised me, cared nothing for Edvin, Hilda, or Kael, and I was expected to trust this man with my life.

The Stav had a torch lead at the front of the line, but no other lanterns or flames were permitted, an attempt to keep out of sight from beasts and any enemy arrows in the trees. The trouble was it made it damn impossible to see.

Soon enough, the Sentry had to take hold of my wrist. Roark Ashwood moved like he was made of the wood, at least the darkness of it. He kept a swift pace, never removing his grip on my arm.

His ax was made of fine materials—bronze on the head and a black handle carved in runes. Not manipulated bone like most Stav blades. Odd for such a man to trust me with a weapon.

Then again, I wasn’t certain Sentry Ashwood knew how to truly fear. He was deadly enough he was always the predator.

Night mists thickened, the cold deepened, and the slope increased. My fingers around the handle of the ax had long grown numb from the chill. If anyone lunged, I would hardly be able to strike.

Whispers from nearby guards found me. Some wondered what happened to the rest of House Bien during the raids.

Dead. Most of the replies insisted my mother and father were slaughtered.

I ground my teeth, a new sort of anger boiled in my chest. So many seemed to know my story, but I did not.

All I had were screams and the haunting crackle of flames. Tense arms and muffled voices, running through mists.

A shudder rolled down my spine. There was a truth I could almost make out—someone pulled me away from the terror of the raids. Someone took me to that young house with gentle Gammal.

But I did not know how I would ever learn the truth.

My lungs ached by the time Roark paused in front of a small ring of huts tucked within a copse of aspen trees.

In the center was a fire pit with iron hooks for cooking, and casks of ale were still stacked against the mudded walls of every structure.

The Sentry pointed toward a shanty near the back edge of the camp. He pressed a palm to his chest, a signal that was his to use, and now it would be shared with…me.