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

Chapter 14

14

Lyra

Loath as I was to admit it, traveling beside Roark was not horrid. The man knew how to avoid the rockiest paths. He moved like a wraith, drifting from shadow to shadow, and kept us out of the heat of the day better than others.

On the winding earthen paths that carved through the damp and mists of the wood, it was in those moments when I learned the Sentry’s face could seem…gentle.

Roark said little and was never unaware. Still, when the trees tangled in leafy canopies overhead and chirps of forest birds sang out in the distance, Ashwood seemed at ease, like he could breathe easier.

It must’ve been the Draven in him.

We descended a few rocky pathways that carved across the hillside like jagged claw marks.

Until we faced a flat pebbled ledge. Roark paused and, without looking at me, held out a water skin for me to take.

Gods, the man was a conundrum. One moment his eyes were bright and heated, like he had a soul of passion buried beneath his scowls. Next, he was cold as a frost storm in the jagged peaks.

I snatched the skin with my tethered wrists and tilted the spout to my lips. With the back of one hand, I wiped away the dribble and followed Ashwood’s stare.

Fifty paces down the hill was an arch made of thick slabs of stone and oak beams. The gates towered higher than ten men standing one on top of the other. The front entrance was blockaded by an iron portcullis, and watchtowers guarded every curve. Beyond the gates were dark speckles of homes, shops, and the gabled palace in the center.

“Stonegate,” I whispered.

Roark let out a soft breath and stepped onto the wider path that would lead down to the gates.

Hillside cottages and hunting cabins tucked in tall grass and trees materialized as we walked farther.

A few folk loitered about, noticing the commotion as we marched past their huts. The Stav were greeted with murmured respect and a few fists to the chest. I stepped closer to the center of the path, and stumbled over a stone. The Sentry caught me under the arm, steadying me against his own body.

All the gods. Chest to chest, I could feel the thud of Roark’s heartbeat against my own, I could make out the sharp edges of the scar that dug across his throat, and I could breathe in the leather and oakmoss on his skin.

It took a few moments to readjust, but the instant we were parted, the frigidness of the Sentry returned. He took hold of the chain between the irons on my wrists and urged us forward.

When we were on level ground, Stonegate appeared even more formidable than from above.

The journey from the sea was rocky and jagged, but trade roads webbed across treeless knolls on the back borders of the keep. There, carts and caravans could wrap around the dirt paths to the entrance and join the market square.

Parapets and arched walkways connected stone walls to more stone walls. Stonegate was an endless maze of gates and towers.

All at once, the reality of what this meant crashed over me like a slab from the walls surrounding the city.

Roark slid one palm to the small of my back, as though he sensed the scrape of fear suffocating my every thought.

Gentle nudges kept me moving forward.

Shouts from Stav Guards in the towers echoed down the outer walls. Ram horns bellowed, announcing the arrival of the guard.

Heavy clanks from chains and rope released the portcullis, bidding us welcome into the jaws of Stonegate.

The inner township was organized with straight lanes and roads leading to shops for grains, meats, satin ribbons, and leatherworks. A smith’s hut burned brightest from the roaring kiln, and hickory smoke from his hut coated the underlying hint of sweat and old ale.

The center path was paved in stone and did not bend on its way to the palace. My lungs ached and my legs protested when we made our way up a steep incline toward the royal house. It was the largest dwelling I’d ever seen.

It was made of three levels, with thatched rooftops that drew to a sharp point over nearly every window, and each doorway was built with sturdy black oak and topped with war shields bearing the white wolf head in the center. All around the courtyard and lower longhouses, ferns and evergreen shrubs grew in thick rows, as though the palace had burst from the bedrock in the center of a forest.

The late hour ensured there were few people in the streets, and most cottages were shrouded in black like the sky. Anyone lingering nearby curled back when the huddle of Stav approached.

With both hands, Roark pressed against the doors at the entrance of the palace. A gust of wind blew against my cheek when he shoved the heavy wood open, revealing a gaping entry hall with arched rafters and iron chandeliers. Servants were there to greet us and moved almost at once to gather satchels and packs off the shoulders of the guard.

Roark tossed back his hood. More than one servant dipped their chins and shuffled to the other side of the hall, avoiding his attention. Now, more than before, I suspected his cruelty was shown in shadows. These folk were too frightened to admit what the Sentry did after he dropped his austere mask.

I stepped back and ignored the deliberate glance Ashwood shot my way. His brow furrowed, almost as though he were frustrated with my dismissal of him. I tossed the notion aside; it was utterly foolish. No mistake, Roark Ashwood was glad to be rid of me.

A hand curled around my arm. Emi offered a slight smile. “I’m to show you to your chamber.”

“I want to see my people.”

Emi gestured across the hall. A servant who was dressed in a dark tunic handed Kael, Hilda, and Edvin clay cups of a steaming drink. They were still guarded by five Stav, but unharmed.

Kael’s bright eyes found me over his cup. He winked and mouthed, Tea, stop worrying .

Convinced they were not being poisoned, I let my shoulders slump. “Why can’t I stay with them?”

“You are the melder, that means you have chambers of your own.”

“Is King Damir going to execute Kael?”

Emi sighed. “The king will be more inclined to keep you breathing than kill him, and you’ve proven well enough you’ll spill your own blood to protect him. Darkwin knowingly concealed a melder—it is against the ways of the Stav. He’ll face consequences for it; you know that, right?”

I gave Emi a terse nod and followed her toward a wide archway that opened into narrow corridors.

Drawn by the sear of his gaze, I looked once more over my shoulder.

Roark’s eyes burned like molten steel, his jaw taut like it was made from the stone at the gates. The way he looked at me, I could not tell if the Sentry feared for my life, or if he could not wait to take it himself.

Tall ceilings were made with rafters crossing this way and that, and more wrought iron chandeliers held dripping tallow candles. Bone blades, arrows, and whalebone bows decorated the walls, all symbols of King Damir’s bold bloodline that won the land of Jorvandal through the centuries.

Emi stopped in front of a door painted in thin vines with violet blossoms on the corners. “Rest tonight.”

“I doubt I will.”

“Try. In the morning wait for the escort to arrive, then you’ll meet the king and queen.”

“You won’t take me?” I was ashamed at the tremble in my voice, ashamed there was a strange, twisted piece of me that took a bit of comfort in the familiarity of Emi Nightlark.

“I am to see to your brother and the others.” She hesitated. “Would you like me to return?”

“No. I hope you are sincere and keep those I love safe.”

“You’ve no reason to trust me, or any of us, but I hope you give us the chance to try.”

Without another word, Emi strode back down the corridor, unbuckling her vambraces and a few tight braids in her hair as she went, leaving me with the dreaded weight of loneliness.