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

Chapter 17

17

Lyra

Two guards opened the doors to the savory scents and riotous company. My stomach churned when Roark took us inside.

I anticipated endless rows of courtiers. There were few in the room. A select few Stav Guard, a lady or two in pale gowns.

Roark led us down a woven runner, hardly glancing at the others.

Despite the small numbers, the great table was topped with hocks of meat and roasted roots and nuts, and seated at the head was King Damir. Chairs down the sides were reserved for his consorts, jarls, and Stav officers. Baldur was already fiddling with a curled lock of hair on a young courtier at his side.

My steps were stiff, but I dared lift my gaze to the king.

King Damir shared the same storm gray eyes as his son, although his hair was paler and speckled in silver strands. His beard reached his chest, braided in two, and three bone shards pierced his ears on each side.

Rugged and handsome like his heir, but there was an emptiness in his gaze, like he’d long ago lost the light his son still kept in his own.

The king rose, a tall drinking horn in his grip, and watched our approach.

Roark dipped his chin in a bow of respect. He did not gesture to the king, did not sign a word, merely nudged the small of my back until I stepped forward. Damir’s gaze was cold, but the warmth of his smile fought to find a balance.

I mimicked the Sentry and dipped my chin. “Highness.”

“Tell me your name.”

“Lyra.”

“What is your house sigil? Full name, girl. Or shall I look to the runes you have marked on your neck?”

My palm covered the altered symbols behind my ear. Air grew hot; walls were too near, too confined.

Roark came to my side, the storm in his eyes flashed like a summer squall.

Against the slope of my spine, his fingers moved. Slowly. It took half a breath to realize he was speaking. Small movements I’d studied on the ship, in the stack of parchment he’d sent, in the memory of his bones in my mind.

Don’t fall , was all he said, again and again, ensuring I got his message.

My insides cinched. Don’t let me fall.

Kael had always admired him, and it only made Roark’s actions in Skalfirth more of a betrayal. Then in moments like this, I considered there was more to the Sentry than I knew.

“When the king speaks, it is customary to honor him with a response.” Baldur’s rough grumble drew me back.

My heart rate slowed, and my breaths grew even again. I met Roark’s stare. The look he gave me wasn’t one of irritation that I’d gotten lost in a bit of fear. He gave me a subtle nod as if to tell me I could speak, I could do this moment.

“My sigil was changed, sire,” I said, voice soft. There was no purpose to hide the truth, not anymore. “But it once said House Bien.”

Damir clucked his disapproval. “Strange how the Norns of fate play their games. The same house name of the lost melder. How convinced I was you had died all those seasons ago. Who took you from your house, girl? Where were you hidden?”

I swallowed. “I don’t recall, sire. Those early seasons are difficult to remember.”

“Try.”

I shifted on my feet, then took a small step closer to the dais. “I mostly remember living in a young house, then being given to House Jakobson on my twelfth summer. But…sometimes, I can remember someone…running with me.”

My eyes fluttered closed. A voice, a rough shadow of a young man’s beard. The race of a heartbeat beneath a leather jerkin.

See that she’s forgotten.

I shook my head and blinked my eyes open. “I don’t recall much more than that, sire.”

King Damir’s grin was like a wolf about to strike. “To have you here now, what a gift it is from the gods.”

A side door opened and Prince Thane materialized, a woman with ink black hair toppled in curls on her head clung to his arm. Queen Ingir had pale skin like morning cream and wide, deep-set eyes that seemed to swallow everyone in the room in one sweeping glance. The queen was haunting, but lovely, and moved like her feet never truly touched the ground.

Attendants floated at her back. The prince’s mouth was set, but when his eyes found me—or perhaps it was Ashwood—he gave a subtle eye roll, like he wanted us to know the entrance was all rather ridiculous.

“You’ve begun without me, husband,” Queen Ingir said in a voice that did not match her delicate features. Sharp as shaved glass, and directly aimed at the king.

Damir did not face her when he spoke. “There is nothing that requires your direct approval, wife, so I cannot possibly think of why I would wait.”

Ingir flushed, the color hardly shading her cheeks, but allowed her son to offer up the tall chair to the right of the king. She greeted the king’s consorts with a generous smile. Truth be told, I thought they might be the folk the queen adored the most for taking her husband’s attention.

Thane sat next to his mother and slumped in the seat.

Damir, mouth tight, returned his gaze to me. “You’ve concealed your craft, Lyra Bien. A crime against the laws of our fealty treaties.”

What was I supposed to say? Bone crafters were free to join the Stav, serve the king in Stonegate, live within their villages as crafters for jarls, or enjoy their own solitary lives. Not melders. Submission to Stonegate was their destiny. As little as I knew about the past, I understood what would become of me if ever the scars in my eyes were found.

Damir stroked the braids of his beard for a pause. The king was a formidable man. Tall and broad as any warrior, with a posture that seemed impossible to bend in the slightest. “Would you believe me if I told you I wish you were not here either? You make the death of Melder Fadey so real.”

There was a touch of sincere grief in the king’s eyes. Like he might’ve truly cared for the fallen melder.

Damir cleared his throat and paced in front of me. “But what does it matter? You are here, and I wish to witness your craft.”

Roark’s hand remained on the curve of my back. Where disgust should’ve been for the Sentry’s touch, I took a bit of strength. “What if I do not wish my craft to be used in Stonegate?”

A few gasps rippled down the table. Queen Ingir locked me with a narrowed gaze. Even Roark shifted.

“I would respond with a query of my own,” Damir said, voice calm as an untouched lake. “What rumors have you heard that would bring such fear in your eyes at the very thought? What life do you think you will lead here?”

I swallowed through a thick knot, snagging the gaze of Prince Thane. He gave me a nod of encouragement, but I read more into the constant bounce of his knee beneath the table. Now was not the time for brazen truths.

“I’ve…I’ve been rather sheltered. All I knew was to fear my craft. Forgive me, my king, my few interactions with the Stav of Stonegate have only ended in death.”

I drew in a sharp breath, but kept still when the king took one of my hands between his. “Understandable and unfortunate. I ensure our people are well guarded here and the consequence of safety brings with it rumors and lies of what goes on inside these tight walls.”

Logical, perhaps even true. Emi was not starved or battered. Even Kael spoke highly of his days within the fortress.

But fear of my craft was potent. If it was not so important—or formidable—melders would not be bound into servitude.

“Craft was meant to bring peace and light to our lives,” King Damir went on. “That peace has been achieved with most craft, and you are part of that.”

I blinked to Prince Thane, the lone face I even dared consider trusting. The prince gave me another smile, another nod.

“There is not much known on melder craft,” I admitted. “Some say it harms the crafter. I’ve heard lore that it is a curse of greed.”

“Yes, and lore can often turn to fable with mere glimmers of truth left behind. Craft did not harm Fadey unless he did not use it often,” Damir said. “When craft awakens, it must be used, Lyra. Yours has done so. You’ll have no choice but to use it or it will become a beast scratching to get free. I am quite protective of your craft. You’ll note there are few here to witness our meet.

“The strength and power of melders is where those twisted tales of folklore emerge. There is more purpose to your gift than you realize. Greed to have the power I will teach you has become part of the frightening myths. They are believed enough that I have chosen to keep melders less known for their safety from our enemies. It was only beyond these gates that Fadey was lost to us.”

My thoughts spun and I bit back tears. I’d never heard all this, but there was something about the way the king spoke that left me wanting to believe it. I’d noticed a constant hum of warmth beneath my skin since suturing the bone to Kael’s spine. A new, unseen presence in my blood.

“Now.” The king tightened his hold on my hand, patting the top, almost fatherly. “You successfully fastened a soul bone to the living, true?”

I drew in a sharp breath. The dark figure in the mists back in Skalfirth had hissed something about souls. I shuddered, tearing my thoughts away from the shrieking glow of the haunt that consumed me. “What is a soul bone?”

“Bone taken from the dead,” the king said, “marked in runes that welcome the strength of that soul gone to Salur to unite with the ones left in this realm. That is the true power of the gods, the final gift in the legends of the Wanderer.”

Just like Gammal’s tales. It was the corruption that destroyed him.

King Damir did not seem to take the disastrous end of the Wanderer with any trepidation and barreled on. “A melder is a bridge to the magics. A connection that was meant to unify two beautiful affinities—the dead and the living. That is the bone you placed in Skalfirth.”

The bone in Kael was from a corpse.

“The shard was powerful. It drew me in,” I whispered.

The king hummed in the back of his throat. “A melder gives a mortal form a piece of an immortal soul. It strengthens them, brings vitality, more resistance to disease and death.”

What was the cost? How was I to explain the darkness, the shadows that swallowed me? It had been a world similar to my own, only more like a dark mirror. If it was such a gift, why was there a foreboding when the shadows overtook me?

“Of course, soul bones are rare, and it is not the only duty of a melder. Have you heard of a binding, Lyra?”

“No, sire.”

“It is a ritual of fealty. A true connection forged between me and my Stav as their king and commander. A sliver of their bone is melded to me. This creates a bond that is nigh unbreakable lest they wish to die from the power of it tearing them apart.”

My heartbeat quickened. “All Stav do this?”

“It is the mark of a Stav’s loyalty during their tenure. When they retire from the ranks, it is removed.” Damir clasped his hands behind his back. “However there is one Stav who will keep the bond until death. You’re to bind the Stav to me, and in return I will begin to prove to you Stonegate does not mean the end of your life, Lyra Bien. It is the beginning.”

The king looked over my shoulder when the same doors I’d entered opened with a groan.

My heart dropped.

“Kael.”