Chapter 19
19
Lyra
Outside the king’s chamber, Roark took his place against the wall. I didn’t need to look to know his gaze followed me until the door closed at my back.
King Damir had one hand on the edge of the hearth as he slowly sipped from a drinking horn, watching the flames. The king kept his hair loose over his shoulders, and a pale tunic hung undone from his trousers.
“Lyra.” He grinned. “Come in.”
I kept my hands clasped in front of my body, stopping in the center of the chamber. The space was wide and arched, filled with benches and high-backed chairs covered in soft furs. A chandelier made of antlers was overhead and held at least three dozen tall candles.
“I heard you know how to handle a blade. Apparently, you pulled one on my Sentry in Skalfirth.”
“I did not pull it on the Sentry, Your Grace. I pulled it on myself.”
Damir made a low grunt in his throat. “There won’t be any of that now, am I clear?”
I swallowed with a nod, but said nothing, made no promise.
“I want to speak with you about your duty as a melder without so many prying eyes. But you must understand, to meld brings risks, Lyra. It is the lot the silver scar delivers to those born with the curse. Ravagers of the assassin Skul Drek are often sent by the Draven court whenever a melder works.”
“How do they know, sire?”
“I suspect spies and traitors have something to do with it,” said Damir. “But when you meld at my request, I will see to it precautions are taken.”
“I melded today.” I stared down at my palms as though I might see the gold threads on my fingertips. “Will they retaliate?”
“Perhaps. They seem keener to prevent us from melding soul bones than binding bones. Souls bound to another bring more power, you see.”
Damir returned the horn to a table near the hearth and sat in one of the chairs. The king crossed one ankle over his knee, his gaze never leaving me. “Soul bones are offered to Stav Guard advancing in rank. That is your main purpose as my melder. So you can see why the Draven folk despise you, for you, Lyra Bien, are what makes my army stronger.”
Dread weighed heavy in my chest from the unshakable fear of my own craft, of being tossed into the mirrored land where the shadow and his glowing eyes would at last catch hold of me.
Damir took a slow drink. “Rank melding is a practice restored from the myths of the Wanderer by my father’s father.”
Heat prickled beneath the neckline of my gown. “The craft that destroyed the Wanderer’s kingdom?”
“Ah, you’ve been reading from the lore.” Damir’s lip twitched. “Many tales are meant to teach lessons. That version of the tale warns of greed, does it not, Lyra?”
I didn’t disagree, but I did not agree either. Tales were there for us to learn where caution ought to be taken in our lives.
“My grandfather studied myths and sagas to near obsession,” said the king. “He won our place in these lands during old wars, but he also found a new use of melder craft. With the aid of a bone crafter, my grandfather marked the breastbone of his own father in a summons to the realm of the gods—a soul bone.”
“Like the lore of the Wanderer demanding the power of the god-queen.”
Damir lifted a brow but grinned. “Yes. My grandfather believed the god-queen marked the bones used by her husband to summon the power of the fallen. It worked, Lyra. It wasn’t only myth.”
I cracked a knuckle. “So your grandfather melded his father’s bone to him?”
Damir gave a wolfish smile. “He did. The soul bone provided wisdom, like our father-god. Strength, like the god of war. Compassion, from the goddess of the heart. Insight, health, cunning. Power flowed once again as it did when the Wanderer held the gifts of craft.”
Those gifts came from corruption and deceit in the folklore, and I was not so certain much had changed.
“Once my grandfather realized melding soul bones to living bone brought such gifts to his own abilities, he added more and more. He began using a melder to armor his warriors with the bones of those who had fallen in battle. Bones from the strongest among them. Not only did the king gain strengths, but his army became a true threat against our enemies.”
King Damir had large, rounded shoulders and thighs. His knuckles were thick and looked nearly jagged. Was it his natural figure or could it be that bones of the dead were melded onto his own?
“Melded bone becomes a conduit for the strengths of the fallen soul to flow into the living body. It becomes an armor that never leaves,” Damir explained. “For some it is so fierce not even the strike of blades would cause harm.”
All gods. He was talking of an indestructible force.
“You understand what I am saying, Lyra? My grandfather discovered how to create a true, undefeatable, Berserkir army. We have continued the tradition in Jorvandal. It keeps Myrda desperate to be our allies through marriage treaties, and it keeps Dravenmoor seething with their hatred that we have power and they do not.”
I took a step for one of the chairs, placing my hands on the fur draped over the back. “But there is a reason this angers Dravenmoor. It takes from the dead, from souls. They use soul craft, yes?”
Leave the souls . It was the plea—not a threat—of the phantom in the dark mirror land.
Was this what he meant?
“Dravens do not despise us because we absorb the strength of fallen souls. They have done worse with their twisted craft.” Damir’s mouth tightened. “They are angered because they cannot overpower us. They want to slaughter melders to level the battlefield, Lyra. For without melders, soul bones would never be. You see why you must not step outside the gates without protection? More than me, they will strike at you. That is saying a great deal, for Queen Elisabet of Dravenmoor would sooner slit my throat than talk peacefully.”
I knew little of the Draven royal line—only rumors passed on by Skald tales or hungry traders in Skalfirth that the queen was a fearsome woman who could rend the soul of her own people with the flick of her hand.
“Craft was meant to be unified.” Damir’s voice drew me away from my thoughts. “Dravens do not agree. They use their soul craft to manipulate and punish their folk. It is cruel. Look at our Sentry. His people tortured him, left him scarred and brutalized as a mere boy.”
I blinked, a little horrified.
“What we do here is for the protection and benefit of our folk,” Damir said.
By creating his manipulated Berserkir army. I rubbed the chill off my arms. “If I may ask, sire, why give such power to the Stav? Forgive me, but why not meld soul bones only to you?”
“If I found soul bones powerful enough to leave me invincible, perhaps I might.” Damir chuckled. “Stav deserve the honor of the gods as much as their king. This brings us back to rank melding. Within the fortnight, four Stav Guard will be named captains. Their honor is a soul bone, which you will place within them. The same as you did for Stav Darkwin.”
Damir uncrossed his ankle and leaned his elbows onto his knees. “There is more you must do, Lyra. What I am about to ask, I urge you to speak truthfully. When you meld the bones, tell me, is there anything you feel, anything you see in your mind’s eye?”
My throat went dry. Stun must have been painted across my face. Damir grinned like he’d won some grand victory.
“These lands are filled with the fallen of the first kings. Warriors who had craft from the Wanderer. Fadey explained there is a feeling, a sort of glow, that led him in the direction of unmarked burial mounds from across the centuries.”
“He did not go into the shadows?”
Damir cocked his head. “Shadows?”
Gods, what was the shadow and phantom I saw? “Nothing. I have felt something, but did not know what it meant.”
Damir’s face softened. “That is your craft reaching out to bridge the living souls to the fallen. You will follow it and tell us where to forage.”
“You use these bones for rank melding?”
“And for bone crafters to fashion stronger blades. But most are marked as soul bones. They save the lives of our armies, Lyra, like it did for Darkwin. It gave him strength from the fallen once it was melded.”
“What is it about the bones of the dead that add so much more power than the shard Kael gave to you?”
Damir sighed. “Some believe a soul yearns to keep living. To do so, it shares its strengths with its new soul. I will show you areas we’ve already harvested, and you will continue the search Fadey left behind.”
What about the phantom? His rage at my presence?
Before I could press the king again, Damir rose and took a step for the door, clearly finished with our conversation.
“As promised, I will give you time to get accustomed to living within Stonegate. Before the rank melding, I will have tomes sent for you to study and learn.” Damir led me toward the door, pausing before he dismissed me. “This is what the gods have prepared you to do, Lyra. Trust in that, and you will serve your people with honor.”