Chapter 29
29
Roark
Emi slept, curled on a pad of fur on the floor near the foot of the bed. She did not want to leave Thane.
I didn’t blame her.
Seeping gashes were slashed over the prince’s body. Bruises were swollen and black over his skin. But his chest rose and fell in steady breaths. Clean linen bandages encircled his bare chest where Lyra had placed the soul bone.
Thane wouldn’t be pleased. He didn’t protest soul bones like I did; his resistance to them was more aesthetic. The way they bulged in bodies like a nodule or growth went against his vanity. Lyra’s work was hardly noticeable.
I cared more for the nature of the soul inside him.
In my frenzy to save him, I struggled to pause long enough to sense the power of each bone. Corrupt and cruel bones could be felt if given the time to listen to their craft.
Thane was a man of honor. I had to hope his soul was strong enough to blot out any corruption of the fallen.
I leaned over my knees, forcing a smile as I gestured to the silence of the room. Wake up and I will point out the small lump often, you bastard .
“He’ll wake.”
I spun in the chair. Lyra held a tray with a tin cup and a plate of sliced pomes. Dark rims of fatigue shadowed her eyes, and for the first time she looked almost frail. Her dark hair was free around her shoulders, and the simple shift she wore was two sizes too big.
She placed the tray on a table beside the bed, studying Thane’s sleeping face. “He’ll wake, Roark.”
I slouched in the chair. Each arm felt as though it were made of stone. I didn’t respond.
Lyra pulled another wooden chair from against the wall and placed it beside me. “You should eat something, maybe go rest. I’ll watch over him.”
I shook my head.
“There is nothing more you can do.”
Against my leg, I used one hand to reply. He did not leave me .
Lyra blinked, her gaze scanning the scar across my throat. “How old were you?”
Twelve. Thane was fourteen.
“He didn’t know you, but stayed as you healed?”
I nodded. Three days and three nights, Thane stood by like a silent defender, seeing to it his father kept his word that healers could tend to the dying Draven boy they dragged in from the gates.
“You know, scars are considered attractive to Jorvan girls.”
A weak grin tried to spread over my mouth at the memory of the first words he spoke when I opened my eyes after I’d been found at the gates.
Lyra handed me the tin cup, refusing to pull it back, even when I refused twice. With an eye roll, I took the mug, steam from the herbal tea soothing a bit of the noxious fear. I wouldn’t let on lest she return one of those arrogant smiles.
The smile still came when I took my first drink.
Lyra fiddled with a snag in her shift when silence thickened. “May I ask how you were injured?”
I tapped the side of the mug for a long pause. My people .
“You said that, but how?” Lyra’s face wasn’t one of pity, more of anger. “How could they do such a thing to a child?”
Nightmares, strange memories, more and more of the night my standing in my own clan shifted was returning. I did not recall much, and wasn’t certain I wanted to know every dark truth of the raids, but I remembered enough to know Dravenmoor paid for those raids in blood.
I replied slowly. I made a fatal mistake .
Her eyes narrowed.
I shouldn’t speak on it. There was no need to give up bits of a past so few knew. I kept going anyway. Cursed marks are carved when a clansman dies by another Draven’s hand, or a betrayal is committed. I was accused of both.
“You were a boy, surely nothing was intentional.”
It was not seen that way .
She wanted to ask, I could see it in her eyes, but Lyra dragged her bottom lip between her teeth, as if biting the question off before it could form.
I brushed a hand over her shoulder, drawing her attention.
I do not recall everything, the mark —I gestured at my scar— is a curse in a way and must have shadowed memories. But as time goes on, I recall more. One of my choices caused the death of the Draven prince. Where blood is taken, blood is given .
“The prince?” Lyra fiddled with the end of her hair. “Thane said you were found at Stonegate after—wait…you were found after the raids.”
I looked away. It was foolish to be speaking of this when so much was at risk, when I was half-convinced my nightmares of a silver-eyed girl in the darkness might be more than a dream.
Lyra drew in a sharp breath. “Roark, you were in the craft raids as a boy ? Weren’t you?”
I told you, I remember little but —I hesitated, my hand stilling in the air— I remember smoke, blood, and screams.
Her chin dropped. “So do I. When I was taken from Skalfirth, small moments from the raid started returning. Mostly in dreams.”
My stomach tightened. A muscle pulsed in my jaw. Why were we both all at once recalling moments of that bloody night?
“I’m not sure they’re even real,” she said. “But I remember my father. He…he had dark eyes and a deep laugh.” The corner of her mouth curved into a small smile, but it faded swiftly. “I remember the heat of fire on my face, and I think someone pulled me from the longhouse. I don’t know, but since using my craft, slowly my mind seems to recall horrors it wanted to forget.”
Perhaps it is better to forget , I responded. I would rather not remember any more .
“You did not deserve what was done to you,” Lyra insisted. “Forgive me, but customs or not, that is terrible. What I am assuming was an accident, gods, to punish a child in such a way…” Her voice trailed away like the words were too bitter to form.
How do you know it was an accident?
“I suppose I don’t.” She pointed at Thane. “But your eyes when you mentioned the dead prince looked a great deal like they do now—with this prince. Fear is in them, the kind that comes when someone does not want to live through heartache again. I had the same fear when Kael was dying on the jarl’s floor.”
I studied my palms for a breath. Emi would not have let him die .
“But I didn’t know that.” Lyra cleared her throat. “I understand you were under orders to force out the melding craft; Kael holds no bitterness…nor do I any longer. I know there is no returning for the two of us, but”—Lyra shifted in her chair, hesitating—“but Edvin and Hilda, they left behind children, a wife, and a new husband.”
I knew what she was asking. I am not the king here. Nor is Thane .
Her face fell. “Thought it was worth the ask.”
I leaned closer. In time, you could have enough of Damir’s respect to barter for their return .
“In time.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “How long might that be? When Edvin’s eldest boy is a man himself?”
I didn’t know how to respond. Once Damir had a crafter in his walls, the king became a bit of a collector of magic, believing it only added to his power. I doubted the two crafters would ever be welcome to live on the shores of Skalfirth again.
“I don’t mean to offend, but Dravenmoor sounds harsher than even Stonegate.” Lyra forced a small smile and picked at some of the fruit she brought for me. “Emi told me why she fled the clans.”
I nodded. The Draven clan holds little patience for bone crafters. Even when they are born of their own blood.
“How did Emi escape when she was only a girl?”
I sighed and sat back in my chair . She managed to send a raven to me with a plea for help. I had been here two summers already, and with Thane’s aid, we saw her safely behind the walls .
Lyra watched Emi sleep for a pause, then grinned. “I thought I’d hate her, but she’s rather likable. Started liking her on the longship when she forced Kael to walk.”
She is stubborn and aggravating. A little like another woman in Stonegate.
Lyra chuckled, but started picking at one fingernail. “I’m certain it’s…well, I’m sure it’s good to have someone from your own lands.”
I suppose .
A flush of pink washed over her cheeks. “You seem rather close. I, well, I hope you treat her well, Sentry Ashwood.”
One brow shot up and a grin followed, the first since Thane was harmed. Lyra avoided my gaze, and I took a bit of pleasure from it. With my center knuckle, I tilted her chin to me. Are you insinuating she is my lover? That curious about me?
She pulled her chin away, frowning. “I knew you’d be pompous about it. Gods. No, I’m not curious, it’s called conversation. Since I like Emi a great deal more, yet I’m stuck with you, I figured I’d better get to know you. Perhaps find out what she could possibly see in the Sentry.”
She spoke a great deal when nerves took over. My grin widened.
I took hold of her hand, spreading her palm so I could respond against her skin. She sees a cousin .
Lyra made a sort of choking sound when she drew in a sharp breath. “You’re blood?”
Why do you suppose she sent word to me when she needed help?
“Your reputation was my first guess.” This time, she didn’t pull away. “Folk in the kingdom call you Death Bringer.”
My lip curled. Because I will. Should anyone harm someone under my charge, I will kill them .
“I am under your charge.”
I didn’t respond but for a flick of my brow, a tilt of my head, and a final glimpse at the burn in her cheeks before I forced myself to pull back.
“He does not even speak out loud, yet I cannot find rest around him.”
I shot to my feet when Thane groaned and went to rub a hand against the bandages over his face.
Lyra caught his wrist. “Prince, don’t.”
He groaned again. “It itches. I’m going to go mad. One scratch and I’ll stop.”
She laughed softly. “We can find pastes to relieve it a bit.”
Blood pounded in my skull when Thane cracked his eyes and found me in the dim light. “What? Do I look as awful as you?”
Too close . I had to speak it twice, my hands were so unsteady. Guilt at nearly losing my oldest friend, guilt that it had happened at all, the whole of it burrowed in my chest, making it hard to draw a deep enough breath.
Thane sobered. “Looks like it is what you and I are fated to do, brother. Nearly die, then survive.”
“Well, you both might be fond of that,” Lyra said, tucking a fur tighter around Thane’s waist. “But I could do without it.”
“I will do as you say, Lyra Bien.” Fatigue was heady in Thane’s voice. “You frighten me more than the Sentry.”
The great hall was laden in tension and Queen Ingir still dabbed at her swollen, damp eyes. She had not stopped since word of Thane’s injury spilled through the corridors of Stonegate.
“A dozen Stav in Salur, five in the healer’s wing, one with a missing eye, and a prince nearly sent to the gods.” Damir’s features were ruddy with anger and aimed at his son, who seemed content to remain lost in his cups. “I want to know why you went beyond the gates.”
Only two days since I found Thane bleeding out in the wood and one of his eyes and top lip remained swollen and blackened with bruises; the wounds over his chest were still wrapped in pungent herb presses.
In every other way he was Thane—irritated he’d been forced into the great hall and content to drink his way through it.
“I should think it quite obvious, Father.” The prince filled his horn with more foamy ale.
Damir’s eyes flashed. Somewhere within the Jorvan king, I believed him to hold true affection for his son as more than an heir. But siring only one child left the king more concerned about continuing the Oleg line than Thane’s thoughts, hopes, and attributes.
“You should not have been there for any reason.”
“My lord,” Baldur began, “the prince explained he left with a small unit of Stav to set traps and markers along the roads out of concern for the Myrdan caravan when it brings his bride.”
“Thank you, Baldur,” Thane said through a long gulp of his ale. “I could not have explained my own thoughts and actions better if I spoke them myself.”
The king cursed. “Stupid fool. We will provide Stav aplenty for King Hundur.” Damir paced, his every step drew another whimper from the queen. “You were struck by ravagers?”
Thane shifted in his chair. One of his fingers traced the rim of the drinking horn. “They fought more like warriors, but they were led by Skul Drek. In fact, my numerous wounds are a shrine to the assassin. He could’ve done worse.”
My jaw pulsed in a touch of fear, knowing how truly near to Salur Thane had been.
“Worse?” Ingir wailed. “Look at you.”
“Well, if you must know, Mother”—Thane waved his drinking horn about—“the bastard might have more fear for our rule than we thought. Seemed the moment he saw the royal seal on my cloak, he thought twice about killing me.”
“Dravenmoor would know we’d storm their gates if the prince of the new empire were killed.” A deep grumble broke from Damir’s throat.
No one knew for certain where the assassin hailed from. Attacks against bone crafters and Stav Guard who willingly used soul bones merely left assumptions and suspicions pointed toward the enemy.
Thane sat back. “I’ve already received a lashing from the Sentry for sneaking away, I do not need more. I needed to see the roads cleared personally or I could not allow Yrsa to travel them.”
Thane was an honorable idiot. I would tell him as much the moment we were free of this damn hall.
He was right to fret over the princess. It mattered little to those standing against their union which of the pair died to prevent the vows. Thane merely drew the ire of the enemy first.
Damir spun on me. “I am told you took swift action to secure a soul bone in my son to save him.”
Yes . Gestures with Damir were direct and straightforward. Simple enough for Baldur to translate.
“The sort of thinking we need around this damn palace.” Damir butted his chest with mine. “You should be the king’s inner guard, Roark.”
It was the same request I’d heard since my eighteenth summer when I showed greater aptitude than most with the blade. I am honored, but will remain at the service of the prince .
“Why?” Damir had never pressed more. “Your station and rank would improve, along with your power to command.”
“I’m more tolerable, perhaps?” Thane’s voice dripped in irony.
Damir shot his son a narrow look, and before he fell back into shouts and rants, I offered a response I’d practiced more than once.
To serve the prince is to serve the future of the Oleg line .
Damir returned a tight glare when Baldur repeated my words, missing a few here and there.
“True enough. I will let it go, for now.” The king turned to face some of the courtiers who surrounded the despondent queen. “We will honor the Sentry and the melder for their quick actions to save the prince. King Hundur and the princess will be arriving within the fortnight, then we will feast, and praise our gods that the line of Oleg lives on.”
A thrilled sort of applause filtered through the hall.
Lyra deserved the honor. I deserved nothing. Thane never should’ve been beyond the gates.
His near death was mine to shoulder. Not praise.