Chapter 39
39
Roark
When the sun faded, moonlight brought out the darker pieces of a soul. Chaos and blood always followed a meld. No matter how privately the king kept the melding of soul bones, he still added more Stav to the walls after the craft was used, as though anticipating trouble.
It was no different tonight.
Myrdan guards were the overwhelming presence of blades in the hall. More Stav were in the towers, on foot, and in town. But since Lyra had melded Tomas’s jaw, cracked it open again, and added Hundur’s claws, there was still no hint of ravagers, no Dark Watch.
Tomas, the bastard, hadn’t shown his face, and I doubted we would see much of him until the day of Thane’s wedding. Perhaps not even then if we were fortunate. The way he’d looked at Lyra with such disdain, such dark rage, I would not mind if he scurried his pitiful ass back to Myrda like a haunt in the night.
Silence added only more weight to the discomfiting sense that something was out of place in the great hall. Tension gathered in each muscle, from my shoulders to legs, but there were no horns from the watchtowers, no calls from the border walls.
And Lyra was unharmed.
Truth be told, it was one of the few nights I’d seen her laugh with her head tossed back, a few crystal tears in the corners of her eyes. Lyra had joined the great hall, silver scars mottled with dyes. A few whispers had already spread about unfortunate Tomas. Damir did not want any guests beyond the inner chambers of Myrda and his inner guards to recognize Lyra as the melder.
She sat on the right hand of Thane, but Darkwin and their folk from Skalfirth took her other side.
I could watch Lyra laugh all night.
One palm gripped the crescent moon pommel on my blade and I turned the opposite direction. Stonegate might be quiet, but the night wasn’t over, and I couldn’t soothe the sting of apprehension.
I prowled the walls, keeping sight of the high table with the kings and queens, and more than one look at Lyra. No one spoke to me, no one even seemed to realize I was there.
To be the Sentry meant becoming a man worthy of note in one moment, and an insignificant shadow in the next.
One corner had a huddle of men pounding different sizes of drums. Others plucked at strings or blew over panpipes and lurs.
There was a man standing atop the center table, with hair cropped to his scalp and a beard that was twisted in a tight knot with bone beads clicking as he spoke. The Skald had enraptured half the hall in a new tale of the Wanderer and how he defeated a Jotunn’s bear before the creature could devour one of his children.
A tale of how the great Red Ravines were carved into the land from the giant paws of the beast clawing free of the Wanderer’s bone snare.
I walked on, hand on my blade, head turned inward, searching, and searching, and searching for a threat, the slightest taste of retaliation for the soul bones.
No one shared my discontent.
Damir was enraptured by a man from Myrda and a woman from one of the lower jarldoms. I expected him to take them both to his chambers soon enough. Ingir was engaged in chatter with the Myrdan queen, and Hundur could not get enough of his new bones.
I made it to the other side of the hall where Baldur stood, nursing a tall drinking horn.
“Ashwood.” He took a long drink. “Why so stiff? Double watch has been placed at the walls.”
I ignored him and looked to the empty upper eaves.
Baldur snorted and took another drink; the last of his ale drizzled down his chin. “By the gods, man. Go find a damn hole for your cock. Does wonders for tension.”
I dodged his hand when he tried to clap my shoulder, like we were true Stav brothers. We weren’t. Baldur let out a wet chuckle and staggered off.
Loathe him as I did, I still knew Baldur wasn’t entirely wrong. There was little to do in here when the trouble I kept seeking had yet to rear its head. I gave in to the pull.
One step at a time, I made my way over to the bench between Thane and Lyra. With my palm, I shoved at Thane, forcing him to scoot down to a new position as I took his place.
“By all means, Sentry Ashwood, please sit with us.” Thane lifted his plate and placed it in front of his new seat.
I ignored him and turned toward Lyra. Súlka Bien .
A bit of pink dusted Lyra’s cheeks. “Sentry Ashwood. Decided to join us after all your lurking?”
Noticed me, did you? You were the only one .
“I wouldn’t be so certain. I saw many gazes of curious ladies following you around the room. What brought you here now?”
“Perhaps he wanted to sit beside you, Ly,” Hilda murmured, low enough I didn’t think anyone but us heard. Lyra tilted her head, eyes wide, as though silently communicating something hidden to the woman.
I tapped the table, drawing her attention back to my hand. Perhaps I did .
Thane leaned in, his mouth too close to my ear, exactly how I hated it. And he knew it. “You can do better than that, you ass. I’m embarrassed for you.”
I shoved him back with an elbow to the chest. The prince coughed and laughed, rubbing the ache off his stitched doublet.
The corners of her lips curled. Lyra made quick work of gathering a silver plate and topping it with strips of roasted pheasant, boiled spiced roots, and a pudding made of star plums. When it was positioned in front of me, she handed me a horn and tipped the ewer. “Tell me when to stop, Sentry.”
I would never .
Thane groaned. “Gods, I should not have helped you find your words, they’re mortifying.”
Lyra topped off the drinking horn, then slid close enough our legs brushed. “You say that often, Prince. What do you mean you helped him find words?”
“Has he not told you? I’m appalled. It is one of my grandest achievements.”
I shook my head. This was the prince’s favorite boast.
“Roark’s injury robbed him of his voice, but we started communicating with a few gestures. It inspired pages and pages of signals and words we memorized together those first seasons. We’d add or adjust if we pleased.”
“Thane,” Yrsa said with a small grin. “You told me you had tomes from the healers on hand speak and you took it from there.”
He likes to pretend he invented a new language , I added.
“Begging all of your wretched pardons”—Thane feigned disgust—“those previous writings were mere inspiration to my brilliance. It was meant to be made of secret signals for myself and Roark to cause a great deal of angst in these walls. For the most part, we’ve succeeded, but you, Lyra Bien, have picked up on it rather quickly. I’m curious how. Most Stav Guard take months and still aren’t as fluent as you.”
“I’ve taught myself since coming here, but after a few days, I realized each gesture is almost burned in my memory. I know it sounds impossible, but once I see them, the words are felt more than understood. I simply know them. Doesn’t make sense, I know.”
“Almost like something wants you to hear him. How fascinating.” Emi raised one brow, staring at me over the rim of her horn.
I responded with a frown, and stifled the urge to kick her shin under the table.
“It is interesting,” Thane said. “Maybe a unique trait of a melder. But I don’t recall Fadey being the same.”
Fadey hated me and would rather cut off my hands than listen to them , I insisted.
Thane tilted his drinking horn my way. “Well, you hated Fadey.”
“Why did you hate the last melder so much?” Lyra’s eyes glistened.
He was a pompous ass.
Talk shifted to other things, like predictions on who would become lovers after tonight, how many times Ingir would complain about Damir’s presence at the wedding, and how Lyra wanted the prince to place Jarl Jakobson in the back of the hall so he could not see a thing.
Food grew heavy in bellies, and some folk abandoned the hall to sneak away to rooms. Damir had taken his two new interests to his chambers. Ingir, too, had done away with the debauchery. Hundur dozed in his throne, and it was the first time his wife seemed at ease as she picked at a few extra bites on her plate.
Thane and Emi dug their heels into an argument on who was the better knife fighter, and even dragged a breathy laugh from my chest.
“Ly.” Darkwin nudged her shoulder. “I’ve had all the ale I can stomach for the night.”
He winked when she rolled her eyes. Darkwin had a woman with dark curls wrapped around his arm.
Lyra bid a swift farewell, then returned to her place at my side, her thigh pressed firmly to mine.
“What interesting folk you claim, Melder Bien.” A Myrdan woman with dark hair fashioned in a circlet of intricate braids, and each finger dressed in silver rings, leaned over the table. “Forgive me, I overheard the prince speak of the former melder as though you might be like him. I took a guess. I’m Lady Solveig, and have been interested in meeting the young melder.”
Lyra shuddered at my side. She didn’t respond.
Yrsa lifted her chin. “Lady Solvieg, what need do you have for the melder?”
“So I was right.” The lady returned a wolfish sort of grin toward Lyra. “No need, my lady. Mere curiosity.”
“Regarding what?” Lyra cracked a finger under the table.
Where no one could see, I took hold of her palm and rubbed the same finger, as though soothing the knuckle from the pop.
Solveig grinned, as innocent as a viper in the grass. “I merely find it fascinating the Jorvan king keeps you in his hall.”
“She is not one of my father’s hounds, Lady,” Thane grumbled.
“Of course.” Solveig snickered. “I only mean, with the history of your disappearance, and the vengeance our enemies must feel, well, it places all our heads under the blade in a way.”
Lyra blinked. “I would never intentionally bring harm to anyone.”
“I’m not sure Tomas Grisen would agree.”
“Lady Solvieg.” Yrsa clapped her drinking horn on the table. “You are crossing a dangerous line.”
The woman feigned stun. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I should not have said a word.” Solveig dipped her chin, but lifted a glare at Lyra. “If you care for your prince and my princess, Melder, I do hope you will consider staying out of sight. The Dravens care more for your blood than the previous melder since their prince died trying to hide you, after all.”
Violence was no stranger, and it throttled me now. I had never slaughtered a woman for insults, but tonight seemed a good time for a first.
Solveig took note and chuckled. “Then again, you already have your own Draven watchdog.”
Yrsa shot to her feet. “Gerta Solveig, leave this hall. You will not step foot at the royal vows. I will personally cast blood wards to bar you out. Should you attempt it, I’ll be certain my father returns you to Myrda in chains.
For the first time, Solveig’s face paled. No lady of Myrda would want to be excluded from the royal wedding. The woman hesitated for a pause, then lowered her head and scurried away.
There was rage inside me, unwise and unexpected. Lyra’s shoulders curled, and the light that was in her eyes not moments before dimmed.
“Think nothing of it, Lyra,” Thane insisted.
“Truly.” Yrsa lifted her horn. “Solveig has yearned for the eye of House Grisen since our gentry studies. She must’ve heard about what happened.”
“It isn’t like Hundur is being silent about it,” Thane snapped.
Yrsa’s mouth tightened but she nodded in agreement.
Lyra gave them both a tentative grin, but it was a mask. There was pain behind the mottled dyes in her eyes.
I moved my palm higher on her leg and took on a firmer, near-possessive grip. She sucked in a sharp breath and shifted closer. Lyra held my open palm over her leg, a silent encouragement to never let go.
I didn’t. Not until more drunken fools tried to speak with her, some begging for their own claws like Hundur’s.
Through the corridors, I kept a hand on the small of her back until we reached her chamber door.
“Is it true?” Lyra turned to me. “What Solveig said? Did the heir of Dravenmoor die trying to take me from the raid?”
I winced.
“That is my answer, then.” Her tone grew cold.
I waited until she lifted her gaze back to mine. I don’t recall everything about that night. But I know the prince helped hide you .
“Why?”
I didn’t know what to say, how to explain what I wasn’t entirely certain I understood myself.
Lyra studied her hands for a breath. “I keep having these…dreams. Someone is holding me and running through the wood. At our backs there’s only smoke and screams.” She rubbed her brow with her fingers. “He tells me to keep my eyes closed. What if it’s not a dream? What if it’s a memory?”
Dammit. Her dreams aligned with my own, and I couldn’t explain any of it.
I don’t know. I brushed a lock of her dark hair off her brow. Queen Elisabet hates Damir’s use of soul bones. But her son had mercy on a child .
There was a new somberness in her smile. “Then I will always have a debt I cannot repay.”
She did not know that I did too.
I touched my thumb to her bottom lip, tugging gently. Ravagers have ways of knowing when bones are melded. Be on guard these next days. Royal vows make threats worse.
“I don’t go anywhere alone, thanks to you.”
Sometimes it was not enough. It was not the ravagers I did not trust; they were predictable enough. It was the one who led them.
Lyra turned to me. “If it is true. If an enemy gave his life for mine, I cannot—will not—ever be the melder Damir desires, Roark. I don’t want to meld for Stonegate, and I know you might find that treasonous and cowardly, but—”
I cut off her words with a kiss, hard and deep. Lyra moaned against my lips, her arms wrapping around my neck.
How long I took her mouth, I didn’t know, but when I pulled back her lips were full and swollen, her visible silver scars pieces of moonlight.
I pressed a palm to her cheek, and with my other hand, I said, You are no coward, Lyra. You are no monster. Your soul is too bright .
Lyra laughed softly. “You’re not the first to mention the brightness of my soul.” I tilted my head, but she waved the thought away. “Never mind.”
Shoulders to hips, I pulled her closer. I regret taking you from a safer home, but I am not a good man. I have no regrets that you are here .
She dragged her plump bottom lip between her teeth. Her fingertip traced the wolf head stitched over my gambeson. “You are unexpected, Roark Ashwood.”
And you’d be wise to keep a distance. I didn’t lie when I said I am not a good man .
She stepped closer, arching her neck so our noses nearly touched. “You never truly know a heart until you see the darkness inside. I might like to see yours.”
I tilted her chin, our noses grazing. My fingers danced against her cheek. Lyra closed her eyes, listening, feeling the words. That would be a mistake .
Her cheeks lifted in a grin. “You don’t frighten me, Sentry Ashwood.”
She rose on her toes and kissed me sweetly. I craved more, a beast wanting to devour her. My fingers dug into her waist before I broke away, my brow pressed against hers. I will be here on watch tonight .
Lyra took a step back and opened the door to her chamber. “Then I will sleep well.”
I flattened a palm against her door when it was closed and the lock clicked in place. A simple declaration—to sleep well knowing I was here—but it cut beneath my ribs, a molten blade to the heart.
After the life I had lived, Lyra Bien would be wise not to trust me. I’d be half-decent if I left her be, if I kept a watchful distance.
I settled in front of the door, hand on my blade, senses alert. Trouble was, I wasn’t certain there was much decency left in me.