Chapter 2
Lyra
Briars and nettles blanketed the forest floor.
Night settled over the trees like a satin shroud.
Evening mists entwined the thick oaks and evergreens like claws slicing through the earth.
A heavy chill in the air lifted the hair on my arms and caused each puff of breath to billow like a cloud in front of my lips.
I hugged my middle. My thoughts were too wild, too frenzied, to think of something so inconsequential as the cold.
Roark kept a steady pace. His knuckles had gone white from grasping the handle of his bearded ax with such ferocity. Any notion of comfort among his clan had faded.
As though he sensed my study, Roark looked my way. A shudder lined his breath when he turned my palm up. The gentle brush of his fingers against my skin spoke words only meant for me. I need you to remain close.
I winced but kept my voice low. “You were the one who settled away from me on the boat at the fjord.”
Roark closed his eyes for half a breath, then barreled on, almost frantic. I cannot let on to the depth of my feelings for you. Not here. Last I confessed feelings for a melder, blood was spilled and my voice was lost.
Damn the gods. He was playing a role, a vicious prince who brought the melder along as something more like a prize he’d won.
Signs of his unease were all at once clearer—the way his shoulders never relaxed, the way his eyes kept scanning the rows of warriors, waiting for attack. The way his breaths were sharp and uneven.
Roark Ashwood was silently reliving the horrors of his past.
And I hadn’t even noticed.
Unable to stop it, I felt a knot of anger tighten in my lower belly, sharp as broken glass. Anger for the raids that destroyed both our houses. Anger for a boy who’d done nothing but confess he felt something for a girl, then lost his soul for it.
I tugged on the end of my braid. “I don’t know how to be near you anymore.”
Roark spoke swiftly against my palm. Then find a way. I do not know how much longer I can keep my darker soul at bay should anyone else disrespect you. Stay close.
He took a long stride, abruptly ending any protest or comment from me.
But I took note of the way he kept flexing and extending his fingers, the way his neck was corded in tension, the way every step forward was forced.
He was trying to keep the second, crueler part of his soul intact.
More than the royal title he’d hidden, he’d concealed the truth that he was the tormenter of the kingdoms from the folk of Stonegate. Skul Drek was a piece of his soul determined to slaughter any who used magical craft for their own greed and desires.
The scar where his darkened soul had torn from his body at Stonegate, giving up his first lie, was still weeping streams of blood. Dirt and mud coated his palms and cheeks, and there was darkness in his eyes.
I wasn’t certain he even noticed the gore on his skin. He seemed wholly transfixed by those striding alongside us, closing us in. A true hunter. A true protector.
The lies began with our interactions at Skalfirth, when he played the role of thief near my cart, and they continued within the walls of Stonegate.
Deception unraveled every thread of my life.
From forcing me into the service of the Jorvan royal house, to the brutality of my magical craft, and now to the imprisonment of Kael.
Still, the desperation of his plea to remain close, to help him soothe the villainous pieces of his soul, dug into my bones.
I reached out and curled my hand around his last two fingers and pulsed my grip three times. A mirror to his gesture of claiming something—three taps.
This was a signal that I was here. With him. For now.
Roark’s lips parted in a quick release of air; his shoulders slumped. Like he could, at last, breathe. Gods, I despised him. Perhaps it was more that I wanted to despise him. Perhaps I despised him because I couldn’t.
My brow furrowed against the hot sting of tears. “I will remain close, but it does not mean I trust you. I merely distrust you the least.”
Roark dipped his chin in a silent acknowledgment. I released his fingers and fell a pace behind.
Draven Dark Watch warriors surrounded us. Most were muttering to one another between sharp, angry glares aimed at me.
All my life, Draven folk were considered the wild clans, feral and bloodthirsty. The Dark Watch dressed in thicker furs than Jorvans to protect against the bite of the north winds, and the kohl and dyes painted on their faces added a touch of ferocity absent in the Stav Guard of Stonegate.
A scuffle of boots, as though someone stumbled, drew my attention. Emi tugged the hem of her tunic free from a briar shrub. One of the Dark Watchers laughed at her misstep.
She flashed her teeth with a hiss in return and lifted her chin. The long waves of her pale golden hair were tinted with dirt and darkened from damp mist and sweat. The icy blue of her eyes locked me in a hard stare, and only then did I see the slightest tremble of her lip.
Roark’s cousin was treated like an outsider as much as me, and I did not understand it.
Emi fell into step at my side. “Saw the watcher pestering you. They’ll try to do worse if they can get you away from Roark.”
“So I’m told,” I said, low enough only she would hear. “But he seems to believe showing he cares at all is more dangerous than not.”
“They killed Prince Nivek, a damn heir, over Roark’s connection to you already,” Emi said.
“The raids nearly tore Dravenmoor apart; some tried to usurp Elisabet over the perception of betrayal from her house. You think our folk will risk such division again? They’d sooner just kill you to avoid it.
If he is not yet revealing the depth of his feelings, it is only for your benefit.
Do not waste his effort by being reckless and stubborn.
Shout and rage later, but not here in the open with more blades aimed at your throat than there will be if ever Roark can get you safely holed away from the Dark Watch. ”
My skin lifted in disquiet the longer she spoke.
I took in the nearby watchers. Draven folk had strange eyes, bright like gemstones, and they all seemed to carve through the darkness. All seemed to be waiting, watching, for the best moment to strike.
I stood no real chance against the warriors, and if Roark spoke true, should he fight for me, which he would, there would be no second chance. They’d kill him, the way they killed his elder brother.
I looked at the ground. “I won’t be reckless.”
“Good. He remains the one who will stop at nothing to keep you alive.”
“Not you any longer?”
“As your friend, I would die to protect you, but I very much doubt I will be around much longer to do so if I am returned to my father. Remember? Our last meet resulted in me trying to kill him.”
“But he hurt you.”
“And made certain much of the clan assumed I was the result of an unfaithful wife, not a true Draven. Who will they believe? The bone crafter who lived half her life among our enemies? Or my father, the late king’s brother? Please find trust for Roark. Soon, he may be all you have.”
A sharp, twisted knot gathered deep in my belly. Emi truly believed she was striding to her death.
A new sort of heat flooded my veins. “Then you stay close to me.”
“Lyra, you can do nothing for me. I left my clan as a fugitive. There is no helping me, but you…you and Roark must find a way to stop—”
“Ready to cross the ravines!” a Dark Watcher shouted down the line.
Emi blew out a rough breath. She reached for my hand, squeezing. “Listen to me: Elisabet won’t kill you, not right away. She’ll want answers for what broke the control of Skul Drek.”
Emi straightened when two Dark Watch warriors drew near. A hand fell to the small of my back. Roark. Unease carved into the sharp lines of his face.
Against my spine, his fingers moved, gently, carefully, gesturing his command. Cross with me.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek and peered over the stony cliffside of the ravine.
The Red Ravines were deep fissures lined with crimson-leaf aspen trees. From warm months to frosts, the bloody shade of the leaves never fell away, only deepened in color from vibrant fire red to rich burgundy.
Between the twisted trunks were sharp, stony ridges the shade of rusted iron.
Specks of inky black jutted through the shade, and I knew more than one blade was made from the dark ore.
Whether the soil had some element that stained everything from the rocks to the leaves red, I didn’t know.
Most lore on the ravines insisted that great claws from the gods’ wolves carved the soil, digging so deep the land bled.
A single unsteady step, and one would fall to their death onto the jagged stones in the river below.
Where the Dark Watch led us revealed five bridges. But not secure, wide bridges. These were made of a rope below and a rope above. Already, Dark Watchers were striding out onto the taut strands.
They fastened blades, arrows, and bows to their belts, then held firmly to the line overhead and walked out over the gaping canyon.
I swallowed against a thick knot in my throat. “We’re crossing? Like that?”
Roark regarded me with an unreadable expression as he spoke with one palm. It is the only way forward unless we take open roads to the shore, where Jorvans may find us.
Naturally the Dark Watch would avoid their enemies and take the most foolish, dangerous path to do so.
Before I could respond, a heavy hand fell on my shoulder, gripping me tightly and drawing me too close to the edge.
A Dark Watch warrior beamed through the gruesome streaks of kohl down his young features. “Melder, seems I’m to see to it that you cross the ravine. Hold tight, now. I’d truly hate to see you fall and snap your pretty neck.”