Chapter 5
Roark
Most of the Dark Watch gave us a wide berth after Fillip met the gods.
The rope walkways swayed in the wind. Lyra had need of a pause twice before hurrying off the opposite end to the forest paths over Dravenmoor borders, her shoulders slumped in relief to be on solid ground.
Only when I dragged Lyra to a narrow, more isolated path did a blade stand in my way.
A young Dark Watcher swallowed thickly. “Can’t be straying, Highness.”
I grinned, hoping a great deal of Fillip’s blood stained my teeth.
“You want to end up like Fillip, Henri?” Gunter knocked the watcher’s blade away. “Where do you suppose they can run? We’re in Dravenmoor, you sod. There’s only forward lest the prince wishes to flee for the Night Ledges. I’d wager my own cock we’d catch them first.”
“I’m to keep them in sight,” argued Henri.
“Oh, are you, now?” Gunter flicked at a piece of a dried leaf on his arm.
“You wish to force the man the Jorvans named Death Bringer, whose soul will likely eat yours out of sheer annoyance, to walk by your side?” Gunter chuckled darkly and leaned closer.
“Who do you fear more, Henri, your Dark Watch commander or your damn prince?”
Henri hesitated but soon lowered his blade. “Keep close, the wood is—”
Does this fool think I have never traipsed these damn woods? My rough gesture cut him off.
Lyra cleared her throat and spoke. “He reminds you that he knows these trees.”
Gunter laughed. “The amount of time we spent on these trails, we know them better than you, Henri. Set the fara on their scent. They won’t run. Same as before, my prince, I’ll watch Nightlark.”
“You keep thinking I can’t handle my own neck,” Emi called from where she stood ten paces off.
I did not revel in the idea of Dark Watch fara wolves tracking our every step, but I would prefer it over traipsing about with a horde of warriors who wanted Lyra dead and were willing to disregard their queen’s word to see it done.
I made no more effort to speak, merely led Lyra into the trees. The path was narrow but shadowed. Free of scrutiny.
“Where does this lead?” she whispered once the steps of the Dark Watch were more distant.
The back side of the palace.
“Are the wolves truly there?”
I tilted my head and slowed my pace for a breath, then another. I nodded. Twenty paces away on every side. They won’t harm us unless signaled.
“Unless signaled.” She scoffed. “Not exactly comforting after…what happened.”
I tightened my hold on her palm. We’ll be fine.
Lyra didn’t protest, nor did she try to use the wretched truths between us to create distance. She clung to my arm, my hand, like I was her beacon in the night.
Forest winds were cold and fragrant, tinged with the sweet moss that grew on the banks of the small creeks that cracked the soil across the kingdom. Each draw of air filled my lungs like a frosted morning, clean and fresh.
Overhead tree branches intertwined like armies tangled in battle. Dark and formidable, the trees were places where young Dravens learned to hide, to sneak, and to trust the creatures of the forest.
More than once I let my fingertips brush the branches of hedges or leaves of satin ferns. Such a strange feeling—returning home but not truly belonging.
New aches burned in every muscle, from the base of my skull to the small of my back. Lyra was not safe here, no matter my title. Fillip was proof of that.
Pale dawn crested over the rocky peaks, extensions of the Night Ledges that formed a natural barrier around the heart of Dravenmoor. Last I’d laid eyes on these cliffs, my brother was dead and my soul was carved in two.
For a moment my steps slowed until every motion felt a great deal like leaden ore lined the soles of my feet.
Lyra glanced over her shoulder, her brows stitched close.
I didn’t lift a hand to speak, didn’t look away from the cliffs.
Damn the gods, I was a fool. During the seasons as the Sentry of Stonegate, I’d lost count of the souls I’d sent to the hall of the gods in Salur.
Skul Drek was feared by all. Enough blood marred my palms to name me a monster, but the sight of mountains from my childhood brought me to tremble.
“Roark.” Lyra rested a hand on my forearm. “What is it?”
My scrutiny of the peaks broke, as though her nearness brought a bit of clarity. In the haunting gray of the early bell tolls, the silver scars in Lyra’s eyes glittered like pieces of the fading moon. They drew me in, captured me, reminded me of why all of it had unfolded.
Still I said nothing, but I wasn’t certain I needed to.
Lyra’s face softened. She tucked a lock of her long hair behind her ear and stepped closer. “I imagine it is difficult to see home again after what happened.”
I cleared my throat as though I might speak with my lost voice. Last I stepped through these gates, I was told my brother was dead.
Lyra dipped her chin. “What was he like?”
Nivek was good. Honorable. Nine seasons my elder, so I looked up to him all my life. He did not deserve to die.
“And you don’t know who killed him?”
I shook my head. I know my uncle informed the king and queen of Nivek’s betrayal, but that was his duty as my father’s brother.
“It wasn’t him?”
I can’t say. I am told he was furious when he discovered the prince was killed without a trial. I did not see much from where I was hidden. Someone struck me from behind and I woke here, at the gates. If I find out the truth, their soul will be mine.
“Explains your questioning of the warrior.”
I scoffed. Someday I will know exactly what happened that night.
“I hope you do.” Her words were soft but sharp enough that they burned into my chest. “I wish he had not died because of me. But I can see that he must’ve loved you to take such a risk because you asked it of him.”
I hesitated. He died because he believed in soul bonds and respected them, the way the clan should.
“You have based every decision of late on these supposed bonds.” Lyra bit down on her bottom lip. “You and I have never had much choice in our lives; we should not let some bond of fate take a choice from us now.”
What are you saying?
“I’m saying we are dangerous for each other. I’m saying truth matters to me. I’m saying…perhaps we both deserve a choice for once, and maybe we would be better off forgetting…what happened between us in Stonegate. Forced love is not what I desire.”
Fear was talking. Fear, pain, and likely a bit of anger.
I drew closer, chest to chest, hip to hip, taking a bit of twisted delight in the way her lips parted, her eyes widened.
For a moment, I made no attempt to speak at all, merely held her close, studying the light in her eyes. My palm splayed over the small of her back, my fingers brushing across every divot of her spine.
With care, I lifted one hand and fashioned my words against her cheek. You are my choice. Should I discard you at the command of kings or queens, that would rob me of my true choice.
“But if you believe fate bonded us, then there is little—”
You misunderstand soul bonds, I said, pausing to run my thumb across the ridge of her cheek. It does not force a love match, merely reveals the potential of a match in another soul. A bond can wither if left unattended. More must be done to make it truly unbreakable.
Lyra kept a keen watch on my hands, as though she did not want to misunderstand a word, then lifted her chin to meet my study. “What more must be done?”
I shook my head, uncertain how to explain the sjeleven sealing ceremony and what it meant. It’s not important right now, but trust I know how to recognize the difference between a bond and what I feel in my heart, Lyra.
“How can you tell the difference? I am questioning every damn thought I’ve ever had. You…kept this from me when you could’ve told me, even portions of it.”
Her voice trembled. I held the side of her face, studying her, catching sight of the shadow of uncertainty in her eyes. The same look she had when I’d dragged her from the borders of Skalfirth. Gods, it felt like an eternity ago.
What I feel for you should not be possible because my soul is split.
“What does that have to do with it?”
One corner of my mouth curved up in a reluctant grin. The curse was done to prevent me from being able to restore my soul bond.
“But I saw the connections. I saw the bond,” she said, her voice rough and low, almost reluctant to admit she had seen a connection between us.
As did I. Your sheer stubbornness captivated not only me, but every darkened, cruel, unfeeling piece of me. Something I do not believe has ever been done.
Lyra looked down. “I wouldn’t say I captivated Skul Drek. I think I annoyed him…you.”
A deledan is a split soul and meant to be a weapon, not meant to feel much more than duty. What I feel for you should not be possible. Despite everything, you took ownership of all of me, but I do not know if it is the same for you.
Lyra scrutinized me, as though scouring my words for more lies. At long last, her face fell, her shoulders slumped. She placed a palm over my heart. “I’m not certain I know you, Roark. Not as I thought I did.”
A sharp pain dug into my chest, but I did not flinch, did not look away.
How could I fault her? All the time she thought she spoke to the Sentry of Stonegate, all the fear she held when she melded and faced Skul Drek, instead she was speaking to a traitor and an enemy prince, a cruel soul sent to slaughter her.
I gave a brisk nod, then held out one hand for her to take and spoke with the other. We need to keep moving.
After a moment of hesitation, Lyra clasped my palm in hers. I would take it as my own small victory. I would take it all as proof her heart was not wholly closed against me. Any other alternative would simply not do.
The narrow path opened to a wider back road, both sides lined with ominous oaks. Blankets of leaves shielded us from the warmth of the morning sun. Thick roots jutted out from every knobby trunk like great sea serpents diving beneath the tides.
We took the final bend and, all at once, faced the front gates of the royal township of Dravenmoor.
Moss-coated dark stone walls in a poisonous shade of green. Every ten paces jagged iron spikes rose through the stone with skulls piked on the tops—ravens, wolves, even human skulls of those unfriendly with Dravenmoor who’d come too close to the gates.
Totems made of peeled twigs, toad bones, and raven blood hung from iron hooks at every spiked post, signals to those approaching that these lands were guarded by craft and blades.
Lyra’s regard trailed down a long twine rope tied with numerous bones. Her fingers tangled together, and I did not think she even realized she was about to snap off her thumbs.
Fears would be dealt with, but not now. Not here.
Shoulders back, I guided us beyond the walls.
Each step was a pace into a past version of my life long gone.
Amid the gloom and mists were sod-topped roofs that rounded like knolls.
Cottages dotted the outer edges of the trees.
Small farms lined in black oak fences had totems hanging from their arched doorways much like those on the border gates.
The main caravan of the Dark Watch must’ve already entered the gates, for the heavy doors were open and raucous applause roared over the walls.
“Will Gunter truly watch over Emi?” Lyra asked, a shudder in her voice.
No mistake, I’d wondered the same. My cousin fled these gates after nearly murdering her father. Hateful as my uncle might’ve been to his daughter, for some, Emi’s crime would always be the more grievous.
We should hurry was all I gestured before striding past the long wooden gates of farms and cottages that lined the outer walls.
Young ones leapt onto the tops of fence posts and waved, pleading for a token or bit of the wild honey warriors were known to bring back from the ravines.
Abandoned, cursed, and brutalized by these people, I’d often tried to twist memories of my homeland into something cruel and wretched. Now it seemed so ordinary. So…familiar.
I tightened my hold on Lyra’s hand, forcing my attention forward, and quickened our steps toward the back side of the palace.
Slats made of stained blackwood coated the rooftops. Points and peaks reached toward the dawn like gnarled teeth seeking to bite a piece of the sky. There were not as many turrets and towers as at Stonegate, but the walls were sturdy, made of thick beams and heavy rock.
When we reached the rear gates, a whistle broke over the shouts of those greeting the Dark Watch. A deliberate tune, one meant to be used for a certain command.
I held out an arm, blocking Lyra from continuing. Deep, raw snarls rolled down the stone steps beyond the gates, and rumbling growls came from the trees on all sides like echoes of a nightmare.
Gods, no. In one swift movement, I shoved Lyra behind me and yanked a dagger from the sheath on my thigh.
Her eyes widened when she peered over my shoulder. A line of gray, wiry fur raised over large forelegs, and the whip of swishing tails behind clawed haunches came into view.
The fara wolves tracking us in the trees surrounded us from the sides, and ahead two more emerged from behind the palace walls. No less than a dozen. Too many wolves to calm alone. Too many to slaughter with the blade in my hand.
I rolled the dagger in my grip, point down. I could fight long enough for Lyra to run. She was swift and might make it beyond the gates, back through the wood. She might even be able to hide in the ravines until she could find her way to the Night Ledges.
The lead wolf snapped its jaws. I returned a narrow glance. She would live, even if I did not.
I patted Lyra’s hip without turning around and gestured the word Run against her tunic.
She merely dug her fingernails deeper into my arms. “Roark, no.”
Stubborn, foolish woman. Jaw tight, I relented my command for a moment when the first wolf padded its heavy paw down the steps. The familiar prickle of frigid craft rippled over my skin. The taste of smoke and ash coated my tongue. In the corners of my eyes, layers of shadows took form around us.
Even with Skul Drek’s aid, I was not certain I could handle so many beasts before they attacked.
Lyra would run even if I had to shove her down the road myself. But as for me, this would be the final, brutal welcome of the banished Draven prince.