Chapter 6
Lyra
Darkness cloaked my shoulders, caressing my skin with a cold, velvet touch. Skul Drek did not take shape, more like his essence bled from Roark’s body and encircled me.
Not himself.
The stubborn, relentless fool shoved me behind him, ensuring his darkness formed a strange barrier around me, then gripped his dagger with his other hand.
He was trying to force me to leave him, much the same as the first time the fara wolf came into the Phantom Forest.
One wolf was vastly different from twelve.
I crouched down and plucked a jagged stone from the ground. A pitiful weapon, but I’d lost any blade worth using. Instinct roared at me to run, to save my damn neck, but something deeper, something darker kept my stance planted at the side of Roark Ashwood.
If he fell, I fell.
The looming battle brightened his eyes to a fiery gold. A low growl rolled from his throat, but when he seemed to realize I was not moving, Roark whirled back to the line of wolves, blade out.
Fangs bared, fur raised, the pack prowled nearer, some drifting to the sides like the wolves were preparing to form a circle around us to trap us in.
One beast snapped its jaws my way. I lifted the stone overhead, readying to throw, knowing in the back of my mind that my worthless weapon would offer me one potential shot against one damn wolf.
Roark could at least slash several before they tore out his throat. Perhaps he might even get away from it all. Unbidden, the thought drew a small grin. Perhaps he could find a way to finally be free.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I looked down. Roark had one palm on my hip. He kept tapping in threes, pausing, then beginning again. Mine. A final claim. Only then did I know that Roark could not see a way free from the wolves. He wanted me to feel that his last thoughts were of me.
No mistake, this had been his mother’s plan all along. Draw me beyond the gate, then tear me apart.
I didn’t believe she anticipated such a fate for her son, but because the bastard refused to leave my side, he would fall too.
Tears burned over my lashes. Gods, I hated him for being such a beautiful fiend. Deceit, manipulation, and bloodlust, yet through it all my heart still yearned for more of him, for a bit more time.
A sharp whistle broke over the low growls of the wolves. Both ears on every beast pricked upward, and the tension in their coats and haunches eased. From behind the line of fara, a man emerged onto the grounds from an arched doorway of the palace.
He was clad in a fur-lined cloak, the way he moved was direct and intimidating. The man’s height was formidable, but the contours of his shoulders and arms gave up that he was no stranger to swinging a blade.
His eyes were a shade of rose, vibrant and eerie, and he kept his long auburn hair shorn on the sides but braided down the center of his skull. I could see the sneer, even beneath his beard.
“Seems the fara have some sliver of respect for you.” He let out a condescending chuckle.
“Half expected them to attack at first glance. Suppose it should be a consolation you still possess a touch of your true blood.” He paused, those strange eyes locking on me.
“Then again, I’m not certain you even remember what your blood means. ”
Roark straightened. Based on the tension in his corded neck and the pulse of his jaw, this man was not a welcome face.
Slowly, Roark raised one palm for a single word. Uncle.
All gods. Emi’s father. Where was she? Gunter vowed to look after her, after us both. But I had yet to see them.
Fists curled, my fingernails dug into the flesh of my palms, and with every pump of my heart, I frantically scanned the stairs, the gates, the trees, for any sign of Emi Nightlark.
Her father laughed with a touch of bitterness. “You’ll need your little pet to speak for you, boy. I’ve no idea what you’re saying.”
Speak to her in such a way again, and you will become feed for your beasts. Roark glanced at the wolves, unbothered by his uncle’s inability to understand him.
When he gave me a look, like I ought to translate his threat, I shot him a glare. “I am not telling him that.”
Roark had the audacity to smirk.
“I hear you come with more than just the melder,” his uncle said. “Where is my wife’s daughter?”
Any levity in Roark’s features faded. He took a step closer, standing between two fara wolves. As though it were the most natural thing to do, Roark rested a palm on top of one wolf’s head.
The beast flinched for a breath, then seemed content to be touched. A truth that seemed wholly bothersome to Emi’s father.
My cousin is under my protection, Virki, he said, lifting his hand from the wolf so he could use both to speak. You are not permitted to go near her.
I swallowed and translated in my own way. “You will stay away from Emi. She is not yours to harm anymore.”
Virki’s lip curled, as though my very voice made his hatred boil. “Harm her?” He pulled back the cloak, revealing a long, gnarled scar on one side of his throat. “Was it she who was harmed?”
Roark narrowed his eyes. You gave her good reason. You won’t touch her.
This time, I repeated his every word.
“Think you can come here and command how I handle my household?” Virki’s face flushed.
“I’ve kept this kingdom alive after your betrayal.
” In three swift strides, Roark’s uncle stepped forward, chest to chest, teeth bared, much the same as his wolves.
“Do not mistake your place here, boy. Or you might meet the same fate as your brother.”
A flash of darkness cut across Roark’s eyes, but before he could make a move or response, the same door to the palace swung open.
“Virki.” Elisabet, her hair tamer than it was at the ravines and shoulders now draped in a long cloak, stepped forward. “I see you’ve reacquainted yourself with your prince, though I am uncertain why you brought your pack.”
“I don’t much care for outsiders, my queen. Thought they deserved a test. The wolves calmed, as you can see.”
Elisabet peered down her narrow nose. “I would hope you would not be so foolish as to bring harm to royal blood of Dravenmoor.”
Virki did not face the queen, simply held Roark’s glare for another drawn breath. “Of course not. But I am uncertain why this woman still breathes at his side. Or has your son forgotten what happened to the last prince who protected the melder?”
“Our prince has much to answer for.” Elisabet clasped her hands in front of her body. “And until we have those answers, I’ve offered my word. The woman remains untouched.”
“You would shield her, Bet? After everything?”
“You must have forgotten how insistent the darker half of a soul can be.”
“You allowed your own son to threaten you?”
Elisabet did not falter beneath Virki’s scrutiny.
Truth be told, the queen seemed to stand taller.
“To prevent bloodshed, we made a compromise. I intend to see it through.” With that, the queen looked to Roark.
“The melder will be kept out of sight and under guard. Watcher Blackvale suggested these watchers to see to her.”
Elisabet opened one arm, welcoming two new faces to her side.
A woman stepped forward. Her features were lovely and sharp. She stood taller than the queen, and her chestnut hair was shorn close to her scalp on one side, and on the other, it was intricately braided over her shoulder.
At her side was a man whose face was nearly a mirror to hers, save for his eyes, which burned in a vibrant shade of green while hers looked more like the coral shells that would wash up from the Green Fjord back home.
I was not certain I trusted Gunter Blackvale, but there was a touch of relief hearing that he’d suggested these new Dravens, until Emi’s father laughed.
“Well thought, my queen.”
Roark shifted in front of me, his attention on the two newcomers, and I did not think they were welcome.
“We will see to the melder, my prince,” the man said, a sly sort of grin spreading beneath the russet stubble on his face. One fist pounded over his chest. “She will be unharmed when you find her, on my honor.”
No. Roark gestured and shook his head, once, twice, three times, until the queen let out a sigh.
“Brynn and Auki will take her to a secure chamber. You will stand before the úlfur.” The queen lowered her tone. “I kept her alive; now you keep your end of the bargain.”
Roark would not have a chance to protest again.
With a quick clack of his teeth, Roark’s uncle signaled his pack forward. I cried out when three fara wolves, tall enough that their heads reached my ribs, herded me away from the prince.
Roark made a move to reach me, but five more wolves circled him. In the next breath, darkness bled from the scar on his throat.
“Roark.” Elisabet’s voice rose over the chaos. “Control yourself or we’ll put an arrow through her heart.”
Roark spun around, looking to the balcony of an upper level of the royal house.
Shit.
Beneath cowls of fur and wool, a line of Draven archers aimed dark onyx arrows straight at me.
The man Elisabet called Auki drew me against his chest, a grin still written on his face. The woman took my other arm and guided me toward a narrower doorway on a side of the palace that was opposite the direction Roark was being led.
Frantic, I looked over my shoulder. Roark was made of dark rage. He looked nowhere but at me when he raised one hand and gestured, words only I would know: They touch you, be ruthless.
I swallowed and shouted, “Just like Tomas!”
Roark’s mouth quirked in a bit of wickedness, the last sight I saw before the door slammed between us.
“Knew it’d be interesting when she showed her face,” Auki murmured, guiding me toward a coiled stone staircase.
“Didn’t think we’d ever get a chance to see her until Gunter showed up,” said the woman.
“Who are you?” I snapped.
She chuckled and spun me around. “I am Brynn Oakbriar. Virki is quite pleased I’m the one to guard you, for you see, Melder, you stole my crown when you fell for the man I was sworn to wed.”