Chapter 8
Skul Drek
Where was my melder?
Want. Need. Desire. Mine. Now, where was my melder?
In the shadows, the line of a molten tether shimmered and led to somewhere in the distance. Golden heat tied us, bound us. She brightened the night and guided me home.
Alive. Fierce.
I took a step forward. I wanted to see my melder.
“What have you done?”
A frigid wash of unease rippled over my senses, drawing me to look back to the darkness, away from the golden bond.
Ah. The queenie.
My former captor was on her knees, a brilliant shade of gold tinged in crimson surrounding her.
I lowered to one knee, and billows of darkness pulsed until cold walls faded to nothing but night. Anger, hate, pain—all of it thickened the shadows here, where souls lived.
The queenie lifted her eyes, bright as starlight, and studied every edge of every feature before speaking.
“Why am I here?”
Why, indeed?
Shadows blotted out most thoughts. Instinct reigned here. But I could recall why I dragged her soul to meet mine. “It is time for you to converse with the monster you created.” Arms open at my sides, I allowed the queenie to take in her masterpiece. “Soul Render.”
“I never desired to use my craft on my own family. Certainly not twice.”
Twice. Why did the word settle heavy like rotted logs in my shadowed mind? I am he, we are we. Still, shared thoughts beyond the shadows were trying, at times, to draw to the surface. Then, I grinned. “Ah, yes. Long live the king. Your first creature.”
The queenie’s eyes shed two golden tears onto the glow of her cheeks. “Do you think I wanted to rend my husband’s soul?”
“Want means nothing. What was done is done. Now shoulder the weight of it.”
“You do not know how many lives were lost, how corrupt our enemies had become. We needed a way to protect the souls of the fallen from their soul bones. The king truly believed to split his soul was the only way to protect them.”
Anger. Hate. Shame. It burned through me in layers of cold, blackened mists. Teeth bared, I pressed the ice of my brow to the heat of hers. “And once you created him, I wonder, did you take pleasure in learning you could control his every move, the way you did mine, queenie?”
Her eyes followed my long fingers, watching me pluck the burning tether no longer owned by the queenie.
“I did not want this. I never wanted to harm your father or my son. You are all I have left.”
“Yet you have anger knowing that the bonds that tied us together have snapped, and your creature no longer answers to you. A thing your first creation never managed to do. He could not break free of you before you ended him.”
Her breath hitched. “Do not mock me. Whatever light still lived in my soul died when your father and I made that impossible choice.”
“You killed your bond when he fought back, is that it? Decided to make another?” One fist pounded against the shadows where a heart might be in my chest. “Thought you’d have better luck controlling this soul, was that why you slit his throat?”
“Cease talking of this!” The queenie covered her ears, shoulders heaving.
For a time no words were spoken between us.
“You slaughtered your first bond to create your monster son. Now you lost control of even him. What a waste of souls you’ve caused.”
The queenie scrambled off her knees. “You do not know the things of which you speak! My soul died that day.”
The outburst was…surprising. Thoughts stirred of a time long gone. A kingly death. A curse. A desperate need to keep a boyish prince breathing.
Bits and pieces were forgotten, but there were memories of shouts, of pain, of tears, of queenly sobs.
“Where is my melder?” I spoke in a sort of jagged snarl. “I have need of her. I must take her away.”
“Why?” She spoke softly. “You are keeping truths from us. What drove you from Jorvandal so violently?”
Memories of plans, of schemes with my melder. The Thief King sought the Wanderer’s bones, sought to take his soul, sought to rule over all.
He planned to force her to steal the souls until she met the gods.
No. The Thief King was now gone to Salur. I’d felt his soul not so long ago, corrupted and bitter, but there all the same. I closed my eyes, pulling back mottled shadows, hazy memories.
The dark melder hurt my melder.
My eyes flashed. “If I speak true, you’ll darken her soul the way you did your king’s.”
“Someday I hope you come to believe differently about the day your father died.” The queenie shook her head.
“I could’ve killed the melder already, yet I have kept my word.
We know what the Jorvan king seeks beyond those wretched Berserkirs he crafts.
You know we’ve understood for seasons he desires bones he believes are from the Wanderer. Now, what happened?”
A long growl slipped from my throat. Stolen souls corrupted the living. The Thief King reveled in the power of it. Undead warriors, unable to control the madness of corrupted souls.
I held no sadness knowing the Thief King was gone.
But worse was rising. And they wanted my melder, lest we find the lost bones first. Destroy the bones. Let the first king rest.
“Roark.”
A name, familiar and painful.
I am he, we are we.
The queenie stepped nearer to me, her voice soft. “Tell me. I vow the truth will remain between us, but tell me so I might…help us all.”
“Speak true, queenie?”
“I have never lied to you, despite what you think. I never will.”
I hummed, uncertain if I could even recall if she spoke true, but darkness was crafted at her hand. She lost control and sought it back.
“I will vow. Soul to soul.” The queenie stepped closer, palm outstretched.
“What will you vow?”
“What do you desire?”
Simple. “My melder’s soul to remain bright.”
“You wish the girl to live.”
I dipped my chin, so it faded in the shadows coiled around me.
“Then should you confide in me, I vow to do all I can to keep her alive, and she will not fall to Salur from my hand or word.”
No promises could be made of the hands of others, but…one could be stayed. “Soul to soul?”
The queenie nodded. “I break it, and my soul is yours to send to the molten hell if you wish.”
Soul vows were sealed by craft. The queenie, should she deceive me, would become a walking shell, for I would destroy the soul inside.
Such a vow was no small act.
I held out my darkened palm, pressing it to the top of the queenie’s. “Speak your words.”
She swallowed. “I vow to do all in my power to protect the melder—”
“Her name,” I said through the edges of my teeth. With two melders running amok, clarity would be needed.
The queenie swallowed. “I vow to do all in my power to protect Lyra of House Bien. Should I break such a vow or fail, I offer my soul as payment.”
Brilliant skeins of light coiled around our wrists and fingers and up the length of our arms before fading into each chest.
When the heat from the vow had settled, I looked to the Soul Render. “Thief kings use their melders to hunt for the Wanderer.”
“We already know this.”
“Perhaps, but you do not understand all the schemes and tricks behind the Thief King’s walls.”
She looked back at me. “Did Damir truly find powerful bones? Is the woman truly as formidable as foretold?”
“What you heard from the seer’s words long before is true, Soul Render. She is strong, she’s hunted, and if wars begin, no doubt lands will be destroyed.”
She blew out a long breath, and a bit of frosted air billowed from her painted lips. “Tell me what happened in Stonegate.”
Little by little, I retold tales of my melder’s gifts, her strength, her fears, and the rise of a dark melder.
By the end of it, the queenie paced in front of me. “Damir is dead. Fadey, gods, he’s alive and hunts the woman to meld her bones to him?”
“Because my melder can come here, where the souls speak.”
“So he thinks that by absorbing her craft, he will be able to see more clearly where the Wanderer’s scattered bones are hidden?”
I gave a slow dip of my chin. “My melder is strong. The dark one believes she is who he needs to unite the power in the bones of the first king.”
“Dammit. It is graver than I imagined.” She whirled on me. “Should he restore the Wanderer, Fadey would control all craft. We all will be forced to bow to him.”
“This I know. As does my melder.”
“She does not seek the same power?”
“She seeks peace.”
For a long moment, the queenie said nothing. “Then I may be able to help you. Lore says four pieces of the Wanderer were scattered, to honor the souls of his family he betrayed.”
Three young ones and his god-queen. “This I know.”
“I might know where something, possibly one of the remnant bones, was hidden. Once, it was believed each remnant had connections to the kingdoms or craft, Dravenmoor included.”
Cold brushed across my shadowed face when the darkness thickened, as though the world of souls responded to the untamable need to know more—anything—about the first soul of craft.
Darkness lived in those bones. Not only the strength of all, but the corruption and greed of the first king. The dark melder could never be allowed to find them.
“Where is the bone of which you speak?” The sound was rough, raw, like a thousand screams had escaped my throat.
Brilliant eyes locked with mine, a collision of ferocious tides and the blaze of an inferno. “Even if I tell you, understand, our clan will not allow you to leave with the melder. To them, she is a risk should the Jorvans find her again.”
“Are we to do nothing?”
“No. We merely need time to think of how you can hunt the bones yourselves, I suppose. The council will want her hidden. Frankly, when news of Damir’s death reaches our walls, most on the úlfur will likely wish to chain her out of sight or put a blade through her heart.”
“Keep her soul bright, queenie. That was the vow.”
“And I will do my part, but you must do yours. There is a way to protect her within our gates that could give you time to plan your next steps.”
“Meaning?”
She staggered, the brilliance of her soul fading. Time for conversing was drawing to an end. Craft drained the soul. Too long and the pull against our bond of blood grew weak.
Her words came out in a rush. “What is a custom that we revere as sacred? One that makes her Draven by law?”
A wash of ice crept across my shadowed flesh. “I do not know if my melder would desire such a thing.”
“That is a problem for you to solve, then. It is not a perfect solution, but it can buy you time.”
“You fought against her and now say these things? You tell me this to keep her alive without trouble?”
“Perhaps you will come to realize that you do not know everything about me. I am keeping my vow, not only one with you, but also one I made long ago to keep a king’s son alive.
” The queenie looked over her shoulder. “Time is growing short. I feel myself falling away. Do not leave the melder alone for much longer.”
My teeth clicked once, twice. I towered over her. “The First King, then. Where is the piece of his bones, queenie?”
The Soul Render had grown diaphanous, nothing more than a gilded mist. But before the shadows devoured her she spoke, soft and harsh. “Beyond the Night Ledges. In Unfettered Territory.”