Chapter 18
Roark
There was a new sort of malice in Lyra. The way she threatened Haukur without a pause to consider that she stood inside a hall of Draven folk who did not trust her was reckless.
It was stunning.
I craved more of the shadows in her own eyes.
Haukur would not touch her. At times having a rent soul was a gift more than a curse. With my craft, the frigid bite of my broken soul could touch another. It could slice and draw out pain unseen.
Haukur knew what I was doing, trapping him in the frosted wastes for a moment, cutting at him again and again. But to have Lyra step closer was a move I did not anticipate. Her own craft scorched inside me in a way I’d not felt before, as though our magics had twisted together, a true weave.
I wanted more.
I wanted her.
The wicked, the sweet, the cruel, the fearful. All of it was a new venom in my blood that I hoped would poison me long after I met the gods.
“I don’t know where that came from,” Emi whispered to Lyra as we entered the council chamber, “but perhaps warn us before you try to meld a man. Gods, do you realize how many of the Dark Watch were in that hall?”
“I know.” Lyra nervously tugged on the ends of her hair. “I don’t know what came over me. I just…hate the words they say about Roark.”
“Nightlark, she’s woven to his soul,” Gunter explained in a rough whisper. “A soul meant to be cruel and wretched. Instincts are going to feel a little different for our melder from now on.”
My throat tightened. Lyra would take on some of my darkness?
As though she was feeling my angst over the realization, her palm slipped into mine and pulsed three times. Like she was informing me it was all right with her.
“Words fester like a boil,” Emi hurried to say. “Sometimes spreading to others within a clan. There are some who will see Roark as a traitor, forgetting he was a child when a bond took hold. Accept it.”
“No,” Lyra said, her voice soft and low. “I plan to change it.”
Gods, I clenched my teeth to stifle a groan. I needed the woman alone, and soon.
The scrape of wood over the floorboards drew my attention to the table. Members of the úlfur council rose, one by one. Violence was potent, like acid on the tongue.
My hate lingered on the spindly man at the end of the table. A man with a full beard made of knots and braids and golden beads. Malice curdled under my skin when the craft took hold, icy and sharp.
Patience. All I needed was a bit more time of calm, then retribution for attacking my wife would be had.
The queen, at the head of the table, stood last.
“What is this?” Elisabet looked too much like the mother I tried to forget.
She was dressed in a simple blue woolen gown. Instead of the dark kohl over her eyes and lips, she wore a clean face. Her lashes were pale, her cheeks flushed with pink.
I hated her for it.
Once the queen of Dravenmoor had been a loving mother, making swords of branches and battling me in the courtyard until we could not cease laughing. She taught me how to make a plait in my hair and taught me of our lore, our histories, and our sagas.
She was the sort of mother who was gentle toward her sons, proud of their achievements, and loving enough that when she sent me away half alive, I battled for seasons trying to make sense of it. Of what I’d done that was so wrong, my mother tore me apart.
To hate her was simpler. Less painful.
“The melder has finally been brought before the council.” Virki leaned over his hands onto the table. “Among a few others.”
When Auki took note that Virki would not cease staring at Emi, he took a slight step in front of her.
Still, Emi would be the one to speak for us. The úlfur would not hear Lyra, not yet. When they learned the truth of the bond, they would not have a choice.
I kept my regard pinned to the queen. We do not come for Lyra to be tried by these bastards. We come with news instead. Glad news.
Emi forwent my insult, opting to call the council by their title, but finished strong. Like my cousin was readying to stand in front of the both of us when the úlfur, undoubtedly, reacted to the truth.
The queen tapped one finger on the edge of the table. “And what news is this?”
I held out one hand for Lyra’s. She didn’t hesitate.
Show them, I said against her cheek.
Slowly she lifted her fingers. The fading rune bands were there and matched perfectly.
The first rough gasp echoed in the room.
“All gods.” A man whose name I could not recall leaned forward and tossed the hood made of a bear head off his hair. “Are those sjeleven seals?”
More and more the úlfur gawked at our clasped hands; some cursed; some remained silent. None looked at us with such violence as my uncle.
“You made a foolish mistake, nephew. One that will cost you and your little melder your lives.”
Lyra stepped into my side but didn’t cower under Virki’s stare.
I grinned and raised one hand. I think you’d like to see that.
“Your prince believes you’d like for that to happen.” For the first time, Emi spoke to her father directly. Her voice was steady, her shoulders back, but at her sides her fists were sealed tightly.
Virki jabbed a finger toward his daughter. “You will not speak to me unless I allow it.”
“Then you’ll speak to me.”
Dammit. Lyra stepped forward. I took hold of her wrist, keeping her close, but did not try to stop her.
My uncle’s teeth flashed. “Come closer, Melder. We have much to talk about, I’m sure.”
Lyra kept a distance from the table but lifted her chin. “You cannot try to end our bond a second time. Much as you tried before, it was restored, and we have made it unbreakable.”
“Look at this.” Virki chuckled, drawing a few other men to laugh alongside him. “The melder thinks she knows Draven ways.”
Lyra’s grip tightened on my hand. “I may not be familiar with all of your customs, but I felt my bond from the first moment I saw him.” She tilted her head to look at me for a breath. “I am loyal to him, and I am no enemy to you.”
Virki went to speak but was silenced when the queen held up her hand.
My mother was not a large woman, but she had always kept a power in her presence, one that was felt, respected. She used it now.
The úlfur went quiet, while Virki’s countenance grew a little more murderous.
“I desire to hear from the melder,” said the queen.
Despite the queen’s word, disquiet rippled over my shoulder. From all angles there were members of the council. Men who’d seen battle, who knew how to kill well enough. Draven warriors who fought in the raids, had been born to despise the corruption of melding craft.
If they made a move for Lyra, I could not stop them on my own. Perhaps the others could get a few swings in. òlmr would take out a throat or two before a blade cut her open.
They wanted a creature to kill for them. I would remind them of what they made me.
Strange now, summoning the darker soul. Where once I could hardly sense the shift whenever the assassin was needed to attack, now it was as though another layer of my insides unstitched and brought a frosty wind through my pores until darkness stood all around me.
“Finally.” Gunter’s mouth parted in stun for a bit when the full form of my severed soul took shape. A mere beat of my heart passed before his lips split into a grin. “Didn’t get a good look at the Ravines. This close, it’s mesmerizing.”
òlmr whimpered and tucked her tail. Brynn’s face blanched, and Auki kept eyeing me nervously.
Their reactions did not matter to me. The sight of the unsettled úlfur—even Virki, who took a step back from the edge of the table—brought a warped sort of giddiness.
I grinned, almost sensing the same dark snarl come from the mirrored expression of my soul in the shadows.
One of my hands went to the small of Lyra’s back. Tell them anything. So long as you let them know they are asses.
She snickered softly but looked to the council. “I do not know what you wish for me to say. I have no desire to be a threat to anyone. I lived simply as a servant for most of my life. You despise me for my craft, but I despise soul bones as fiercely as you.”
Another pause, another heated heartbeat. Then Yanson rose. He eyed Gunter for a moment, almost warning his son to remain silent before he spoke. “Lyria—”
“It’s Lyra, Yanson,” Brynn corrected.
“Apologies. Lyra, will you tell us about your time in Stonegate? We know you melded soul bones.”
“I did.” She swallowed. “I knew nothing of my craft before I was taken to the royal keep, other than being taught to conceal it. Only one person in Skalfirth, my old village, knew what I was.”
Buried guilt gnawed at my chest when she explained Darkwin was threatened, all to force her craft to take hold.
The queen looked at me, a little stunned when Emi agreed with the tale, explaining our role in the torture of Lyra’s brother. The shadows around me rippled in a wave of anger from her scrutiny. She thought me too cruel, did she?
The queen made me.
“When I understood what King Damir desired with his Berserkirs, we began to plot against him. It was against the king, not his heir. Prince Thane the Bold did not know how deeply his father’s corruption had grown.”
I knew what Lyra was doing, hopefully giving Thane a chance to be brought in as an ally. If he did not murder me for my lies first. I could not shake the notion that to defeat Fadey we would need allies within Stonegate.
As fiercely as Lyra needed to free Darkwin, I needed to somehow speak to Thane.
The prince would think me a traitor, he would hate me, no mistake. But Thane was not a fool, and he would not allow the corruption his mother and Fadey desired to go on. He would stand with us, even reluctantly.
There would be no attempt to speak to the prince if war began before we had the chance.
Lyra paused, and I pressed against her spine. Tell them of the hunt. Most will already know.
Gammal had spoken to the úlfur about the melder. They would understand the Jorvan’s desire to have the Wanderer’s bones.