Chapter 28
Lyra
Roark took me to where Thorian and Selena had fallen. A hate, jagged and harsh, took hold in my heart.
Stonegate, House Oleg, Fadey—whoever was behind their deaths would pay in blood.
I cried silent tears and washed Selena’s neck and her gentle face where furrows still worried her brow. I placed Draven totems and talismans of luck and safety for her to take into Salur to chase away the tricksters.
Thorian was my shield as a child, a sturdy fisherman who would stand one step in front of me, arms crossed, when other young ones from town would mock my dirty fingers or poorly hemmed dresses.
Roark found a silver fishing spear in one of the royal holds and placed it on the mound beside the man. He gestured Thank you to them both. Thanks for what, I could only guess, and I assumed it had everything to do with their love for me.
“They were kind souls,” I said, my voice rough. “They were mine, and they did not deserve this.”
Roark kept an arm around my shoulders. Their names will be marked with honor in Dravenmoor.
The Draven clan did not wash or remove remnants of battle before the funeral pyres ignited.
They believed that to remain clad in battle wear, with the blood still on their skin, honored the fallen souls for their sacrifice. It was proof to the gods that their warriors had fought well and ought to be handed curved horn after curved horn as they joined the revelry in Salur.
Rows of pyres burned through the courtyard. Some Dark Watch sat on the cobbles or in the tall grass while folk who’d been barricaded in the palace served the warriors ale and water.
Healers tended to wounds, but I was left without words for the way the folk of Dravenmoor stood stalwartly to honor their losses.
It was more than in Stonegate. Here, they did not falter until the pyres were nothing but ash.
They would not let their lost ones leave this world alone.
Elisabet walked the lines of her Dark Watch, handing out bread and cheese and skins of water. Roark followed, my hand in his. I did not know what I was expected to say and followed the queen’s and prince’s lead.
Elisabet kissed the brows of her warriors, thanking them softly for their honor and effort to defend their land. Roark clasped forearms and gave stiff nods until I stopped in front of the captain of the archers.
He was a man made of iron, with a beard split into three braids, and missing one front tooth.
I held out a hand. His face was coated in sweat and smoke. For a breath, the man studied me, then took hold of my palm, squeezing.
“I heard your command,” I said, my voice soft. “When I was locked in their spell, I heard you command the archers to stop them.”
“You are Draven now.” He was brisk and practically grunted his reply.
I would get no more of a response as to why the man defended me, and I was coming to understand that to the clan of Dravenmoor, no more of a reason was needed.
When the pyres died, I leaned against the wall of the palace, away from the crowds, waiting for Roark to finish speaking to Auki about the black wolf who would not stop following him. I chuckled. Even now, the pup sat two paces from my husband, waiting patiently.
Auki was the most fluent with Roark’s hand speak, and it was like a new man spoke with his old friend.
The mistrust and bitterness had slowly faded the more they could speak and even laugh at times.
Gunter and Brynn were not far behind, but they fared better with Roark’s parchment writings or Emi’s and my translations.
“I live for the day Draven blood will stop spilling for a woman who should not exist.”
My body stilled. Virki emerged from behind a post, a massive gray fara wolf at his side. The man was blood-soaked, and it only added to the cruelty in his eyes.
“I would take care with your words. I’ve discovered I rather enjoy melding mouths shut.”
Virki’s lip curled. “You think you have a place here, but you do not. My nephew believes in soul bonds so fiercely, but he does not truly want you. He yearns for the bond to strengthen his own craft, which it clearly does. In time, he will come to resent you for all the pain you caused in his life.”
His words were a knife to my heart. Cruel words my own mind had said more than once.
I schooled my face into indifference. “Then you do not know your nephew.”
“Perhaps I don’t any longer. It’s been known to happen.”
“What is it you want?” I clenched my fists at my sides.
“Vengeance,” Virki bit out through his teeth. “You will never know what your life has cost not only me, but every kingdom. You keep us in battles instead of greeting a brighter future.”
“I do not make the choices for greedy kings. If battles must be fought in their lust for power, that is on their shoulders.”
“Is that what you say to ease your own guilt? The Jorvans know you are now playing the role of a Draven royal. This was merely the beginning of their attempts to retrieve you.” The man leaned in, his voice low. “I for one cannot wait until you are placed exactly where you belong—Salur.”
I watched him stride away, unsettled and enraged, with a new determination to find the bones of the Wanderer. To rob these corrupted lands of the lust for more power. I could not wait to slit Fadey’s throat and prove to these wretched kingdoms that I was no threat to them.
If I could merely survive long enough to do it all.
—
“How did they know we’d wed?” I lay over the mattress, scratching behind the pup’s ears.
Roark, water still dripping down his bare chest from the hot baths, removed his belt and draped it over the back of a wooden chair instead of placing it in the wardrobe.
When he turned around, he frowned. The beast does not sleep on the bed.
I snorted and scratched the wolf even more until his long hind leg flicked like he might be chasing the same scratch.
“How can you say that? He saved me, Roark.” I kissed the wolf’s snout. “Don’t pretend like you’re not bonding with him. I see it.”
Roark slid over the bed and curled his arms around the sturdy, heavy body of the fara.
The wolf panted and wriggled, like he believed his new bonded might, at last, give him the attention he craved. Instead, Roark shoved the beast across the mattress to the foot of the bed.
He drew me into his arms and held out a palm when the pup tried to return to his place near the pillows. No, he gestured swiftly. She is my wife. Stay there. Be glad your ass is not on the floor.
A small whine slipped from the wolf, but he obeyed and watched us from the foot of the bed.
I let an arm fall across Roark’s stomach, my head on his shoulder. With care he lifted my wrapped hand. The bandages were stained with the slow trickle of blood.
“I’m fine.” I curled my palm back.
It hasn’t stopped bleeding.
“It was a blood cast,” I said with a sigh. “I’m sure the wound will heal differently.”
Roark pinched his lips but did not say more. We already had spoken to one of the Draven healers, who’d instantly gone to his herb books looking for protections against blood craft. All we could do was wait.
With his gentle, brutal fingers, Roark drew small circles across my shoulder, saying nothing. We simply sat for a moment in silence.
I do not know whose order brought them, Roark wrote on my skin after a long pause.
I lifted my head. “You speak of Thane?”
He nodded. Thane is named Bold for a purpose, but this was reckless. Like poking a rabid wolf.
“I do not believe Thane gave the order,” I said. “He wouldn’t have killed Sel and Thorian. It had to have been Ingir. They came to take me.”
Tension grooved over his brow, but he didn’t respond.
“Do you not think so?” I held out my palm. “This felt intentional.”
But Fadey and Ingir are not fools. They have made their plans for seasons. You think they would throw them away by sending a unit of Stav Guard against the whole of the Dark Watch?
“So you think it was all a ruse?”
A distraction. Roark tightened his hold on my shoulders and held me closer. What I know of Stonegate is that the Jorvans are not above sacrificing their own men to get a drop on the enemy.
To find us. To peek beyond our borders. I traced the hard planes of Roark’s chest with one finger. “They know you are the prince of Dravenmoor. Someone sent word to Stonegate that we had wed, and they came.”
Yes, a report like that likely spurred the action, Roark agreed. I would’ve wanted to do the same if it were reversed. I do think that if it was Thane who ordered this, he wouldn’t have done it this way.
“Meaning?”
He would’ve sent a warning, or a taunt to get under my skin.
I snorted against his chest. “I can see it. ‘Roark, you ass. Not inviting me to your nuptials? True we are, at present, not seeing eye to eye, but I ought to have been there in the first row. I’ll never forgive you for this slight. Best, Thane, the better prince.’ ”
My cheek bounced against his heart when he let out one of his breathy laughs.
After a pause he sobered. Thane is not like Damir or his mother. He would not risk innocent Stav Guard. He would rather fight beside them, and if he cannot, he pisses and moans.
True enough. One of my most favored interactions with Thane the Bold was the night we snuck away from our assigned protections and fired arrows into the onslaught of ravagers at the gates.
“Elisabet wouldn’t have drawn attention to us, would she?”
It took a moment for Roark to respond, then: I don’t believe so. I hesitate to say it, but she seems sincere in wanting us to destroy the missing bones.
“You are hesitant to trust her in general. I understand. But do you think you’ll ever trust her again?”
He considered my words, mindlessly running his fingers against my skin.
I can understand the desperation to keep me alive after Nivek was lost. But I have a soul bond now.
I cannot ever fathom anything that would bring me to willingly break it.
She split my father’s soul, making him a Skul Drek.
To do so, she had to know their bond would weaken.
“Has ours weakened?”