Chapter 30
Lyra
I looked out the window of my chamber, my insides tangled like sharp briars. A darkness burned in my heart. Perhaps it was caused by the bond to a cruel soul, or perhaps since that night the Sentry of Stonegate stole me from my simple life, along the way I’d added to my own villainy.
I loved fiercely—my husband, our misfit band of Dravens, Thane, Yrsa—but I hated in equal measure. Violent hopes for Fadey and Ingir, and even for men like Virki, who still treated Roark and me like a pestilence.
What villains we’d all become.
Once I’d been content to stride through life, head down; my greatest worry was if devilish Pukki would obey my commands or not, and now I craved the deaths of powerful folk, I wanted their suffering.
And I wanted my peace to live a long life with my killer of a husband until we fell into the hall of the gods.
If ever we succeeded and walked free of this alive, what sort of woman would I be in the end?
The door opened and my heart jumped. Elisabet stood in the frame, a dark queen. Her black circlet was surrounded by her braids, and the ebony gown she wore looked like a robe of glossy raven wings.
“I wonder if I might have a private word with you, Lyra.” Elisabet grinned. “Walk with me?”
We strode in silence through the courtyard, arm in arm, occasionally nodding and greeting folk and Dark Watch as we went. The queen said nothing once we reached the wood near the burial mounds and did not look my way until we rounded a bend, going deeper into the trees.
My stomach tightened. “Highness. Roark may be looking—”
“My son remains in a meet with Yanson regarding missing blades.” Elisabet’s vibrant stare shifted to meet mine. “You wouldn’t know where a few weapons have gone, would you?”
Dammit. No doubt she knew those missing blades were tucked under Gunter’s bed, wrapped in furs, ready for us to flee the moment we could find our opportunity.
Words fumbled on my tongue, a mortifying sort of stammer.
The queen waved her hand as though vanquishing the question and returned to silence again.
Elisabet stepped through a drape of willow branches. Tucked behind the curtain was a meadow within a circle of willows. Heavy branches drooped and created a wall of leaves, only a narrow path carving down one hillside.
Why were we so far from the gates? I looked over my shoulder, but the queen tugged on my arm, drawing my attention.
“I wanted your thoughts on something, Lyra.”
“Um, on what? Forgive me, my lady, but should we be this far?”
“We’ll be fine. I wanted to ask you about the Jorvan prince and his betrothed.
My son may be biased, not that I blame him, but he was raised to protect the man.
He might have confused affection. But you would not be so biased.
” Elisabet stopped walking and faced me in the center of the clearing.
“Is he truly honorable? Or will he fall into the same cruelty as his father?”
I cleared my throat. “Prince Thane was kind to me, and he cares for people. He never used the fealty shard Roark was forced to take. Instead, he earned Roark’s loyalty because of his character.”
“Hmm. And what were his thoughts on soul bones?”
I popped one shoulder. “Thane was raised with them. He knew Roark did not care for them, but I do not think he thought as little of them as the rest of us.”
“And his future bride. The Myrdan?”
What was this all about? “I did not know her as well, but from what I did know, Yrsa is loyal to those she loves.” I hoped it remained true should she ever meet Emi again.
“She is just and kind and holds honor herself. She trusted Roark with the name of a traitor who tried to have me killed. She did not hesitate, even though the man was a high-ranking Myrdan noble.”
Elisabet looked to the distant path. “It is a comfort to hear this, knowing my son sent his missive.”
My heart stuttered. “You know?”
“I know many things that go on in my palace, Lyra. My son made his plan, and I don’t disagree. But I also made my own.”
“Forgive me, my lady, but I don’t understand.”
“I know you are planning to slip away from Dravenmoor.” Elisabet looked back toward the pathway we’d taken. “The additional Dark Watch are presenting a problem, of course. I also understand that my son’s missive was received in Jorvandal.”
“How?”
“The raven returned. But I could not be certain if the Jorvan prince would respond with a heart for battle or a heart with a desire to be the loyal friend you insist he was.”
“Highness, what—”
“I could not find a good enough reason to pull our watchers away after the Jorvans attacked,” Elisabet went on, ignoring me. “Even if I could, to have my son suddenly leave Dravenmoor, well, the úlfur would suspect me. I am never so obvious.”
I glanced around the willow meadow. “My lady, do you know a way we can slip out?”
“I suppose time will tell.” The queen glanced at the sky, then pointed toward the path. “Down there you will find something of use to you. I will keep the guards distracted until my son can follow.”
Apprehension lifted the hair on my neck. She wanted me to step into the deep wood alone?
“What? Wait, Queen Elisabet.”
The queen did not respond, merely turned on her heel and rushed back up the path from which we’d come.
She left me in the wood.
I could follow her back to the gates, but…
I looked down the narrow path on the opposite side of the meadow.
Was it even wise to go look? I held a level of apprehension for the queen.
Then again, her soul was vowed to Roark’s.
Her word, her actions, they could not bring me harm or she was damned to lose eternity with her king.
I wrung my fingers until three knuckles cracked. Only a glimpse of the path was visible through the shadows after it rounded a bend down the slope.
Elisabet would not send me into an ambush. She’d guided us to Nivek; she’d kept me alive.
She would not kill me.
Still, I unsheathed a small knife from inside my boot before I stepped onto the path.
Through the gaps in the leaves, beams of sunlight brightened the slope more than I thought. The air was fresh and damp, like soil after a soft rain. Nearby, the sound of the gentle flow of water gave up that one of the rivers carving through the kingdom was near.
My pulse quickened. Near a thick, white oak was a leather satchel with a rolled fur mat, prepared and packed. A grin split my lips, and I hurried off the path. A water skin was tied to one side, along with pouches of dried berries and roasted nuts, aged cheeses, and burlap-wrapped bread.
I did not know how Elisabet would smuggle Roark from the palace without notice, but she’d done it well enough here.
A twig snapped. On a nearby branch, a raven fluttered away with a loud caw. I spun around, searching the trees, and only met the gentle sway of leaves and tall grass. One fist tightened around my knife, the other on the pack of supplies.
Gods. I was jolting at every damn noise. I chuckled, a tremble of nerves, but I released the pack and leaned against a tree, one palm to my brow.
Another twig snapped.
This time, before I had a chance to wheel around, a hood fell over my head and sturdy arms caught me around the waist.
I thrashed and kicked and screamed. One of my heels caught my attacker in what felt like the shin.
“Dammit,” he bit out. “Hurry with it.”
“I’m trying,” a woman hissed, low and muffled, like she spoke through a door.
I screamed behind his hand, my fists pounding over his skin, desperate to find a scratch, anything, to meld his damn fingers together.
In the next moment his hand lifted, only to return again, now scented like smoke and vinegar.
I coughed and choked against the fumes. Little by little, my body grew heavy. As though a wave of fatigue dug into my bones, I could hardly move my foot to kick anymore.
“There,” he said against my ear. “We’ve got you. No more worries, Lyra. All will be well now.”
The voice held a touch of smugness. Almost familiar.
I did not catch sight of my attacker before my mind fell to cold mists of nothing.