Chapter 32
Lyra
Something weighed down my chest. Every draw of breath felt burdensome and smelled of pine spice and warm honey. My eyes fluttered, heavy with fatigue. Little by little the weight lifted and the tingle of numbness in my fingertips faded.
I peered through my lashes. Dim light filled a small space covered in dark canvas. A tent. I was in a damn tent.
Blood rushed to my skull, but when I sat up, it felt as though the world tilted on its side. With a groan, I fell back against a burlap pillow, my hand on my stomach to stop the swirl of bile.
“Hush, now.” A cool cloth dabbed against my brow. “The herbs leave the mind a bit muddy.”
I froze. Through the haze, memories returned with wretched clarity. Elisabet left me in the woods. A satchel of supplies. Then the attack. I remembered nothing more, but it didn’t matter.
Someone had taken me from Dravenmoor. From my husband.
And a sinking weight in my belly told me the queen was behind it all.
Muffled voices filled the space, speaking as though underwater. I let my head roll to the side, and the voices drew nearer.
“No marks? On the wrists? Nothing?” A man.
“There’s nothing except new runes on her back.”
I knew that voice. A woman. I knew her. From where did I know her voice?
I tried to lift my hand to rub the ache behind my eyes, but my arm came to an abrupt halt. Panic lanced through my chest when my other side was bound much the same. I jolted, twisted, tried to break free of the bindings.
A hand fell to my arm. “Lyra, stop. You’re safe. You’re all right. Stop.”
My vision cleared. “Yrsa?”
The Myrdan princess did not look particularly regal. Her black braids were tied high behind her head, and her brown skin was painted in kohl and green shades, meant to aid in disappearing behind trees.
Her smile was one of pity. “Lyra. You’re alive.” Yrsa sniffed and forced a stronger grin. “You’re all right now. We won’t let them touch you. We have several Stav with us. They won’t get through the watch.”
I shook my head. “N-n-no.” Simple as the word was, I could not form the sound and it was more a slurred groan than anything.
“Water,” Yrsa commanded someone out of my line of sight.
A ladle was pressed to my lips. I choked on the gulp. Gods. There, in front of me, was Prince Thane.
Much like Yrsa, Thane looked ready to rise as the kingdom’s assassin. His tunic and trousers were the purest black, and strapped across his chest and shoulder was thick leather lined with knives and daggers and a seax at his waist.
His golden hair was tied in a knot behind his head. That damn cunning smile had not changed. “Lyra Bien.” Thane chuckled and helped me sip the water. “It is good to see you alive. I wasn’t certain I ever would again.”
Relief at familiar faces promptly faded. Thane would believe me to be the killer of his father. Damir’s bones had been melded until his skull had caved in. Thane would not know of Fadey. All gods, this was a trap. Likely a moment of healing, all to give me strength before they took my head.
“I d-d-didn’t kill him.” My voice was a rough rasp, but the water aided in clearer words.
“What was that?”
“The k-king. I didn’t kill him.”
Thane’s eyes shadowed. “Ah. My father. Yes. You know, mere days ago, I might not have believed it. Which is why I am so glad you were able to send your missive and explain. Gods, Lyra what you must’ve endured. Having your soul controlled in such a way.”
Missive?
I shook my head again, but Yrsa moved to the other side of the cot and added a strange, gritty paste to my throat. “This will help clear any remnants of twisted craft. Or so Hilda told us. She looks forward to greeting you again.”
I looked down at the bone tonic. Hilda, another bone crafter taken from my village, was still alive. Sincere relief came from knowing, but it did not explain how the prince and princess were here, how they’d found me, and why they’d come.
“This wound, however.” Yrsa inspected the wrapped bandage across my palm. “I don’t know where it came from, but it was made with dark blood craft. I’ve already begun an attempt to counter it.”
Words burned to ash in my dry mouth. I wanted to scream at them that it was Queen Ingir’s work, but I could hardly keep my eyes open.
Thane took hold of my uninjured hand and squeezed. “Do not fret, Ly. We are far enough that Dravens will be at least a day’s ride behind us. Soon you’ll be safe behind the walls of Stonegate.”
I tried to shoot up from the cot, but the bindings held me down, and only a raspy “Please” slipped from my cracked lips.
Yrsa’s mouth pinched. “Lyra, rest. You’re safe and you’ll feel better soon. It won’t be long before your soul is free of their horrid chains.”
By the gods, what did they mean? I let my head fall back, my eyes clamped shut in frustration, but soon the fatigue, the heavy pressure on my chest drew me into a hazy fog once again.
“We ought to let her sleep” was all I heard from Yrsa before sleep dragged me away.
—
“There you are. Better?” Yrsa beamed at me again when my eyes fluttered open.
She was working a pungent blue paste over the festering blood craft wound.
“I think I’ve managed to stave off the corruption in the flesh.
I may not be the most skilled blood crafter, but the infection seems to be subsiding.
Another day, perhaps, and whatever spell cast was in your blood will break apart and fade like any other illness normally does. ”
I swallowed, my throat burned with fire, but slowly I sat up on the cot. “In…Ingir.”
Yrsa paused her work. “What did you say?”
I pointed at the wound. “Ingir. When you…when you attacked.”
Yrsa’s dark eyes went wide. “What attack?”
They did not know?
The tent flap opened and Thane appeared, a new ewer of water in hand. “She graces us yet again with her presence.”
“Thane.” Yrsa spun around. “She said the blood curse was from your mother after an attack.”
The prince paused, clearly confused. After a long moment he shook his head.
“My mother has not left her wing at Stonegate during her mourning. Remember the missive. Lyra, you told us your mind might be muddled from the fading soul craft, that you might not recall even reaching out for our aid.” Thane sat at the foot of the cot and leaned his back against one of the thin tent posts.
“I’m impressed you were able to have clear enough thoughts to send word at all.
I’ve read of soul crafters who once took over souls during battle. I can’t imagine what it was like.”
“I didn’t send a missive!” My voice found a bit of strength, but it sounded raw, as though I’d swallowed a spoonful of sand.
“You just don’t remember.”
“Thane.” I blew out a long breath, wincing against the ache in my hand when I pushed up in the bed even more. “What missive did I supposedly send?”
The prince removed a folded parchment from his pocket. “You explained it all. I know you did not intend to kill my father, Lyra. Do not hold any guilt. After…after I saw the truth, I should’ve suspected straightaway.”
Yrsa held the parchment in front of me, allowing me to read it without untying my wrists.
Prince,
I have little time before the corruption takes me again. My soul is forced to serve our enemy’s desires. They plan to come against Stonegate, believing you weak and a coward.
The day of the full moon, I am allowed to walk a path beyond the gates in the willow wood. I will not be of sound mind for long.
I speak true. Why would I plead for the son of the king I slaughtered to bring me back?
You are my only chance.
L
Yrsa folded the parchment when I stared at the top of the tent.
“It is no fault of your own,” Yrsa said softly. “Soul craft is mysterious to many of us, so how would we know it could do such a thing?”
“Yes.” Thane rose, his jaw tight. “We were all duped.”
“No.” A tear fell from the corner of my eye. “No, Thane, you’re wrong. I am no prisoner of Dravenmoor.”
“Lyra, do you think I did not search out if such things were possible? Soul craft can possess other souls, did you know that? They weave them together somehow. Force compliance.” Thane’s face was flushed. “Who knows how long he had us all locked in his plans.”
Hurt and betrayal were speaking.
I wanted to scream. “Thane, you must listen to me. I did not write that missive. I didn’t. I am not Roark’s prisoner, I am his…I am his wife.”
“Gods, Lyra.” Thane spun on me. “We heard all those poisonous lies.”
“And sent the Stav Guard to retaliate.”
The prince wore a look of sincere befuddlement. “What are you talking about?”
I closed my eyes, feeling the weariness of the fading tonics. It was a heady relief to believe Thane the Bold had nothing to do with the death of Thorian and Selena, but I did not have the time nor the strength to explain it.
The longer I was parted from Roark, the more I felt the rage of his soul.
Whatever affection my husband held for the Jorvan prince would not survive the obsession and bloodlust of his darker soul.
“Try to think clearly, Lyra,” Thane insisted with a touch of annoyance. “If the Stav went to battle, I’m sure I would know, for I would be with them.”
Reckless, wonderful, bold Thane. He was hurt and angry and had no idea what dangers lived in the walls of his own palace.
“Dravens have hunted your craft for as long as I’ve lived,” Yrsa offered. “Whatever he did to make you believe him, it was not real.”
I reached for her hand, exhaustion clouding my mind. “I must return. You don’t understand what is happening at Stonegate.”
“It’s too much too soon.” Yrsa moved for a small pouch. The same pine scent I’d breathed in earlier was there. “You need a little more rest, Lyra. It will be clearer in the morning.”
“No! Yrsa, please!”
I hardly finished speaking before the blur of empty black stole me away again.
—
Thane was seated on a stool in the corner of the tent when I woke.
More water. More stares. More silence.