Chapter 44 #2
One of the doors on the small hut behind the great hall creaked open. Brynn stepped into the sunlight, holding a strap of leather in her grip. Behind her, Kael blinked against the brightness of the sun.
His face seemed bloodless, with deep shadows underneath his eyes, but he was not resisting. He wasn’t scowling. There was a touch of green to his countenance, but he moved with a steadier gait, without a single tug on the bindings.
“Kael?” I held my breath, prepared to feel my heart shatter again.
“Lyra.” His voice was laced in venom, but a flicker of the light I loved so much had returned to his eyes.
Brynn stepped aside, unsettled.
“Don’t…go,” Kael said under his breath. “Not far.”
“I won’t,” she said.
I leaned close, my voice a whisper. “Did you tell him?”
Brynn shook her head. “He told me that when I stand close, he can think clearer.”
“Merely one of those things I can’t explain,” Kael said. “You took a bone, Ly?”
“Three actually.”
Kael twisted until his face pulled in a wince. “Ah. There. I feel lighter in one moment, then like a stone in the next.”
“Do you want me to continue removing them?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. Certain. Direct. “It is painful, but I do not want to live this way. There is a madness, a hate, that burns inside me. The noise from all these…souls is torture.”
“I can see why Berserkirs fall into the berserksgangur, then. Perhaps it silences the confusion.”
Kael nodded. “But I don’t want it. I never wanted to be a monster. I wanted to protect my people, you.”
My fingers trembled when I touched his arm. “You will, Kael. As long as it takes, I will remove those bones. We must be careful, that’s all. Some are precariously placed.”
“Oakbriar said as much.” Kael gave a quick look at Brynn. “Woman’s made of iron, the way she’s tolerated me.”
I chuckled. “You will not find a more loyal soul than Brynn Oakbriar.”
A bit of pink teased Brynn’s cheeks. “What is he doing?”
I spun around.
In front of Brokk’s gate, Roark stood, unmoving. Simply watching. Brokk stumbled toward the front of his house, his movements like he’d had too much ale. At times he jolted, as though he’d been stung by something sharp.
My eyes widened when Brokk paused at one of the fire pits where boiled dyes cooked in iron kettles to soak into linens. Without a word, the man took a piece of wood and ignited the tip in the flame.
Brokk stepped into his longhouse. Roark didn’t move. Only tilted his head to the side.
I went to call out his name, but the words faded on my tongue. Thick, black smoke spiraled from the top of Brokk’s thatched roof. Screams from inside the house rose. Servants fled, clutching whatever they’d been able to grab. Wooden walls were set ablaze.
From the doorway, Brokk appeared again, holding the leather pouches of coins and silver used to purchase Jordis’s freedom. The man carried them back out, dazed, hardly bothered that his homestead was burning.
On the next glance, Brokk’s hand no longer carried the coins. Where the farmer’s grip had been, now a misty coil curled around the pouches. Skul Drek, cowled and ominous, stepped forward as though drifting through Brokk’s body.
Roark had his head bent low. By the way his hands moved, he was writing something.
A burst of flames ignited from Brokk’s inglenook. More folk fled out of the gates, turning to watch it all burn. Brokk swayed, a little mystified, watching his house go up in flames.
I was frozen, locked on the sight of Skul Drek prowling forward, a wonderfully terrifying phantom.
“This is his craft?” I’d not realized Jordis stood beside me, eyes wide. Sindri stood at her side, a look of concern there until he saw the goats and hogs flee the stables, far from the burning longhouse.
Then the boy sneered.
“He controls and destroys the souls of others if he desires, if they deserve it,” I said, a little breathless.
No doubt, Skul Drek had somehow placed Brokk in a bit of a trance, and it was fast fading. Brokk let out a roar of anger, seeming to notice his destroyed estate. No one sought to comfort the sod; most of the Unfettered simply watched, aghast.
By the account of everyone, Brokk put flame to his own home. But from within him emerged a darkness they’d never seen. Some looked on in horror. Others, like Gammal, bore a look of satisfaction.
I watched the flames with dark desire. By the molten hell, the sooner I could put my hands on my husband, the better.
When Skul Drek was five paces away, Roark turned around and strode toward us. His jaw was set. He walked in pace with his darker soul, like a true shadow followed him, drawing nearer with each step.
When he reached us, Skul Drek stepped into Roark from behind. For a fleeting glance, the coppery red of the phantom stared out at us from Roark’s gaze. Coils of shadows remained for a breath, a dark cloak over his shoulders.
Roark walked past Sindri and shoved the coin pouches into the chest of the boy, forcing him to grapple for purchase. A strip of parchment was folded between the two pouches.
The boy gawked at his uncle, holding the payment in his hands. Roark did not look back at his nephew. He stopped by me and brushed a thumb over my cheek. Now we’re ready to leave.
Gods, this man.
Roark ignored the curious glances of the Unfettered Folk and went to help his cousin and Yrsa with the rest of the horses.
Sindri held the parchment. I did not ask permission and scanned the words over the boy’s shoulder.
Sindri looked at me. “Brokk could retaliate.”
I looked back at the man. He was on his knees, wailing. I shook my head. “I would like to see him try to challenge your uncle. That is not the half of what he can do.”
The boy looked down at Roark’s note once more, tracking every symbol.
A prince of Dravenmoor is owned by no one.