Chapter 47
Lyra
The Dark Watch camp settled in the trees and lands not far from the northern tip of the Black Fjords. Tents, fire pits, and a small barrier of fences to mark the camp’s borders were already in place.
I propped my chin onto Roark’s shoulder. “It looks like your mother moved the Dark Watch not long after we left.”
He nodded but didn’t unfurl his clenched fists to respond.
Jordis rode alongside us. “What do you think drew them out?”
“I don’t know. But if the Dark Watch is on guard and ready for battle, something happened in our absence.”
“Oi. What’d we say, you sods?” Gunter’s voice lifted over the camp. From a crowd of Dark Watchers, the soul weaver shoved toward the back of the procession.
Three Dark Watch warriors aimed blades at the horses of Thane and Yrsa. Gunter tugged on one man’s shoulder, breaking his hold. “What’d we say, huh? The Jorvan prince is with us.”
The Dark Watcher was young, likely new, and dropped his chin. “Apologies. Saw him and panicked.”
“Let them pass. Gods, you call yourself a watcher. We don’t panic.” Gunter winked up at Yrsa. “Apologies, Princess.”
“Are you making eyes at my betrothed?” Thane huffed.
“I might be.”
“Get in line, Gunter.” Emi rode alongside Yrsa’s horse, kicking at her fellow Draven until he laughed and backed away.
“Glad you lot still breathe. Though it seems like our dear prince has seen better days.” Gunter quickened his step to our horse. “Lyra, trouble over the ledges? We have not been parted terribly long and already he falls apart.”
“Fadey attacked Roark’s soul. We need to see the queen.”
“Shit.” Gunter took hold of the horse’s lead and took us to the largest tent in the center of the camp. “Go. I’ll see to your things.”
Roark slid off the back of the horse, using the creature’s neck to steady himself before he reached for my hand.
His grip was tight, possessive, and he looked around at his own people like they were enemies for even glancing my way.
Skul Drek did not reason well. Threats, death, depravity—those were always in the forefront of his focus until our soul bond.
Now, to him, it seemed no one was worthy of trust, for they would likely turn their darkest desires against his melder.
Elisabet stood over a long tabletop placed on stumps. Maps of the three realms scattered the surface. Yanson, Kaysar, Ofan, and other Dark Watch captains were there with her.
Elisabet’s lips parted. “What’s happened? Why is the deledan tethered?”
“Tethered?” I stepped back when the queen led Roark to a chair. The prince nearly hissed at her when she tore us apart.
The queen wheeled on me. “What happened?”
I glanced at the captains. “They will know the truth about…”
“They already know Fadey lives.”
Ofan, the man who spewed his hatred after Roark slaughtered Fillip at the ravines, hung his chin.
“Melder Bien, the queen confessed the secrets kept on what truly happened at Stonegate. We know how you fought to stop the bones of the fallen from being used and battled against Melder Fadey. I hope to the gods one day I might earn your forgiveness for misplacing my hatred, for assuming you are like the dark melder.”
Roark clacked his teeth at Ofan, much like Skul Drek.
I squeezed his palm and faced Elisabet. “I’ve no need for apologies. I need to save him. Fadey attacked the deledan in the realm of souls.”
“How?” The queen’s vibrant eyes burned like a new spark of a flame.
“He trapped me, and Skul Drek followed. Fadey attacked him, and he disappeared. When we broke the trance, Roark was like this. What do you mean he is tethered?”
Elisabet cursed and turned back to the prince.
“Trapped within him. A rent soul is but a remnant of the whole soul. It is never meant to overpower the body, the mind, the heart. But once it is split, it cannot be forced back into what it was. The remnant will always remain separate. It is a blood craft spell, one with hints of darker curses used against soul crafters in wars of old. The craft is forcing the deledan back into Roark, as though trying to make his soul whole again, and it is poisoning him.”
The white glowing barbs. No doubt a binding spell to tether Skul Drek inside Roark’s whole soul, forcing a restoration that should never be.
“How do we stop it?”
Elisabet was pale when she faced me. “I can’t stop it. Not unless the blood craft is broken. This is Ingir’s work. She is clever and cruel. I will take her head.”
“No.” I stepped in front of the queen. “No. I do not accept that there is nothing we can do for him. I will not watch my husband die because his soul is not free.”
The queen dragged her fingers through her hair, pacing. “I cannot rend him again. It would take too much from him, likely kill him just the same.”
A throat cleared. “Is there a way to slow the poison?”
I startled. Yrsa, Thane, and Emi stood at the flap of the tent.
The princess approached the queen, chin lifted, poised, as regal as I had ever seen her. “Queen Elisabet. Tell me, is there a way to slow the poison?”
The queen looked between Yrsa and Thane, then to Roark. “The fragment of his soul will be trying to get free. It will shadow my son, but if he had other tethers to cling to, it could help him keep in control a little longer. But it would not be permanent.”
“Would it be enough?” Thane pressed.
Elisabet’s jaw set. “It would be long enough to give me time to kill your mother, Prince Thane.”
Thane flinched. “You are trying to test me, Elisabet? See if I am truly loyal to your son? I mean, you did arrange for his fate to cross with mine, hoping he’d betray me in the end.
” There was a darkness in the prince’s tone when he leaned over the table, his eyes on the queen.
“Let me assure you, every soul I would go to war for is here. In this camp. The rest, I have resigned, could meet the gods. Some certainly should.”
“You would kill your own mother?”
“It is not a desire of mine, no,” Thane admitted. “But for them”—the prince gestured at all of us—“I would do many despicable things. They are my family, Queen Elisabet.”
“Good.” Elisabet’s face softened. “Because Roark does not live if your mother survives. It could be a season, two. But he will fall to the poison. No matter how much we slow it.”
Thane blew out a breath, but he did not falter. “Then Roark lives. Yrsa, any ideas on how we can give him something to hold on to?”
The princess closed her eyes. I did not know how the blood craft spoke to her; I did not know if instincts played a role, or if there was a shift in her blood. But when Yrsa opened her eyes again, her posture straightened and her voice was sure.
“We need something stronger than the desires of the deledan to pull him out of the haze it is creating.”
Roark touched my fingers, drawing my attention. You brighten the night.
All gods.
“Me.” I spun back to Yrsa. “Create a tether of me, of you, of Emi. Thane. Every one of us Roark Ashwood would die to protect. We are the souls who kept him fighting when he did not have control once before.”
Yrsa’s grin turned vicious. “Perfect. I know what to do. Everyone who cares for the prince, give me your damn blood.”
—
Yrsa had her dark braids tied in a knot on the top of her head, her brow was covered with sweat, and she kept shifting her grip on the pestle she ground against spongy, blood-soaked herbs in the mortar.
The line had no shortage of folk, and Gunter and Thane kept pricking fingertips and dropping their offerings into Yrsa’s blood craft.
Yanson, Kaysar, the twins, Dark Watch warriors, Elisabet.
Even Kael. With the help of Brynn, my brother glared at Roark like he despised him but offered two drops of his blood.
“It’s because of me,” he muttered when he strode past.
“No. Fadey would have been waiting no matter what.”
Jordis and Sindri stopped at the mouth of the tent. Elisabet studied them, head tilted, no mistake seeing a bit of her son in the face of the boy. “Who are you?”
Roark scoffed when he slumped in the chair. His fever had lessened, and he seemed less fatigued.
Mother. Meet the hidden bone of the Wanderer. The firstborn of the firstborn. Your true heir to Dravenmoor.
His gestures were as slurred as a drunkard’s words. I had to repeat them to his mother.
Blood drained from the queen’s face. “Nivek.”
I nodded. “This is Jordis, Nivek’s wife and sjeleven. And their son, Sindri the Wild.”
Elisabet Foxglen was not a woman who ruffled. Never had I seen her uncertain or bothered by the words of others.
The queen went to Jordis first, studying her, like she was memorizing her every feature. “My son’s…wife?”
Jordis dipped her chin. “Death has only separated us for a time.”
Elisabet peered at the boy. “You look like your father, my prince.”
The queen dipped her chin in a bow. A signal to all her councilmen, all the Dark Watchers in the tent, that Sindri the Wild of the Unfettered was the heir to their kingdom. Nivek’s son, the future king of Dravenmoor.
The boy flushed. “I…I might be able to help my uncle, Lady.”
Jordis nudged her son. “She is a queen.”
“I mean, Queen.”
Elisabet’s eyes brightened. “How can you help him?”
Sindri shifted back and forth on his feet. “Well, I got the same stuff as my father. I’ve got soul craft.”
“What is your craft?”
Gammal mentioned the boy was interesting. We’d never thought to ask if Nivek’s son had craft.
“I, uh, I tell souls what to do. It’s not exactly good, I suppose. And it, uh, it makes me wobbly for a bit. Sometimes I retch if it takes too long.”
Yanson chuckled. “Hear that, men? The gods brought us another soul chainer. Haven’t had one of those for a few hundred seasons.”
“A soul chainer?” Jordis draped an arm around Sindri’s bony shoulders.
“It’s what we call someone who can command a soul to do something against its will.”
“Saw my uncle do it.” Sindri flashed Roark a smile. “Convinced old Brokk to burn down his own house.”
Elisabet frowned at Roark. “You possessed a man?”
Roark waved her away. I encouraged an idea.
The queen faced her grandson. “It’s not exactly the same. A deledan can completely take control of a soul, corrupt it. That is what your uncle did, and it is frowned upon.”
Roark snorted and reached for my hand, as though it had been too long since he touched me.
“You, if you are a soul chainer, can command a soul for a time. It’s dangerous, and in the wrong soul, it could be tempting to make folk do anything you desire.”
Sindri nodded. “My mam said the same thing. Wouldn’t let me do it to Brokk.”
“She was wise to say so,” Elisabet said. “But you can learn to use it when the temptation is not there.” The queen smiled. “With your clan here, you can learn all about soul craft and how the gifts of the gods should be used to better our people. Now, to help, what are you thinking you wish to do?”
“Well, doesn’t he have some piece of a soul inside of him?” Sindri strode to Roark after Elisabet confirmed. “I was thinkin’ maybe I could command the soul to not attack him.”
My heart leapt to my throat. “Do you think you could, Sindri?”
“I could try. Bet he’s a lot stronger than me, but maybe it’ll buy some time along with the lady’s blood spell.”
Yrsa lifted her chin. “It’s nearly finished. Anything might help.”
Let him, Roark gestured. The red of his eyes flashed.
Sindri stretched his fingers.
“I’m gonna touch you, see if I can find it and all.” The boy placed a palm on Roark’s arm. He shuddered. “Gods, it’s right there. I can…I can feel it. You live with this inside you?”
Roark chuckled softly and let his eyes close. Sindri winced, but beneath his finger, Roark’s veins pulsed. Wisps of darkness swirled under Roark’s skin. The boy coughed. A drop of blood trickled from his nose.
“Sindri,” Jordis warned. “Do not harm yourself.”
“Little more,” he gritted out. “He wants out. Doesn’t even know he’s hurting his own self. Doesn’t know how to stop.”
My shoulders slumped. It was brave of the boy to try.
“I’m gonna tell him to be calm,” Sindri said, as another drop of blood fell from his nose. “Might help if he’s not constantly digging at him.”
The veins of Roark’s arms, neck, and face bulged for another breath, then faded, lightening for the first time. Roark’s eyes remained the fierce bloodred, but he slumped in the chair, his muscles less corded than before.
Sindri coughed again and doubled over. He covered his mouth with one palm.
Jordis pulled him back. “That’s all.”
The boy drew in a few sharp breaths, but nodded. “Sorry. I tried.”
“Thank you, Sindri. I think it helped.”
Roark was relaxed in the chair when Yrsa approached. She rolled the crushed herbs and blood inside the mortar over a simple piece of wood. Thane had cut a strip of leather off one of the satchels. The princess tied the wood shard around Roark’s neck and tucked it beneath his tunic.
“Keep this against the skin, Roark,” she said softly. “This is everyone who stands with you, cares whether you live or die. Use us to pull yourself back should you need it.”
He curled his hand around the shard. Thank you. Does this mean you forgive me?
Yrsa shoved his shoulder. “It’s a start.”
Roark’s skin no longer burned, and when he stood, he did not stumble. He went to his mother. What happened to bring the full Watch?
“Scouts told us Myrdan and Jorvan forces are crossing the fjords. They will be here by morning.”
“What?” Thane crossed the tent. “The full Stav?”
Elisabet nodded. “King Hundur has summoned the Shield Riders as well.”
Yrsa cursed. From chatter overhead in the Jakobson longhouse, I was aware that the Myrdan Shield Riders were skilled horsemen who knew how to kill from above. They were difficult to bring down and used hooked barbs on ropes to snare their victims and drag them behind their charges.
“We’ve brought two dozen Unfettered spearmen,” Jordis offered. “They are fierce fighters.”
“Fortunate your scouts caught sight of them,” Thane said. “We can be ready.”
Elisabet’s face hardened. “We sent scouts because we were betrayed. Yanson intercepted a missive to Stonegate scouts, telling them where you all had gone and for what purpose. They come now to intercept you, not knowing the Dark Watch will meet them.”
“Who sent the missive?” I asked.
The queen leaned over the table. “Virki has betrayed his clan and stands with Melder Fadey.”