Chapter 48
Roark
Already the blood craft spell had chased away the relentless thrashing under my skin. Calm was there, but a simmer of something like rage edged each thought, every movement.
For now, with Sindri’s craft and Yrsa’s spell, the fever faded and my limbs felt like my own again.
My mother grew silent when we told her the truth of my uncle’s involvement in Nivek’s death.
Virki had always feigned the regretful uncle, heartbroken over being the one who was bound by Draven law and honor to name the prince as the traitor. He’d always vowed, on his knees, that he desired a trial for Nivek.
He’d blamed his own crime on the Dark Watch.
When the queen spoke again, she demanded that watch shifts be put in place, then urged her warriors to rest, eat, and prepare.
“Sindri is being guarded in the tents. The queen does not want to risk him traveling back to the palace with Jorvans so near, so he’ll be guarded here.” Lyra pulled back a thick fur over a mat we’d share. “He’s not happy about it.”
I chuckled and stripped my tunic over my head. One touch to the talisman left me breathing easier. Lyra studied me when I slipped beside her.
“Your eyes still burn red.”
Are they horrid to look at?
She ran a thumb over my lashes. “No. I’m beginning to wonder things about myself, because I might be drawn to the ruthlessness of them. I love your gold, but I don’t mind your eyes like this.”
I curled my body around hers, my fingers dancing across her chest. I think I’ve corrupted you.
“Hmm. Then you owe me for being a terrible influence, Ashwood.” Lyra rolled onto her shoulder and traced the bridge of my nose. “But I’ll collect after the battles are done.”
She tried to mask it, but there was a quiver to her voice.
We end this, but they do not end us.
Lyra dropped her chin. “I don’t understand how Fadey can care for nothing else but power.”
Because your heart is not black like his.
“Not once in all my existence has he ever stopped to see me as a person, a daughter, not a tool in his ambition. I cannot fathom such a lust that he hunts living souls, slaughters to hide his own identity, and attacks everyone I love without remorse.”
I adjusted on the mat, tucking her body half beneath mine. I plan to keep my vow, Fadey bound at your feet as I hand you the blade.
Lyra lifted her head and pressed a sweet kiss to my lips. Her palm brushed over my stubble. “I missed you. I am glad to see you upright again. I cannot tell you how terrified I was that you might not wake from the trance.”
I turned my face to kiss her palm. We have tonight. Let us not waste it with worries of what might be or what could’ve happened.
“Oh? What else am I to do when two armies are headed toward us and my blood father wants to tear out everyone’s bones?”
I maneuvered us so her back was pressed to my chest. Lyra made a move to protest, but I took the lobe of her ear between my teeth.
Her gasp was the sweetest sound.
She did not open her eyes when I spoke softly to her cheek. I have some ideas.
“Roark.” Her hips pressed into mine. “You’ve…you’ve been ill and—”
I covered her mouth with one hand, then let my fingers run down her chin, her throat, until I could speak against her rising chest. We go into a battle. Whatever the dawn brings, this night will not be spent sleeping when it has been too long since I’ve heard my wife’s moans.
“Gods,” she said in a rough rasp.
One palm slid down the curve of her waist, and my fingertips teased the loose waist of her trousers. Lyra panted. She bucked her hips and tried to roll over to face me.
I only tightened my grip around her waist and shook my head. No. Stay put.
Any complaints choked off in her throat when I slid my other arm beneath her head, then reached down the front of her tunic. I palmed one of her full breasts at the same moment my other hand cupped between her thighs.
I was torn in two, and remnants of my soul were bleeding into my heart, but for a moment I was whole—villainy and goodness in alignment, wanting more of this woman.
Never would I get enough of her sounds, her taste, the heat of her body beneath my touch.
I kissed the curve of her neck, thrusting two fingers inside her slit, curling the tips. Lyra gasped and rocked over my hand. She curled her palms around my forearm and moaned when I pinched her nipple.
“Roark,” she said, breathless. “Let me touch you too.”
I shook my head and added a third finger.
“Bas…bastard.” The word ground out in a long groan. Lyra let her head fall back against mine. She rocked and moved over my fingers; she covered my hand on her breast, holding me there.
A whimper slipped through her lips when I quickened the thrusts of my hand. She pressed her hips against the hardness of my length, and it spun my head. Tonight was hers. I wanted her to fall apart in my hands, in my clarity. I wanted to own her cries, her breaths.
Fadey would try to take her from me. He did not see her as the brightest soul. Tonight I would worship her. I would show her every move I made was for her alone. No crown, no craft, no clan.
It was all for Lyra. A woman I was meant to despise, a woman who destroyed me, both edges of my soul, and I never desired to heal from her ruin.
Lyra sobbed and writhed, her movements erratic. She seemed to attempt words, but they slurred into more perfect, beautiful gasps and moans.
She gave in. Her body was mine to command. My fingers pinched and stroked her core, thrusting deeper and deeper until her mouth parted and rough pants rolled over her full lips. Tender attention went to her breasts. I kissed her throat, and my tongue ran over her pulse, nipping her skin there.
All at once, she went taut, her cries of release climbing. I tilted her chin and swallowed the sounds with a furious kiss. My fingers slowed inside her, drawing out every last bit of her pleasure.
Slick with her, I traced the planes of her belly, her ribs.
Lyra’s eyes flashed, the silver scars of her craft like a falling star. “You have a cruel soul to not let me touch you.”
I grinned. And you love both edges.
“No.” She dragged her nose along my cheek. “I just love you. Hunter, villain, prince, warrior. To me, all those edges are simply you. That is who I love.”
At the dawn—every step, every strike, every death—it would always be for her.
—
Mists gathered at the top of a knoll when the pale dawn began to break the night.
I stood on the edge beside the queen with Kyrre at my side, whimpering.
My mother, clad in her leathers for battle, stared at the half a dozen Dark Watch warriors and two fara wolves who urged the boy into one of the smaller tents, concealed from the open fields.
Sindri looked over his shoulder to where Jordis stood, a spear in her grip, her braids tightly woven behind her head. Like the Dark Watch, Nivek’s wife had painted jagged streaks of black down her cheeks.
“I am not Draven,” she told the queen. “But I stand here in my husband’s place and fight for his people.”
Sindri was not welcomed to the battlefield. His protests matched his youthful age, the way he looked ready to stomp and kick his feet. In the end he complied. Now he would be shielded in the camp until the Dark Watch found a moment safe enough to get the boy to the palace.
“He looks like Nivek,” the queen said.
I nodded.
My mother faced me. “You seem better this morning.”
I lifted the totem. Helps.
“Roark.” Elisabet hesitated. “I do not know what lies in store today, but I must tell you something. Trust me or do not, but I love you. I love your brother. I love my king. I did not have a way to save your life, and your father willingly gave his so you would have a chance to restore what was lost. I never betrayed my bond.”
My teeth clamped. Did you know my bond wouldn’t break with the deledan?
I repeated the question until understanding flashed in the queen’s eyes.
“Yes.” She stared at the grass. “I thought I would lose my bond when your father volunteered to be rent in two. I did not speak to him for weeks. I could not believe he would ask me to do such a thing. But when it was clear our sons might be at risk should the Jorvans succeed in their plans to continue crafting their vicious warriors, I made my first impossible choice. Perhaps the gods are kinder than I know. Our bond did not break.”
You could still speak with him?
My mother grinned. “Yes. When he could not speak to others, he could pull me in through our bond, and we could communicate clearly. I counseled with him there. It was how I knew his desire was to give you the chance to live. The deaths you were commanded to bring to the Jorvans, I admit, came from hatred. I’m sorry for falling into the bitterness over the seasons.
I embraced my own darker pieces too fiercely at times.
But never truly against Lyra. I knew you would never kill her should she be found. Your soul bond would not allow it.”
I did not know what to think. The queen admitted to using my darker soul to slaughter.
True, she might’ve desired for Thane to die when I attacked him, but she knew I would not harm Lyra.
She knew, eventually, that we would be reunited.
It meant Elisabet Foxglen always anticipated the melder living within her borders.
Since I’d returned, pieces of the past had fallen into place, and I questioned my bitterness more and more.
To know that both my mother and father knew of my infantile bond and gave up everything so I might keep it—the truth was almost too much to carry.
The weight of resentment and bitterness I’d shouldered all this time grew heavier with emotion.
With a debt to those who’d given me life that I could never repay.
Thank you.
Elisabet returned a small smile. “I would save you again and again. Live today. Be free, son. That is how you can thank me.”
A horn broke the stillness of the morning.
In the valley below, soupy mists pulled back. My blood quickened. Darkness boiled in my brain.
Rows and rows of Stav Guard units marched through the trees. Shield Riders took the edges, their gilded round shields in position atop their tall, bulky horses.
The whole of the front lines was made of Berserkirs. There were more now than when I’d left. Men clad in tunics with tassels marking their kills. Bones bulged across their shoulders and legs, their thighs thicker than was natural, their necks wide and bulky.
At the head was Fadey.
The melder was clad in black, the white wolf of Stonegate the only contrast on his attire.
Unlike the Shield Riders, Stav Guard preferred to attack on foot.
They were trained to be swift and brutal—I’d trained them.
Fadey took his place in front of the Berserkirs.
Men he’d corrupted over the seasons. He still wore the face of Baldur the Fox, auburn hair braided down his skull.
Did anyone behind those blades and shields realize who they followed into battle?
Near the back, on the peak of a smaller hill, Hundur was perched atop a fine stallion and next to him was Ingir.
Hate thrashed in my veins. The presence of the blood crafter queen was a signal for the trapped darkness to bleed out again, to break me apart to be free.
I held the talisman. I thought of Lyra’s face.
The silver in her eyes. The words she whispered before she woke each morning, her silent hopes for how the day might go.
It was my most favored part of the morning.
My wife, sharing her thoughts with me, admitting she looked forward to seeing them through with me at her side.
“Even though you’re still surly, Ashwood.” She’d always whisper the final line before kissing my head and leaving our bed.
This morning had been no different, only her voice was hushed, trembling.
Fear was there. Still, Lyra spoke of her hopes for the after.
We’d all be dining at a weary table tonight, sharing our bloody stories and celebrating that we all survived.
Then, she would fall asleep in my arms and she’d wake to a world where, at long last, we were both free.
“So it begins,” the queen whispered at my side.
I rolled my shoulders back and looked at my mother. I will meet you on the battlefield.
My mother smiled at the old Dark Watch saying. “And I will meet you off it, be it looking down from Salur or at your side with a horn in hand.”
The queen took hold of my palm and squeezed.
And I did the same.