Chapter 51
Lyra
Smoke burned my eyes to tears. I swiped the back of my hand over my face, smearing blood and sweat. Jordis killed the Jorvan queen in the same moment that Emi took Hundur. I was drawn to Skul Drek’s icy shadows the moment they were freed.
But I’d lost sight of Roark when he rushed after his uncle.
I forced my eyes to stay open, to blink through the burn.
This was the ending. This was the final step in the path of fate. Like a whispered truth, I knew this day ended our world. This day destroyed kingdoms.
Cries of battle were fading. Little by little, the slide of steel against steel weakened. Roars of attack were more grunts of exhaustion and pain. I did not know who had fallen from Dravenmoor. I did not know where to find my husband, so I followed his darkness instead.
Shadows of Skul Drek tore through bodies, striking at souls. Dark Watch warriors would be there to meet them as they fell. A hum of heat tugged at my heart, a call to find him, to bring him to me. The only hint to tell me Roark Ashwood was still alive.
Murky storm clouds mingled with ash and smoke. Soon darkness would call horns of rest, of retreat. If the battle ceased, it would be brought another day. I refused. This ends here. This ends now.
I knew it to my soul.
A blade crashed against my sword. My muscles strained beneath the strike, but it did not last.
All at once, the Stav Guard scrambled backward. His attention was aimed somewhere over my shoulder, his eyes wide in fright. Before I could strike at him, he spun on his heel and bolted toward the knolls.
What was happening?
Another Stav slammed into my shoulder in his own retreat, blood on his lips and fear in his eyes.
My heart stuttered when I heard the laughter. It was almost gleeful and far too young to be on a battlefield.
Gods, no.
Sindri stood at the edge of the field in the direction from which the Stav Guard kept fleeing.
Nivek’s son held a dagger in one hand, and the other he held outstretched. His bright eyes flashed as Stav Guard fumbled, crying out in frustration, and it seemed as though the men were fighting against their own blades.
Like something—or someone—was forcing the Stav to turn their own blades against themselves.
Dammit. The boy’s craft commanded souls. No doubt he’d done something to his watchguards to leave the camp. No doubt he wanted to avenge his father. No doubt he did not understand how swiftly his body would fatigue from craft.
“Sindri!” Jordis screamed. She was locked in a fight with a Shield Rider, her panic painfully clear in her eyes. She stumbled backward, and the Rider struck. Jordis blocked the strike, returning her focus to her own fight.
I bolted for the boy, to keep him alive, to keep his mother alive.
Until blinding pain spread across the back of my skull. My head rang, and I fell to my knees.
Somewhere in the haze, I could almost make out the hissing rasp of Skul Drek demanding that I keep my soul bright and lift up my blade.
Where was he?
I blinked against the shock of heat across my skull. My fingertips touched the place just above one ear and came back bloody. I’d been struck.
My body moved as though underwater, slow and sluggish, but I managed to curl my grip around the hilt of my fallen sword and stagger to unsteady feet. I turned halfway around and my blood froze.
Five paces away, Fadey tossed back a dark hood, his face as stone.
His eyes held nothing but disdain for me.
“I tried to warn you, Lyra. I tried to reason with you to avoid this.” He opened an arm, a gesture to death and blood and bone. “But you thought you could be victorious. Over me?”
Fadey hardly seemed scathed from the battle and moved like a true warrior, skilled and deadly.
I gripped my sword tighter to hide the tremble in my hands. On impulse, I studied his movements, watched his footing. “You’ve lost your support. Ingir is dead. Hundur too.”
He only sneered. “Saved me some trouble.”
I blew out a long breath, crouched lower, and rolled my grip around the hilt of my blade. Across the field, I locked on heated copper eyes. Skul Drek, enrobed in darkness, a plague on the field, found me.
I saw the obsession flare in those eyes before he fell back into the darkness, slicing through the souls of the field, desperate to reach me.
“You’re out of time, Fadey. Ingir’s spells are undone.”
“If you think your creature can touch me, then you are a fool. I came knowing Ingir would greet Salur, Lyra. He can try to take my soul, but he will fail.” Fadey clicked his tongue as though disappointed. “Out of respect for our shared blood, I’ll make your death quick.”
Unseen, hands gripped me from behind. Two Stav Guards grabbed on to my arms, forcing them wide. I kicked and struggled against their hold. Another guard yanked my braid and wrenched me back to the grass.
Fadey stalked closer. His men had my body pinned, my neck exposed. Gods, would he take my head here, display it to the battle? Hunt for Thane, Yrsa, Sindri? The boy was not far, and he did not know what awful danger awaited him.
Would Roark lose himself?
“You are weak,” I spat at Fadey when he stood over me, peering down Baldur’s nose. “No spine to face me on your own?”
“I grow tired of wasting time. I’d like to get on with it.”
“You don’t have the bones. You’ll win nothing today.”
Fadey chuckled. “You cannot convince me you returned from the River Clan empty-handed. I will find the bone of soul craft now that it is beyond the Unfettered wards. When this is over, when I have you and two others, the different veins of craft will lead me to it. I think if fate had been different, I would’ve liked to know you, Lyra. ”
The melder raised his sword. I reached for my bond, a chance to bid a final farewell to Roark. I will wait for you in the shadows.
Something like a tangle of rage and panic returned through the connection. My chest felt as though it caved inward from the pressure, the tension, the hissing and pleading to keep my soul alive.
Darkness rose, searching for me, hunting me. A wolf howled in the distance. Kyrre. Wherever Roark battled, he was desperately sending anything he could to find me.
Fadey raised his weapon to strike.
It never landed.
The Stav Guards holding me to the ground released me, turning blankly to the battle like they’d all at once forgotten where they were. Above me, Fadey’s anger carved into his features. He stared at his sword like he could not grasp what brought it to a halt.
A cough, a groan of pain, drew my attention. And Fadey’s.
No. Damn the gods. Sindri stumbled to where we were. Stupid, reckless boy. Blood dripped from his nose, and his skin was pale. He was trying to save me and would destroy himself.
I made quick work of rolling away from Fadey. “Sindri! Run, you must run.”
The boy was not yet fourteen, but he’d taken to the battlefield with the bravery of a seasoned warrior. In this moment, he looked like a frightened child, surrounded by blades, by death.
Fadey shook his head, holding his brow as Sindri’s compulsion over too many souls faded.
The boy turned, stumbled once, and tried to flee. He didn’t get the chance.
Fadey had a grip on the back of Sindri’s tunic and yanked the boy backward.
“I felt you. What wicked craft you have. Powerful. But who are you, boy?” The melder laughed and looked over his shoulder. “Lyra, he looks a little like your dark Draven prince. A relation, perhaps? What have you been hiding?”
I let out a scream—not from pain, this was fury, hot and dark. A ferocious cry for all the ways this man, this monster, had stolen from the innocent. For all the ways Fadey had taken those I kept in my heart.
I hurried to my feet and ran at Fadey.
The melder had Sindri by the hair, tilting his head back. The boy was too weak to fight. I forced my legs to push harder, faster. I wasn’t going to reach him. Fadey already had his dagger at the boy’s throat.
Snarls and growls ripped through the air. I caught a whirl of black fur and gnashing teeth. Kyrre leapt against Fadey’s shoulders, carrying the melder to the ground. Sindri cried out, clutching his neck, where blood spilled between his fingers.
The fara wolf scrambled in front of the boy, spine arched and teeth bared. Fadey was back on his feet, one shoulder bleeding from the jagged bite. His blade was lost, three paces away.
A grunt came from behind me. One of the Stav Guard had recovered from Sindri’s soul compulsion and had rushed at me. Now an arrow was buried in his chest.
Thane, ten paces away, loaded another arrow into a blood-stained bow.
Together, Yrsa and Emi circled two more Stav.
The princess touched one man, and fibrous red light pulsed under her skin.
I’d never seen blood craft other than spells, but the magic of Yrsa’s blood seemed to burn through her dark skin until the man in her grip had red dripping from his ears, mouth, and eyes.
Emi had switched to wielding her blades, her body likely aching from snapping bones with her craft. She roared her rage with every bloody strike.
Another Stav fell forward. A vacant look coated his features, and coils of shadows billowed off his shoulders.
Skul Drek was there, unseen, devouring folk.
Another cluster of Stav screamed when òlmr gnawed on a throat, and spears were flung at the rest. Kael, Brynn, and Auki battled alongside the brutality of the wolves.
But through the smoke, a dark form cut across the battle. His face was coated in dirt, blood, and smeared kohl. Beneath it all, Roark’s eyes burned with something violent. He strode toward me, Dark Watch at his back, ax in one hand, and in the other he carried…gods, he held Virki’s head.