Chapter 6
Lyra
Clad in a black tunic, his dark hair was tied off his brow, and those eyes pierced through the cloak of night like polished gold florin the instant he lifted his head.
“What’s a boy doin’ out in the trees?” My head tilted to one side. “Don’t you know the drums sounded? They’re barring the gates to town.”
He’d be trapped out in a storm if he didn’t leave now.
When I reached and touched his shoulder, the boy whipped out a small knife I’d not seen. A squeak slipped free of my lips and I jolted back. He seemed so…feral. Wild. The boy behaved like a warrior when, clearly, he was not.
A soft snicker broke from my throat. “What’s the matter with you?”
The boy peered at me like he might clamp his teeth on my wrist. Then, he coughed. Hacking and rough.
One glance over my shoulder, I checked to see if my mother and father were near. The yard was empty save for goats and hogs. But the steady thrum of drums grew nearer.
I looked at the strange boy again. Those eyes were bright, like fiery ore at the smith’s hut. Something tightened in my chest. All at once, I wanted to step closer to him. The thought was frightening enough, I took a wide step backward. “You, uh, you look thirsty. Have you been lost in the wood?”
I knelt in front of him.
His eyes widened, his lips parted, and a soft, “Melder,” slid over his tongue, a strange lilt in his voice, not the accent of Myrda or Jorvandal.
The accent of the wild Dravenmoor.
Damn the gods. In haste, I scurried back. How could I be so foolish? The silver scars in my eyes were a dead giveaway that I was cursed.
“Wait!” The boy called out to me before I could sprint toward the house.
Tightness dug into my chest, coiled around my feet, drawing me to a stop. Breaths came sharp. Slowly, I turned and faced the Draven boy.
His face had softened, and he rubbed a palm over his chest, like he might be feeling the same strange barb in his heart. “You’re the melder?”
Tears stung behind my eyes. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“But…you’re…you’re supposed to be old.”
Old? On instinct, I hid my gaze by peering down, watching my own toes kick pebbles in the soil. “I’m not old. Please don’t be sayin’ anything. We’re leaving now and won’t be a bother.”
The boy rose to his feet. Even beneath the smudges of charcoal and paint, I could tell his features were a few full seasons away from looking like a man. Hans always told me Draven folk ate bones and drank blood.
This boy didn’t seem much different than me.
He tilted his head. “A melder.”
“Look, you keep sayin’ it, but if you’re going to try to kill me just do it.” I turned the water ladle, so the handle pointed at him, and bent at the knees. “We’ll see who wins.”
He would win. I was horrid at fighting and preferred drawing on parchment or reading tales with Mam. But I wouldn’t disrespect House Bien by cowering.
The Draven drew closer, brow still furrowed, as though he could not puzzle through the truth of…me.
After another drawn pause, he cleared his throat. “You, um, you offered water.”
What? I eyed him with suspicion. He gestured at the ladle. Could be a ruse to get me to drop my ridiculous weapon. True, the boy was a bit taller, but I could kick and bite if he lunged at me.
I took a step toward the pail and scooped some of the frigid water. With caution, I faced the boy again and held out the cup of the ladle. “Here.”
Our fingers brushed. Inside my chest something ignited, like a fiery storm spiraled through my ribs and jolted in my heart. My knees trembled and it seemed I was not alone.
The Draven boy bent forward, dropping the ladle, as though I’d struck him square in the belly. He cursed under his breath.
What was happening? The longer I kept close to him the more turmoil coiled in my veins. The thought of stepping away from this enemy boy seemed more horrid than meeting a blade.
When he lifted his gaze, I nearly stumbled backward, as though, all at once, such direct nearness to him was a force like the wind, knocking me off my feet.
He straightened and wiped a bit of sweat off his brow. The boy took a long step nearer to me, studying me as he had before, but there was something different in his face now, something darker, something deeper. “Do you feel it, melder?”
His voice was soft, almost frightened.
“What’s happening?” I whispered.
The boy swallowed. He reached out dirt-smudged fingers and touched the end of my braid. “I think…I think you’re mine.”
“What?”
His eyes narrowed. “They can’t have you.”
My head spun a dozen different ways and I did not notice the boy curl his hand around my wrist. He spun around so swiftly, I tripped. The boy caught me under the arm. “Hurry, we’ve got to hide you.”
“No!” I yanked back on his hold. “I’m not leaving my mam and pap.”
The boy cursed again, glancing at the small house we’d leased. “We’ll hide them too, but get down. I’ll get help.”
“Why should I believe you?” Strange, but something inside me already did.
The Draven boy paused. He studied my features. “You’re mine. Soul to soul. You might not know much about soul craft, but I do. I’ve gotta get someone to help us hide. He will because he knows how important this is.” The boy waved his hand between us.
“What is?”
“A soul bond.” There wasn’t another explanation before he led me to the trees and positioned me behind a thick fallen log. “I won’t be gone long. Just give me a moment to fetch him. Don’t. Move. No matter what you hear. We’ll get your folk too. Raiders are still off a bit. We’ve got time.”
“Wait, those are raiders?”
“I’ll be back.” The boy looked at me over his shoulder. “Don’t move. Swear it.”
My chin trembled, but heat flooded my heart, like something yearned to agree. “I swear.”
The Draven boy gave me a small grin, then disappeared into the trees.