Chapter 30
LYRAE
Awinter wind howled outside Frostveil when I rapped on Rooke’s door the next morning, a meager tray of food balanced in one hand, wiping my other, very sweaty palm against my thigh.
I was…nervous.
Gods knew why, but I was nervous, seeing Kaden Rooke after yesterday.
Which was ridiculous.
Rooke was a pompous, privileged elitist, the exact sort of highbrow male I despised on principle, after decades spent watching the royal court fawn at the Shadow King’s feet like a bunch of social climbing sycophants.
Hearing them scream for blood every time I executed one of their own, like death was a sport.
“Come in.”
I shoved through the door, suddenly pissed at myself for getting emotionally sucked in deeper than I should have, intending to set down the food, make some smart-ass comment about how he still looked like dogmeat, and leave.
My feet froze in place, holding the tray in a white-knuckled grip.
Holy fucking shit.
Thick, black hair was tousled around his perfect face, that very muscled, very naked torso disappearing beneath a sea of silken black sheets that—just barely—covered the trail of dark hair that started beneath those unfairly defined ab muscles and led straight to…
My traitorous eyes snagged on the enormous bulge that could be fabric…or was more likely a very impressive morning erection. Definitely not something I should be thinking about, especially when I was still deliciously sore from last night.
Especially when this was Kaden Rooke we were talking about, asshole extraordinaire, who I’d vowed to kill only a few short days ago.
Who I still wanted to kill, most of the time.
But my heart twisted painfully when my eyes drifted back up his body, where barely healed cuts and gashes were layered over the silvered scars from past visits by the Butcher. In the gray light of morning, there were so many.
A staggering number.
I was looking at decades of torture and pain, and my heart felt like it was being squeezed by a merciless fist, something hot pricking at my eyes.
Every inch of him was ruined.
The worst of last night’s wounds were still tightly wrapped, the dressings blotchy with dried blood, but in the muddy dawn, I saw with stunning clarity the Butcher’s cruel precision—the careful placement of all that crosshatched damage, razor-thin slashes meant to cause maximum pain, while spilling as much blood as possible.
The only thing untouched were the thin silver cuffs glinting like frozen moonlight at his wrists, and the skin just beneath, the only part of his body that wasn’t marked.
Something dark and feral burned a hole through the center of me, a rawness almost dangerous in its intensity.
“Come in and set the tray down, commander.”
Whatever Rooke saw in my face made him tug the blanket higher, those hooded eyes sharpening when he spotted the food.
“What, pray tell, did you bring?”
“Toast, with jam and butter. Coffee. I’m sorry, it’s weak, there wasn’t much left.”
I handed him the steaming cup, trying not to get too close, afraid I might run my fingers over that damage, start feeling things I should not be feeling. Although it might already be too late.
“Gods.”
He lifted the steaming cup to his nose and closed his eyes, long, dark lashes curving against the high cheekbones, making him look like a painting.
“I thought I dreamt this smell when I woke up a few minutes ago. Good to know this is real.”
He peered at me over the rim of his cup, the humor fading from his face.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’ve been through this before,” he said quietly. “I’ll heal, it just takes longer these days, since Gravelock sucked all the magic out of this realm like a fucking Soul Reaper. And now, if my faulty memory serves, we’re one step closer to killing that sick fuck.”
Yes, he probably didn’t remember much from last night, since he’d passed out right after Ryland and Varian’s dramatic entrance. But I wasn’t going to be the one to break the disappointing news we only had two out of three relics.
“A sick fuck who almost killed you.”
My fingers tightened on the tray before I set it down beside a pile of books.
“Let me look at those, make sure you’re healing. Varian sent up some salve, which should speed up the healing.”
I nodded to his arms.
“I should rewrap those deeper cuts so they don’t get infected.”
He managed a weak smile.
“Wrap away, commander. Look in that closet; there are some shirts I’m not quite so attached to, since you insist on wantonly destroying my things. But I’m keeping the coffee. Shitty as it is, you can pry this out of my cold, dead hands.”
My mouth quirked before I could stop myself.
“Far be it from me to separate the Dark Prince from his favorite morning beverage.”
For a pompous aristocrat, his room was simple, with books stacked everywhere, a few pieces of heavy, carved furniture, and a couple of those paintings—like the one sitting on the easel in Ryland’s room—hung on the plain white walls.
Thick, arched beams spanned the ceiling, and over in the corner, two crows slept close together, heads tucked beneath their wings.
I found an old white shirt, which I carefully ripped into long strips, arranging them over the books.
The bowl of clean water I’d brought up was still warm, and after a short deliberation with myself, I settled my hip on the edge of the bed, as far away from Rooke’s very naked one as I could manage.
“Arm,” I ordered, then unwrapped last night’s bandage, wet a cloth, and carefully cleaned around the deep gash, then spread on a thin layer of salve, the pungent smell making my eyes water.
At least, I kept telling myself these tears were only because of the smell.
Not because my heart was hurting, or anger was getting the better of me, or all I could think about was how long had Rooke been alone in this place, a victim of such terrible cruelty.
Neither of us said a word as I redressed the worst of his wounds, cataloging how slowly he was healing. I didn’t ask how many times Gravelock had hurt him or who took care of him afterwards.
Instead, I told him about the Citadelle. About Queen Anaria and Tavion and Tristan, about recruiting the biggest, meanest soldiers from the Caladrian army and turning them into the Dreadwatch. How I’d sent six of them to the Shadowlands, then received their heads back in a burlap sack.
“I suppose you’ve already figured this out, but that was Gravelock, not me,” he murmured. “I’m not in the habit of killing people for poking around, or Ryland and Varian would have been dead long ago.”
“I know that now. They were good men with families. They didn’t deserve to die, especially not so far away from home.” Especially not because of me.
I carefully wound another strip of fabric around his forearm before tying it off.
“As for Gravelock, he will answer for their deaths.”
“Tell me more about your Dreadwatch,” he asked curiously. “They sound fearsome.”
“Fearsome, with good hearts,” I corrected him.
“After Anaria was crowned, there were plenty who came to the Citadelle, wanting to be recruited, but too many delighted in cruelty and needless violence, and we’d already had enough of that, with the brother kings.
I only wanted the best, both in skill and honor. ”
I saw the flash of amusement in his eyes and shrugged.
“Mock me all you want, but I wanted something I’d never had growing up. We were no longer at war, and I didn’t need soldiers with a sword in their hand and hate in their heart patrolling peaceful streets. I wanted…a city safe enough for children, where they could grow up and just be…kids.”
Something Var and Ariel and I never had.
“I wasn’t mocking you, Lyrae. I was just…cruelty and violence are usually enough for someone in your position, is all.”
He peered at me through the coffee steam.
“I’m just surprised, is all. I’m always surprised by you.”
“We’d already seen so much death,” I murmured, motioning for his other arm, unwinding the blood-stiffened bindings, avoiding the silver cuff like the plague.
“So had the Fae people, who had lost the most. Seen their husbands and sons conscripted by the kings to fight a losing war that gobbled up innocent lives and always wanted more. Watched their homes burn and their children starve. Anaria is…”
I paused, slid him a sideways look, bracing myself for his scorn.
“I worked for the Shadow King before Anaria came to Solarys. I did cruel things I can never take back. Took innocent lives. Spilled innocent blood. Every day since, I have tried to make up for those acts, and every day I feel like nothing I do will ever atone for my sins.”
Rooke stayed silent as I slowly rewrapped his arm, winding the white fabric round and round.
“But maybe, just maybe, if I keep trying, there will come a day when I feel like I’ve chipped away at my ledger board enough, that when I die, the good will outweigh the bad.”
“I have a ledger board of my own, you know,” he said quietly. “And there are days I feel the same way…the atoning part, anyway.” Kaden’s fingers tightened around the cup. “My ma is buried behind this castle. She died protecting me.”
His eyes drifted to the window and stayed there as his scent grew stronger—rain on stone, a coming thunderstorm. I swore the air in the room darkened.
“It started the way it always did. Gravelock came and started hurting me, but this time…this time she must have had enough…she attacked him with a sword she could barely even lift, but she managed to cut him good. Deep. She hurt him. I’d never seen anyone hurt the bastard before and I remembered… I was so viciously happy.”
A cold, icy sadness chipped away at me, a sadness I’d carried around forever, dark and deep and hidden.
I reached out and took his hand. Squeezed.
“But Gravelock is ancient, and the wound wasn’t deep enough to kill. He turned on her, lost control. In a few minutes she was…dead.”
He didn’t blink, his face a frozen mask of pain, but he squeezed my hand back, just once.
“He just…left. Didn’t even look back. I was eleven years old, I didn’t know what to do, and the ground was frozen, and…” he drew a shuddering inhale. “It took me a few days to figure out how to bury her. To dig the hole and by then…by then…” his voice broke.
A fucking child.
Gravelock had done that to a fucking child.
I’d been angry before. Fury had driven me to kill two corrupt kings and a pair of Old Gods, for fuck’s sake. But never had I felt this kind of rage. This left me cold as ice, so sure of my next step, so resolved in my actions, that I saw the path laid out in front of me in a straight line.
A line that led straight to Evernight.
“You didn’t fail anyone,” I murmured. “If your mother was here today…she would be proud of you, Rooke. I know she would be. As for Gravelock…”
My vicious-edged smile cleaved all the way down to my soul, splitting me apart at the seams.
“He’s already dead, he just doesn’t know it yet.”
Rooke’s eyes landed back on me, brighter than before, his lower lashes matted with tears, but there was a small, almost hopeful smile on his face when he took another sip of coffee.
“Tell me more about this city of yours, commander. Tell me how children play in the streets. Tell me about how they are happy.”
Before I knew it, I was telling him everything, and all the while, he watched me with those hooded eyes, pulsing with so much emotion I avoided his gaze with the same effort I’d avoid being shot with an iron arrow.
My knees shook when I pushed to my feet, the bowl of water a rusty red, the metallic smell of old blood and coffee and pungent salve lingering around us.
“Well, that’s all I can do right now. When you’re ready, get dressed and come downstairs. Ryland has a plan to…”
“Thank you, Lyrae.”
Rooke tipped his head, silky, dark hair spilling over his strong, muscled shoulder, everything we’d said to each other trembling between us and for one wild, impossible moment, I wanted to…
“That’s the first nice thing anyone’s done for me in a hundred fucking years.”
He leaned back further, everything about him softening in invitation, from his indigo-colored eyes to those kissable lips, to the way his boneless body relaxed, like some powerful mountain cat drowsing in the hot sun.
Here I am.
Come and get me, I’m yours for the taking.
Gods.
Heat blazed through me so fast it stole my breath away, sparks flying rampant through me like they were carried on a wild tempest as I slowly, steadily, stepped away from the bed.
Breath shuddered in my lungs, because…fuck, I was tempted.
I was tempted.
And the sheer force of my temptation—sudden, ill-advised, and consuming—terrified me.
But…war. Gravelock. The artifacts.
My duty was to my queen, and Rooke…Rooke was a stranger. I was in love with Ryland and Var, and there wasn’t enough room in my life for anyone else.
So I wrapped a shield of iron around my heart, poured ice over my raging libido and pushed to my feet.
“Well, I do make a decent cup of coffee.”
I nodded to the now-cold toast.
“Once you’re done eating, come down. Ryland wants your input on this next part of his plan.”