The dagger flew, drawing a shout of pain, a clack of snapping teeth. The blade buried into Skul Drek’s side to the hilt. In another breath, Roark rushed the assassin.
Skul Drek waved a hand and the dagger clattered to the floorboards when Roark met him with the second blade.
“No!” I snatched hold of the stoker near the inglenook.
My cry snapped Skul Drek from his haze. Like a haunt in the night, he slipped through the open window without a sound, fading into the darkness.
Roark stumbled toward the window, clutching his side, sweat on his brow. Gods, he’d been struck.
He remained there for only a moment, then spun back into the room. With a wince, he took five long strides and trapped myface in his palms. Hot, sticky blood coated one of his hands where he’d pressed it against his wound.
My hands trembled when I covered his palms. “You’re wounded. Roark, let me see it.”
He ignored me and scanned my features instead, searching for injury.
“Roark.” I patted his bloodied hand on my face. “I’m fine. You are not.”
He shook his head and waved one hand, a simple signal the wound was nothing.
More horns rose in the night. Shouts. They filtered through the window from outside. The call of an attack against the fortress.
Listen to me. Roark released me and the ferocity of his position took hold.Go to the washroom. Lock the door. Barricade it. Do not leave it until I return for you.
“No. You and Kael will be there, I’m not—”
Roark silenced me by gently covering my lips with his palm. He shook his head, a desperate plea in his eyes. Against my cheek he spoke,Stay out of sight, Lyra.
His plea mirrored the command of Skul Drek. Two deadly forces standing on either side of a battle, yet both shared the same demand of me.
Lyra. Roark touched my chin.Go now.
I hesitated. There was a sharp jab of painful fear knowing Roark would lead the units against Skul Drek and whatever ravagers had breached the walls. Roark would stand before them all. He would be the most at risk.
Roark lifted one of the slender daggers from the floor. The hilt was made of bone and carved into a flame. He placed it in my palm, curling my fingers around the hilt, then gave me a slow nod.
I squeezed his hand, memorizing the heat of his skin, the rough patches from blade calluses, and it was over too soon. He pulled away and rushed for the door, disappearing into the corridors. Only after he’d left did I take note of the trail of blood that followed behind his every step.
He was wounded and going against the Draven assassin.
I blinked back into focus, head spinning. I understood his desire to see me safe, but I shared the same desire. To leave was a risk. I was no Stav warrior, no Berserkir, but I could handle steel well enough. Perhaps Thane was tucked away with his arrows again and I could help. Truth be told, I felt compelled to do so, for I could not shake the feeling that this battle was caused by me. I never spoke of Skul Drek, yet now he’d found me within the walls of the fortress. Now he’d found those I loved.
The dagger Roark placed in my palm was stained with blood. Doubtless more would spill before the night’s end. I tightened my grip on the hilt and slipped out of my room to the sound of battles rising in the night.
41
Lyra
Upper corridors and stairwells wereprotected by Stav Guard. Two kingdoms faced danger in Stonegate tonight, and they took no risks. It was a stroke of good fortune there were Stav Guard aplenty, so I could fade into the chaos without being seen.
Word of me in the halls would reach King Damir and he’d chain me to the walls.
Sweat gathered around my palm the tighter I held the dagger. I fought for Stonegate tonight, when once my heart yearned to watch it fall.
No. I fought for a man I was forbidden to love. I fought for a brother who was not my blood. I fought for Emi, a friend I never expected. I fought for a prince with a good heart who might one day change this wretched fortress into something worthy of protection.
I slipped out of the front gates. Walls were stacked in Stav Guard, their dark tunics like stalks of scorched wheat all in a row,all willing to join the gods in Salur. Another horn blared in the night. I pressed my back to the wall when a heavy gate cranked free. From inside the bowels of a dark tower, rows of new Stav Guard marched forward.
My mouth went dry. These warriors bore crests of crossed seax blades, not the head of a wolf. Their hair was braided alike, no matter the thickness or shade—a ridge down the center of the skull with the sides shorn close to the scalp.
