“Stav Darkwin, you are to be tried for the murder of Ser Tomas Grisen, a nobleman of Myrda.”
“What!” I tried to reach for Kael, but another of Baldur’s guards pulled me back. “He didn’t. No, stop. He had nothing to do with Tomas’s death.”
Gods, where was Roark?
Ingir’s gentle hands curled around my shoulders, drawing me close. “I know, my girl. It is troubling to hear, no doubt.”
“No!” I tried to shirk her hands, but the queen only tightened her grip. “He did not do it. He was with me the whole night. Stop.” My voice grew shrill and desperate when a Stav kicked at the back of Kael’s leg, knocking him to his knees.
They rid him of his blade and weapons in the next breath.
“I did not kill him,” Kael gritted out.
Baldur chuckled. “You are a known liar, a man who ought to have been tried for treason for hiding the melder. Why would I believe you?” The captain turned toward me, a cruel grin on his face. “Keep him in chains until we see if someone else might give him a chance for a different fate.”
The five remaining Stav surrounded Kael. One clamped a set of manacles around his wrists. He shoved. “Lyra! Go. Get to him. Get to him.”
He was telling me to run, to find Roark. Something was horridly wrong here.
I screamed Kael’s name when the guards dragged him away under the command of their captain. I writhed and tugged and clawed.
Queen Ingir hissed when one of my fingernails scratched over her hand. She shoved me aside, but Baldur was there to catch me.
The grin was wicked, ruthless. Every bit as cunning as his namesake of fox.
My eyes narrowed. “He did nothing.”
“I’m sure he didn’t.” Baldur curled a hand around my jaw, squeezing. “But the queen is the authority of Stonegate, and whether he lives or dies now rests on your shoulders.”
I trembled. “Where is the king?”
“We’ll get to that.” Baldur lowered his hand, but kept a firm hold on my arm. “I’ve wanted totrulymeet you for some time, Súlka Bien. We’re long overdue for a discussion. Listen closely now, lives may depend on it.”
Queen Ingir’s eyes had grown hateful and hard. When Baldur dragged me deeper into her room, toward one of the far tables, she looked more like a feral cat ready to lash out at the slightest movement.
Crates were stacked beside him. One lid was cracked, and inside were soul bones. Marked and prepared to be melded, bones by the hundreds were in piles inside each box.
Baldur took me around a tall beam coated in tangled ivy. A scream cut from my chest. My knees weakened.
I could not take my eyes off his mutilated face. King Damir was sprawled on the stone floor, unmoving, clad in his finest clothes. Fingers were melded as one, his skull was flattened so his chin was soldered to his breastbone. Open wounds bled through gashes in his gambeson, like he’d been pricked and scratched dozens of times.
My blood grew cold enough my body shivered.
The king was dead.
47
Lyra
My face was wet withtears, but I felt cold, numb. I did not try to stop the tears; I couldn’t even feel them fall.
Across the table, Baldur had taken one of the chairs, Queen Ingir at his side, a few seidr runes, dried black leaves, and a small paring knife in front of her.
“I’m sure you’re confused.” Baldur reeked of smugness. “Allow me to explain. It is no secret that the queen had a strong distaste for the king, but I, gods, I dreamed of the day I might finally watch the light leave his eyes. All those years on my knees, my body not my own, all for a prize he did not deserve.”
Baldur’s voice was sharp and rolled off his tongue like every word was rotten.
I lifted my chin, fists curled tightly in my lap. “What prize?”
