Skul Drek lashed through a few Stav nearest to the queen’s wing. Never drawing blood, merely overtaking their minds,their damn souls, until the guards fumbled on their feet, disoriented.
In the next breath, frigid coils of the inky filaments of the assassin wrapped around me and the Stav Guard. The warrior tried to flee, but the moment he turned over his shoulder, he aligned with Skul Drek’s hooded face. Colorless flesh, copper-flame eyes, the sneer that could slice through the heart.
The Stav Guard had no time to move before daggers of shadows pierced through his chest, spilling through his veins like pulpy, swollen branches over his flesh. Inky black dripped from the Stav’s eyes, robbing him of whatever lived in the marrow of his bones, whatever lived in the man’s heart.
It was more harrowing than slicing through flesh.
When the darkness pulled back, the Stav Guard slumped forward, eyes dull. As though the man had lost any desire to thrive, he slumped onto the grass, almost lifeless.
By the gods, was that what Skul Drek did? He was a phantom connected to souls—did his shadows rob the very life from a heart? Not dead, but hardly alive.
Somewhere in the tumult of darkness, I thought I might’ve screamed. Only at my fear did Skul Drek cease his attack. Almost like he’d gotten lost in his own viciousness, forgetting why he’d come at all.
Palms on the damp grass, I lifted my chin. The assassin held my gaze, fire and starlight. Roark. If I peeled away the darkness, the cruelty, the fear, I could almost make out the face of the man who’d stolen my heart.
“How—” Words cut off when hands hooked under my arms.
Roark—my Roark, solid and warm—tugged me to my feet. I shoved him away, but he encircled my waist.
“No. No.” Thoughts were spinning. I could not grapple withall I was seeing. More Stav approached, but Skul Drek seemed to be all places at once. Darkness blinded the guards, then his shadows struck their hearts, never drawing blood, only taking their essence, the soul that burned unique within.
Roark held me close. He was home, warm and solid, but my mind whirled with the truth, desperate to reconcile what I now knew.
All this time, Roark Ashwood had been the demon at the gates. He’d manipulated me, attacked me, he was made of darkness.
I tried to break his hold. He pinned me to his chest and shook his head, his eyes wild. Blood soaked his neck, and his breaths were heavy.
“Lyra.” Emi sprinted for us. She shoved at my back. “Not now. Go. They’re coming for you!”
Drums and the bellow of horns sounded an attack.
“Hurry. We can take a horse,” Emi cried. “Distract them until we reach the stables. Hold the connection, cousin. Hold it a little longer.”
Roark’s face contorted into a wash of pain, but he took my hand and sprinted after Emi, drawing us across the lawns toward one of the fenced yards for royal chargers to graze. Stav nearer to the outer gates bustled about, uncertain what was happening on the lawns.
Whatever pestilence came with Skul Drek dimmed the palace lawns in gloomy mists, as though a storm had descended around the royal house. It was difficult to see through the haze.
Roark stumbled. On instinct, I reached out to steady him.
Our eyes locked. There, buried in the wild gold, was pain, fear. He looked at me with a desperation I’d never seen before.
I pulled my hands away, stepping back, hurt and betrayal like venom in my blood.
“Attack at the palace,” Emi cried to three fellow Stav who patrolled the outer edges of the grounds. “Sentry Ashwood was wounded. We’re to evacuate the melder.”
She kicked at the horrified guards. Roark’s neck was sopping in blood, and his breaths came heavy. With effort, he gestured at the men to follow Emi’s command, to defend the royal house.
They were taking me. No. I couldn’t leave. “Wait, no!”
“Lyra, get on the damn horse.” Emi shoved between my shoulders, nudging me toward a tall, black gelding. “You are the melder and must be protected. King’s orders.”
Good gods, she was playing such a role. Shouting loud enough any Stav would hear and ignore my frenzy, while heeding hers.
Betrayal stung.
“They have Kael,” I sobbed when Roark hooked an arm around my waist, heaving me toward the horse. “They have Kael!”
A rough gasp sounded in Roark’s throat, like he was choking on the blood coating his neck, or angry to think Kael was taken from me. His shoulders heaved with heavy breaths.
