“I can almost see the silver in these eyes.” Baldur chuckled cruelly, then crumbled one of the missives in my face. “To me, you are as disloyal as the blood crafter. Gods, what might’ve been accomplished by now if you had not been such a coward and accepted your fate.”
I tried to wrench free of his grip, but the captain merely tightened his hold until I was certain my teeth would slice through my cheeks.
Only when Ashwood clapped his hands did Baldur release me. The Sentry wore a look of dark anger and moved his fingers swiftly, sharply. I did not need to hear his voice to sense the fury in his tone.
Baldur yanked me to my feet. His lips dragged over my ear, his breath hot on my skin. “Seems our Sentry does not care for me damaging your face. By the by, he wonders if you took note of his message. Something about a liar?”
Kael coughed, his shoulders rising in rough breaths, the truth of it a cruel lash.
Ashwood knew me. He’d been sent ahead of the guard to sniff me out like a hound on the hunt.
Like a blow to the back of the head, I understood—the Stav were here for me, not to secure borders for a royal wedding.
Jarl Jakobson knew it; his unease was clear. He’d planned to sell me to Stonegate, and now because of his offering, his blood son was at risk of the blade for keeping my secrets.
Tears stung when I let my trembling gaze fall on the jarl. His jaw pulsed and the coward did not have the spine to meet my glare.
I clenched my jaw and looked back to the captain. “You are mistaken about me. I am merely a servant.”
“No.” Baldur dragged one callused fingertip down the curve of my cheek. “You’re so much more. The time is long gone for you to submit your craft to Stonegate.”
“I’ve no craft to submit.”
Baldur laughed softly, a touch of venom buried in the sound. “This is how you desire our meet to go? Fine.”
With the snap of the captain’s fingers, Stav Guard moved like a storm rolling over the shore—fierce and unstoppable. In mere heartbeats, three guards had blades leveled at Kael.
“No!” I made a move to rush to their sides but a nearby Stav Guard gripped my wrist.
Kael paid little mind to the blade at his throat and looked at me. “No tears for me. We’ll meet in Salur, where there are no farewells.”
The sob burned in my chest, pain waiting to break free.
“You want to scream.” Baldur’s deep, slimy voice heated the curve of my ear. With slow steps, a true fox cornering a hare, the captain stepped around to face me. This close, it was simple enough to make out the sun-worn calluses of his skin, the slight freckles beneath the coarse hairs of his beard. “Tell us your story, how you came to be here, and perhaps he will greet the sunrise, Melder.”
Sweat beaded between my fingers as I curled my fists. The longer I insisted I was not the melder they sought, the more Kael would be put at risk of harm.
“If it is blood you seek,” I began, voice low and dark, “take it from me. Clearly, that is your aim. Leave the innocent alone.”
“Innocent? I see no innocent here. Darkwin has known about your craft, a man I thought was made of honor.”
Kael had never been one to recoil from a battle. Even as a child, unwanted and alone, he would stand firmly against drunkards in the hall who tried to harass servants, me, or Astra. He was unafraid to strike the jaw of cruel boys from nearby farms who’d taunt me for the nervous way I twitched my fingers, or the small gap between my teeth.
I’d always admired Kael Darkwin for his boldness, until this moment. My friend, my damn brother, sat back against his heels, spine straight, and a flare of rebellion in his eyes. “What do you want me to say,my lord? As Lyra told you, if you’ve come for blood, get on with it.”
“Do you confess you know this woman is a melder and you willingly concealed her from Stonegate?”
“I see no silver in her eyes.” Kael wore a smug sort of look. “And if I did, I certainly would not admit such a thing to you.”
“Kael.” Panic tightened my throat.
His pale eyes flicked my way, too swiftly for anyone to notice. He was afraid.
Two Stav took hold of Kael’s arms and pinned him facedown on the floorboards. They cut through his tunic, exposing the strong planes of his back. By the gods, they were going to flay him here; they’d peel the flesh off his bones, leave him to bleed out or rot with infection.
Jakobson looked pale, but did not protest. I could not say the same for Mikkal. Kael’s half brother shot to his feet, shouting loud enough his mother commanded the very Stav Guard invading her damn home to remove her son from the room.
Kael was stalwart. Calm as the morning sea. He did not cry out, he did not move.
