“You do not want your so-called brother to die, right?” Baldur tilted his head toward Kael.
Kael glared at me. I could nearly hear him demanding I shut my mouth and let him take the consequences. He was a stubborn bastard, but I could be even worse.
“I don’t want him to be killed,” I said firmly.
“Then save his life in a way only a melder can, and he’ll receive his wish to join the Stav Guard.” The captain unsheathed a dagger on his belt. “Fail to save him and we’ll be short anothercrafter, and the people of this village will have nothing but stars overhead tonight. Those who survive.”
The woman from Stonegate pressed her palms over Kael’s chest. She blinked, a look of remorse on her face as she whispered, “Hold steady, Darkwin. It will be swift, I swear to you.”
Gods, they knew each other.
A moment later and the hall filled with the cracks and snaps of bone.
7
Lyra
Bone crafters shifted and alteredbones, be it crafting a blade or armor, or snapping necks.
Beneath the woman’s hands, Kael’s body bent and twisted. His skin split with broken shards like jagged nails shredding his flesh.
She wasrippinghim open.
Time seemed to slow. Stav held people back. Thorian’s shouts for Kael were muffled when four guards forced the old man to the ground.
“Time is being wasted,” Baldur said, voice rough.
It took five heartbeats to realize he was speaking to me. Head in a fog, I dropped to my knees at Kael’s side.
“Ly.” Blood bubbled over his bottom lip. “Don’t.”
A simple word and I hated him for it. He did not want me to risk myself, but I would not lose him. Even if I didn’t know how to save him.
One palm on his bloody chest, and the need—theobsession—tomend it all was as though a fist curled around the back of my neck, holding me in place. Be it instinct or something else, I knew there was a way to fix this.
As though the magic in my veins craved the opportunity to try.
By my side came the sound of leather stretching as a body crouched. Ashwood.
Roark did nothing but hold a hateful stare. No twitch of his lip, no flash of emotion. He was as stone until he removed a parcel wrapped in linen.
Once the flaps of the cloth were peeled back, all that was left was another jagged shard of bone.
A furrow gathered between my brows when the Sentry held out the piece.
“What?” I spat out the word, panicked and laced in disdain.
Roark held up one hand, curling and shaping his words like I would understand.
“Our Sentry is telling you a tale,” Baldur said with a sneer.
“I’ve no time for tales.” I leaned closer to Roark. “Hear this—you let him die, and I will slit my throat, for I serve no king whoslaughtersthe innocent.”
A rough sound, like the cut of a dry rasp, rose from Roark’s chest. Almost a laugh.
“Sentry Ashwood is telling you a tale of bone,” Baldur repeated. “He is telling you there are some pieces that can heal the gravest of wounds when melded into living bones.”
Roark nudged his palm and the wrapped bone closer. He used his chin to gesture at Kael, then tilted his head to one side.
