Baldur chuckled through his explanation of my threat, but it only deepened the burn of hate in her eyes. Enough chatter.
In three strides, I crossed the floor between us, only pausing when she drew in a sharp breath of air. Her stun caused her to press the blade deeper into her flesh, adding another drop of blood to the smooth center of her throat.
My gaze followed the descent, unblinking, until it cascaded between the cleft of her breasts.
To her favor, she didn’t flush or look scandalized when our eyes met. “That will be the only look you shall ever receive, Sentry Ashwood.”
She studied me, no doubt cataloging every scar, every twitch of my face. I, in turn, committed the small dust of freckles over her slender nose, tells of fear carved into her brow, her mouth, almost like each one was a forgotten memory.
Deep in the dregs of my soul grew an unnerving desire to keep her close.
“Take me,” she said, voice low and rough, “and leave the rest. I am not asking.”
A grumble of annoyance rolled out from my chest. I pressed a hooked finger against the side of my head and twisted, like tightening a bolt in a hinge.
“He says you are foolish,” Baldur told her.
Her lips parted to spit back a reply, but I moved like a spark catching flame.
My fingers curled around her wrist, yanking the knife away from her throat. Seasons of training to drift in the shadows taught me to move as one, unseen until it was too late.
I peeled the knife from her grip, blade clattering on the floorboards, then pinned her body to my chest. One arm wrapped around her, keeping her arms tucked at her sides. With my free hand, I signaled to the Stav to move once more.
To the woman, I leaned in as though I could whisper. I did in my way, gently writing out my words against her cheek, taking a bit of twisted delight in the way she held her breath under my touch.
Say your goodbyes.
9
Lyra
Boots scuffled over the longhousefloor. Sobs of my people split through my chest in an ache that felt like it would never heal—sharp as a shard of steel.
Night mists thickened the nearer we drew to the docks. I stumbled, but Ashwood refused to let me fall, keeping me upright, no matter how much my toes snagged across the pebbled shoreline.
Sconces marked the posts at the docks. The grim light played games with shadows, sprawling haunting shapes across the sails and hulls of the Stonegate longships.
One bitter tear dripped down my cheek when I took in the smooth, ashy stones of the Skalfirth beaches. I looked to the inky night sky bright with crystalline stars, to the crooked points of rooftops, then to Thorian’s battered fishing nets. Hillsides and trees loomed around me like haunts in the darkness, watching as the village was torn apart.
“Lyra! Kael!” Selena sobbed on the path leading to the docks. The Stav Guard shoved her back into the crowds.
“Sel.” My voice was a broken croak, too soft for her to hear.
Doubtless Selena took note of the wretched way my features contorted in fear, in pain, for she pressed a hand to her heart and did the same. She fell to her knees, pleading to the gods, who ignored us.
“You heartless bastard,” I seethed at Roark.
The Sentry spun me around, pinning me to his chest. We were close enough, I had to tilt my head back to meet his stare. One of his palms cupped the back of my neck, squeezing until I stiffened beneath the grip.
For a drawn-out pause he held us there, nose to nose, then slowly pressed a finger to his lips. A command to keep silent and there was no mistaking the threat in it. His patience was spent.
Two longships bobbed in the tides. Clinker-built hulls bulged in the middle and were painted in the seal of Stonegate—a white wolf’s head in front of a round shield and sword.
Most ships in the Skalfirth fjord came for trade, fishing, or passengers, and were fitted for only fifteen to twenty oars. These ships were built for battle and had places for sixty oarsmen.
My toe caught on the lip of the rail, but Roark caught hold of my hand.
I despised how warm his palm was against mine. There was an unwelcome gentility in the way he helped me over the rail of one longship, and I hated him all the more for it. Bruise me, batter me, be the creature I believed him to be. Kindness had no place in his actions.
