Roark interjected with a wave of his hand.Her Draven correspondence did not receive a response. They are no fools and will suspect their plans have been foiled.
The Sentry repeated his gestures three times before I nodded my understanding.
“I could’ve lived a quiet life.” My teeth ground together for a breath before I went on. “I wouldn’t have harmed anyone if you’d just left me alone. Now kingdoms are threatening kingdoms and you’ve torn innocent families apart. For what? What does the king want from me? Why is fusing bone to bone so damn coveted?”
Roark didn’t move his hands for a long pause.I did not want this either. If it were left to me, you would never have made it out of the raids. Now keep up.
The callousness of his silent words settled like sour venom on my tongue. He despised me, cared nothing for Edvin, Hilda, or Kael, and I was expected to trust this man with my life.
The Stav had a torch lead at the front of the line, but no other lanterns or flames were permitted, an attempt to keep out of sight from beasts and any enemy arrows in the trees. The trouble was it made it damn impossible to see.
Soon enough, the Sentry had to take hold of my wrist. Roark Ashwood moved like he was made of the wood, at least the darkness of it. He kept a swift pace, never removing his grip on my arm.
His ax was made of fine materials—bronze on the head and a black handle carved in runes. Not manipulated bone like most Stav blades. Odd for such a man to trust me with a weapon.
Then again, I wasn’t certain Sentry Ashwood knew how to truly fear. He was deadly enough he was always the predator.
Night mists thickened, the cold deepened, and the slope increased. My fingers around the handle of the ax had long grown numb from the chill. If anyone lunged, I would hardly be able to strike.
Whispers from nearby guards found me. Some wondered what happened to the rest of House Bien during the raids.
Dead. Most of the replies insisted my mother and father were slaughtered.
I ground my teeth, a new sort of anger boiled in my chest. So many seemed to know my story, but I did not.
All I had were screams and the haunting crackle of flames. Tense arms and muffled voices, running through mists.
A shudder rolled down my spine. There was a truth I could almost make out—someone pulled me away from the terror of the raids. Someone took me to that young house with gentle Gammal.
But I did not know how I would ever learn the truth.
My lungs ached by the time Roark paused in front of a small ring of huts tucked within a copse of aspen trees.
In the center was a fire pit with iron hooks for cooking, and casks of ale were still stacked against the mudded walls of every structure.
The Sentry pointed toward a shanty near the back edge of the camp. He pressed a palm to his chest, a signal that was his to use, and now it would be shared with…me.
12
Lyra
Ashwood pulled back the stainedcanvas flap that made a makeshift door over the hut entrance. His jaw flexed as he positioned his spine against the frame of the door, offering space for me to slip past without drawing too near.
I rolled back my shoulders and strode over the threshold.
The floors were made of dusty boards and cold clay. Crooked tallow candles lined a narrow table against one wall, and the bed was nothing more than a moss-filled mattress and an old burlap quilt haphazardly tossed over the top.
Ashwood shoved inside, took the ax from my hands, and stripped his cloak at once, tossing the garment over the table. He kept his back toward me.
The stance was a muted insult. I was no threat to him.
Roark tossed the ax onto the table and began removing knives and shivs from hidden pockets in his jerkin.
Disquiet twisted low in my belly. If he continued much longer, the Sentry would begin to undress.
Damn the gods, was that expected? Was my body his to use until we reached the gates of the fortress?
Kael spoke of Ashwood’s honor, but many Stav Guard would view me as a conquest, a traitor who was no more a woman than the pebbles beneath their feet.
