What becomes of Stav and reckless women who wander the trees and face an ambush of ravagers.
I ignored his veiled insult and took in the massacred camp once more. “Skul Drek and his followers did this?”
This was how viciously the rogues of the untouchable Draven assassin left their victims?
Roark’s mouth tightened, but he gave a rough nod.
I bit down on my bottom lip, taking a final look at the mounds of golden bones. “Do you see the glow?”
The Sentry arched a brow, but followed my gaze. Once more, he removed the parchment and wrote:A melder’s eye sees the souls that once were in the bones. Fadey could not summon the sight at will.
I rubbed the inked runes on my neck. The insinuation came out like the Sentry thought me stronger than the former melder.
With the way Ashwood held me in a constant glare, I did not think it was a compliment.
The Sentry didn’t bind my wrists, he did not level threats of maiming for my disobedience, he merely kept hold of my arm until we emerged from the harrowing shadows of the wood, returned to the ring of huts.
With a note that we would break camp at dawn and I would get my coveted glimpse of Kael, Roark settled in a rickety wooden chair in the corner of his shanty.
I slipped onto the makeshift bed, hugging my knees into my chest. Across the hut, Roark folded his arms over his chest, still covered in gore, and closed his eyes.
“Thank you,” I whispered, tugging a thin fur under my nose to hide the quiver of my chin.
Roark cracked one eye, narrowed and angry, but after a pause he dipped his chin in a soft nod, and slumped deeper into the chair.
It was only in the moments before I fell into a fitful sleep that I realized Roark Ashwood found me without a torch. He was able to slash at the wolf, calm its soul, and find me in the shadows with only a sliver of moonlight to guide him. He’d written in the darkness without trouble.
Roark never truly responded to my query about the bones, merely spoke of a melder’s sight, but he’d moved about the clearing as though he could see the strange, frightening glow of bones the same as me.
13
Lyra
The Stav rose with thedawn. I woke to Roark’s boots stomping out of the shanty at the first song of the morning birds.
He was replaced in the next moment with Stav Nightlark.
Her eyes sparked with something like annoyance, but Emi said nothing about my poorly executed escape, nor the blood that painted the chest of the Sentry as he strode past.
Emi supplied me with fresh hosen and an oversize tunic the color of forest moss. A strong scent of leather and harsh soap was wrapped in the threads, but to peel away from the brine-crusted hem on my woolen dress sent a shudder of pleasure down my spine.
She held up a cloak against the corner of the shanty, giving me a moment to scrub away dirt and sweat from the journey. “You’ll be given time to wash fully before greeting the king once you reach Stonegate.”
I nodded a wordless thanks. No one was required to give meeven a bed to sleep in, but Ashwood had done it, even after I fled, even after he’d tamed a damn wolf to save my neck. Nightlark did not need to take a pause to bring clothes or cool water to wet my skin, but she did.
It was disquieting how their actions did not fit into the simple vision of what I imagined. Cruelty, indifference, perhaps chains around the wrists and neck.
“Darkwin is outside.” Emi folded the linen, her gaze turned away.
I whirled around, still lacing the front of the tunic closed. “Kael’s here?”
“The Fox arrived with his men not long ago. The other crafters are alive and horridly somber.”
My jaw tightened. “Couldn’t be because a father was torn from his young ones, and a new bride was taken from a husband who adores her, could it?”
Emi shook her head. “Do not pretend any of us had a choice in this, Melder. Do not pretend you didn’t nearly make their lives more unbearable.”
I swallowed. The brisk, jagged edges to her tone gave up the first hint at how Emi Nightlark managed to stand as a respected Stav, Draven blood and all.
