“But there’s trouble.” Thane interrupted my thoughts, pacing in front of my doorway. “Jarl Jakobson’s blood crafter has sold the woman out to Draven Dark Watch scouts.”
So the missives speak of a woman?The child who escaped was said to be a girl, more reason for greed and bloodlust from kings and queens to seek her out.Any house sigil?
It was common in the kingdoms to ink a brand below the left ear of a child by their first summer, a mark of bloodlines and heraldry for houses and clans.
One of Thane’s brows arched. “Said to be manipulated. Some of the runes were added later to make a brand of the nameless. Curious, don’t you think?”
If one wanted to hide rare craft, adding ink to a house sigil until it looked like a waif-and-wanderer symbol—folk without clans or house bloodlines—would be the wisest action to take.
“The jarl found the correspondence between the blood crafter and the scout,” Thane explained. “Of course, Jakobson now wants some sort of reward for being the township to unearth the lost craft.”
The prince went to the tall arched window, looking out at the distant wood over the walls. “My father always suspected the reported death of the girl was a ruse. You know that’s why he forced each jarldom to have a blood crafter casting their spells. After all this time, he was right. A melder has been hidden from the king. A woman.” Thane shook his head. “The first in five hundred winters, Roark. You know what this’ll bring.”
War, was all I gave in a one-handed reply.
If this report was even true, there would be new battles from the Red Ravines of Dravenmoor to the small seas of the kingdom of Myrda.
Damir would not allow anyone to take his prize again, and the queen of Dravenmoor would return for retribution for what she lost during those raids so long ago.
A melder’s craft was only found perhaps once a generation, and rarely in a woman’s blood. It was a collision of all three crafts—dangerous, coveted, and owned by Jorvan kings through treaties made long ago.
“War is certainly a risk. Which is why you’re to go to this Skalfirth village.” Thane chuckled when my mouth tightened. “The king has already arranged for Baldur to go with you. What a fortunate bastard you are.”
A soft groan breathed from my throat. Baldur the Fox was as cunning as his name, brutal but a damn skilled Stav.
We’d trained together since boyhood, but when I surpassed him in skill with the blade, he built up resentment toward me. My rank in the Stav Guard as Thane’s Sentry made me the prince’s blade, his protection; it required me to do anything to keep the royal blood in his veins from spilling, even becoming a killer in the shadows.
The Sentry was not a true leader in the king’s Stav, more assassin and brute when needed. Still, my position kept me under Thane’s word and not the king’s.
Baldur spent the night after my ranking by drunkenly mocking me, as though I ought to be disappointed.
As though I had not been placed exactly where I wanted to be.
“I wish I could be there,” Thane said. “But with the attacks, Idoubt I will ever be permitted to leave Stonegate again. Not unless my father sires another son, but alas, my mother would need to allow her husband into her bed if that were to happen.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the prince paused and shuddered.
What does the king wish us to do if it is confirmed the lost melder is alive?I gestured the question slowly, already anticipating the reply.
“Deal with the traitor who sold her out first, then use your methods to bring the melder home. Roark.” Thane’s voice lowered. “I know you don’t always care for the craft of melders, but you must admit it has its uses to keep our people safer.”
Debatable. My jaw pulsed.
Thane chuckled and rested a hand on my shoulder. “The king plans to increase patrols and move his ceremonies to more private locations. In fact, that is the other piece of this. Only select Stav will join you, guards who are sworn to secrecy. They will not speak of what you find in this village.”
It wouldn’t matter how the king tried to keep craft hidden behind the walls of the fortress. Blood and death always found melders.
The magic that ran in the veins of a melder crafted abominations that left souls and bodies corrupted, altered, and vicious.
Last harvest, the king’s personal melder had been slaughtered. I felt nothing but relief with Melder Fadey’s death. I thought, for once, there might be peace if melding craft were not here.
Gods, I’d almost allowed myself to forget the past wars, to forget lives had been lost trying to reach a small girl with silver in her eyes. Perhaps, I hoped, the Norns of fate had already cut her threads of life and sent her to Salur.
Maybe to one of the two hells to burn or freeze.
No mistake, now blood would spill again.
“We do this discreetly for as long as we can. We don’t want another raid,” Thane said, soft and low.
