“What? The jarl…offered payment?”
Kael sniffed and looked away. “Disown me in name, but it seems the sod has some sort of affection for me. Nightlark told me before Baldur left, the jarl paid a fine with the request for the king’s mercy. So, stop risking your bony neck.” He glared at me. “As desperately as you want me to keep breathing, remember I feel the same about you. No more idiotic plans, no more pissing on the Sentry’s limited generosity. At least not without telling me.”
For a moment, I said nothing. Slowly, a grin crept over my features. I nudged Kael’s ribs with my elbow. “Accomplices?”
He looked down at me like he did not want to indulge me, but it took a mere five breaths before Kael chuckled. “Accomplices always.”
“By the way, I’m quite proud of you.”
“Why is that?”
“You finally called Jakobson a sod.”
Our levity lasted a moment longer before a shadow crossed over us. His presence was a force, a silky darkness that lifted the hair on my neck and turned my insides. But the maddening piece of it was I wasn’t certain if they overturned out of disgust or intrigue.
Kael straightened out of respect in the same moment I looked over my shoulder. “Sentry Ashwood.”
Roark had washed the dirt and blood from his face and wore a clean, black tunic. In his hands were a set of chains much like Kael’s.
Emi stepped around the Sentry. “It’s time to be on our way. You’re to be bound, for your own safety, Melder.”
I snorted, but bit down on the tip of my tongue. Arms outstretched, I didn’t look away as Roark bound the iron around my wrists. His molten eyes poured into me when he gripped the chain and tugged me against him.
His hand was near my cheek when he spoke, slow and sharp.By me.
I grimaced. “As you say,my lordSentry.”
14
Lyra
Loath as I was toadmit it, traveling beside Roark was not horrid. The man knew how to avoid the rockiest paths. He moved like a wraith, drifting from shadow to shadow, and kept us out of the heat of the day better than others.
On the winding earthen paths that carved through the damp and mists of the wood, it was in those moments when I learned the Sentry’s face could seem…gentle.
Roark said little and was never unaware. Still, when the trees tangled in leafy canopies overhead and chirps of forest birds sang out in the distance, Ashwood seemed at ease, like he could breathe easier.
It must’ve been the Draven in him.
We descended a few rocky pathways that carved across the hillside like jagged claw marks.
Until we faced a flat pebbled ledge. Roark paused and, without looking at me, held out a water skin for me to take.
Gods, the man was a conundrum. One moment his eyes werebright and heated, like he had a soul of passion buried beneath his scowls. Next, he was cold as a frost storm in the jagged peaks.
I snatched the skin with my tethered wrists and tilted the spout to my lips. With the back of one hand, I wiped away the dribble and followed Ashwood’s stare.
Fifty paces down the hill was an arch made of thick slabs of stone and oak beams. The gates towered higher than ten men standing one on top of the other. The front entrance was blockaded by an iron portcullis, and watchtowers guarded every curve. Beyond the gates were dark speckles of homes, shops, and the gabled palace in the center.
“Stonegate,” I whispered.
Roark let out a soft breath and stepped onto the wider path that would lead down to the gates.
Hillside cottages and hunting cabins tucked in tall grass and trees materialized as we walked farther.
A few folk loitered about, noticing the commotion as we marched past their huts. The Stav were greeted with murmured respect and a few fists to the chest. I stepped closer to the center of the path, and stumbled over a stone. The Sentry caught me under the arm, steadying me against his own body.
All the gods. Chest to chest, I could feel the thud of Roark’s heartbeat against my own, I could make out the sharp edges of the scar that dug across his throat, and I could breathe in the leather and oakmoss on his skin.
