Attendants floated at her back. The prince’s mouth was set,but when his eyes found me—or perhaps it was Ashwood—he gave a subtle eye roll, like he wanted us to know the entrance was all rather ridiculous.
“You’ve begun without me, husband,” Queen Ingir said in a voice that did not match her delicate features. Sharp as shaved glass, and directly aimed at the king.
Damir did not face her when he spoke. “There is nothing that requires your direct approval, wife, so I cannot possibly think of why I would wait.”
Ingir flushed, the color hardly shading her cheeks, but allowed her son to offer up the tall chair to the right of the king. She greeted the king’s consorts with a generous smile. Truth be told, I thought they might be the folk the queen adored the most for taking her husband’s attention.
Thane sat next to his mother and slumped in the seat.
Damir, mouth tight, returned his gaze to me. “You’ve concealed your craft, Lyra Bien. A crime against the laws of our fealty treaties.”
What was I supposed to say? Bone crafters were free to join the Stav, serve the king in Stonegate, live within their villages as crafters for jarls, or enjoy their own solitary lives. Not melders. Submission to Stonegate was their destiny. As little as I knew about the past, I understood what would become of me if ever the scars in my eyes were found.
Damir stroked the braids of his beard for a pause. The king was a formidable man. Tall and broad as any warrior, with a posture that seemed impossible to bend in the slightest. “Would you believe me if I told you I wish you were not here either? You make the death of Melder Fadey so real.”
There was a touch of sincere grief in the king’s eyes. Like he might’ve truly cared for the fallen melder.
Damir cleared his throat and paced in front of me. “But what does it matter? You are here, and I wish to witness your craft.”
Roark’s hand remained on the curve of my back. Where disgust should’ve been for the Sentry’s touch, I took a bit of strength. “What if I do not wish my craft to be used in Stonegate?”
A few gasps rippled down the table. Queen Ingir locked me with a narrowed gaze. Even Roark shifted.
“I would respond with a query of my own,” Damir said, voice calm as an untouched lake. “What rumors have you heard that would bring such fear in your eyes at the very thought? What life do you think you will lead here?”
I swallowed through a thick knot, snagging the gaze of Prince Thane. He gave me a nod of encouragement, but I read more into the constant bounce of his knee beneath the table. Now was not the time for brazen truths.
“I’ve…I’ve been rather sheltered. All I knew was to fear my craft. Forgive me, my king, my few interactions with the Stav of Stonegate have only ended in death.”
I drew in a sharp breath, but kept still when the king took one of my hands between his. “Understandable and unfortunate. I ensure our people are well guarded here and the consequence of safety brings with it rumors and lies of what goes on inside these tight walls.”
Logical, perhaps even true. Emi was not starved or battered. Even Kael spoke highly of his days within the fortress.
But fear of my craft was potent. If it was not so important—or formidable—melders would not be bound into servitude.
“Craft was meant to bring peace and light to our lives,” King Damir went on. “That peace has been achieved with most craft, and you are part of that.”
I blinked to Prince Thane, the lone face I even dared consider trusting. The prince gave me another smile, another nod.
“There is not much known on melder craft,” I admitted. “Some say it harms the crafter. I’ve heard lore that it is a curse of greed.”
“Yes, and lore can often turn to fable with mere glimmers of truth left behind. Craft did not harm Fadey unless he did not use it often,” Damir said. “When craft awakens, it must be used, Lyra. Yours has done so. You’ll have no choice but to use it or it will become a beast scratching to get free. I am quite protective of your craft. You’ll note there are few here to witness our meet.
“The strength and power of melders is where those twisted tales of folklore emerge. There is more purpose to your gift than you realize. Greed to have the power I will teach you has become part of the frightening myths. They are believed enough that I have chosen to keep melders less known for their safety from our enemies. It was only beyond these gates that Fadey was lost to us.”
My thoughts spun and I bit back tears. I’d never heard all this, but there was something about the way the king spoke that left me wanting to believe it. I’d noticed a constant hum of warmth beneath my skin since suturing the bone to Kael’s spine. A new, unseen presence in my blood.
“Now.” The king tightened his hold on my hand, patting the top, almost fatherly. “You successfully fastened a soul bone to the living, true?”
I drew in a sharp breath. The dark figure in the mists back in Skalfirth had hissed something about souls. I shuddered, tearing my thoughts away from the shrieking glow of the haunt that consumed me. “What is a soul bone?”
“Bone taken from the dead,” the king said, “marked in runes that welcome the strength of that soul gone to Salur to unite withthe ones left in this realm. That is the true power of the gods, the final gift in the legends of the Wanderer.”
Just like Gammal’s tales. It was the corruption that destroyed him.
King Damir did not seem to take the disastrous end of the Wanderer with any trepidation and barreled on. “A melder is a bridge to the magics. A connection that was meant to unify two beautiful affinities—the dead and the living. That is the bone you placed in Skalfirth.”
The bone in Kael was from a corpse.
